who killed Walter Fleet?”
He had come surprisingly near the truth, but Jude started off on another tack. “In fact, it was about your expertise with horses I wanted to talk to you.”
“Oh?”
“I do some healing myself…”
He nodded, showing none of the derision those words sometimes prompted.
“…and someone asked me to try my skills on a horse that’s lame. I’m afraid I haven’t been successful, but I was told by Lucinda Fleet at Long Bamber that you might have more luck.”
“It wouldn’t be luck,” he said.
“No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”
“Where is the horse? Whose is it?”
“It’s at Long Bamber.”
“Then I probably know it.”
“Called Chieftain.”
He smiled a crooked smile. “Oh yes. Mrs. Butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-her-mouth Dalrymple. I’ll bet I know why he’s lame.”
“Well, I don’t. Sonia didn’t tell me.”
“No, she wouldn’t.”
“Then why do you think he is lame?”
“I know. No reason why you should.”
The way he said this was not exactly rude, but it left her in no doubt that she wasn’t about to find out more.
“So would you have a look at him?”
“The Dalrymples have got plenty of money,” Donal said. “That stable complex of theirs must have set them back a bob or two.”
“Oh yes. I’m sure Sonia would pay for your services. She was going to pay me, but I couldn’t ask for anything unless I got a result.”
“You’re stupid,” he said, without vindictiveness. “People should pay for the healing, not for the results.”
Donal downed the remainder of his Jameson’s and grinned enigmatically. “I’m like a slot machine. When your money runs out, I stop working.”
“You mean you’d like another of those?”
“If you want me to talk more, yes.”
Another silent transaction was conducted with the girl at the bar, and Jude placed the refilled glass back in front of her interviewee. “As your friend said, the police didn’t keep you topped up with Jameson’s when they asked you questions.”
“No.”
The monosyllable was spoken without intonation. Jude couldn’t tell whether he’d follow the change of conversation or clam up on her. But she tried her luck.
“Presumably they didn’t have anything on you? They just questioned you because you were quite often round Long Bamber Stables?”
“Oh, they had more reasons than that.” His eyes twinkled teasingly and he was silent, as if not going to give any more. Then he relented. “They had the reason that I’ve a record for petty crime, a bit of thieving and that stuff. They had the reason that I drink, that I sometimes get violent in my cups. Then the reason that I’m Irish and…what? A vagrant? A diddycoy? A tinker? They had the reason that I don’t live in a nice neat little house like everyone else in this lovely part of England…” The words were heavy with irony. “Oh yes. So far as the police were concerned, I was the perfect Identikit murderer. They were really gutted when they couldn’t pin it on me. So they had to let me go at the end. They’d got nothing on me. Nothing that would stand up in court. And, more to the point, their time was up.” He pointed to his empty glass. “As is yours.”
“But another refill will keep you talking?”
“For a very short time. I’m afraid a law of diminishing returns operates here, you see. I tend to drink faster as I go along.”
Another wordless transaction at the bar, and Jude was back at the table. Donal at least kept his side of the bargain and picked up the conversation exactly where he had left it. “I think most of the detectives who questioned me have still got me down as the killer. But they don’t have a shred of evidence.”
“So you think they’re still keeping an eye on you?”
“That wouldn’t surprise me at all.” He looked out through the clouded pub windows. “Probably an unmarked car out there, waiting to pick up my trail when I get out of here.” He took a lengthy sip of the Jameson’s. “Which won’t be for a long while yet.” He let out a cracked laugh. “Yes, if I go down to Long Bamber to have a look at Chieftain, the police’ll see that as further proof that I’m the villain.”
“How do you work that out?”
“Have you not heard the great cliche: ‘The perpetrator always revisits the scene of the crime’?”
“Ah. Right. Does that mean you’re not going to go there?”
“No, of course it doesn’t.” He chuckled. “It’ll give me great pleasure to lead the police on a wild goose chase.”
“So you will try and heal Chieftain?”
“I’ll be down at Long Bamber tomorrow morning,” he said, suddenly efficient. “Round eleven.” He drained his drink. “And that’s me switched off again. Now I will return to my mates, to be perverse and argumentative, and talk a load of bollocks, and lead the conversation down a lot of whimsical cul-de-sacs, and then lose my temper and start threatening people.”
“Why?”
“Because, he winked-that is what is expected of a stage Irishman.”
She scribbled down her name and mobile number on a scrap of paper and gave it to him.
This prompted more ribaldry from George Tufton’s stable lads, whose table Donal rejoined, stepping immediately back into his expected role.
16
Jude rang Sonia Dalrymple’s number, but only got the answering machine. So she put in a call to Long Bamber Stables to check with Lucinda Fleet that it would be all right for Donal to work on Chieftain the following morning.
“Yes, that’s fine. I’d been expecting him to turn up sometime soon. I’ll hide the petty cash.”
“I have actually just met Donal.”
“Oh yes?”
“He lives up to his image, doesn’t he?”
“A point of honour with him, I’ve always thought.”
“But as a healer…?”
“Oh, he’s good. Whatever power it is that’s needed, Donal’s got it. I always recommend him to all my owners.”
“Yes. Something’s just struck me, Lucinda…”
“Oh? What’s that?”
“If you recommend him to all your owners, then presumably you also recommended him to Sonia?”
“Yes.”
“And yet, when Chieftain got lame and the vet couldn’t do anything about it, she turned to me rather than to Donal.”
If a shrug could be audible, than that’s what Jude heard down the phone line. “So? It’s a free country. If she doesn’t want to take my suggestion, then that’s up to her.”
Again Jude was aware of the frostiness between the two women, the feeling she had got when she’d first
