pulled a rueful smile. 'I can't get it into their owners' heads that water evaporates and that the trough needs filling every day. It makes me mad sometimes.'
'Quite a chore then?'
'Yes.' She gestured toward a door at the end of the row of stables behind her. 'Let's go up to my flat. I can make you both a cup of coffee.'
'Thank you.' She was an attractive woman, he thought, despite the muck and the brusque manner, but he was intrigued by Ingram's stiff formality toward her, which wasn't readily explained by the story of the bigamous husband. The formality, he thought, should be on her side. As he followed them up the wooden stairs, he decided the constable must have tried it on at some point and been comprehensively slapped down for playing outside his own league. Miss Jenner was top-drawer material, even if she did live in something resembling a pigsty.
The flat was the antithesis of Nick's tidy establishment. There was disorder everywhere, bean bags piled in front of the television on the floor, newspapers with finished and half-finished crosswords abandoned on chairs and tables, a filthy rug on the sofa which smelled unmistakably of Bertie, and a pile of dirty washing-up in the kitchen sink. 'Sorry about the mess,' she said. 'I've been up since five, and I haven't had time to clean.' To Galbraith's ears, this sounded like a well-worn apology that was trotted out to anyone who might be inclined to criticize her lifestyle. She swiveled the tap to squeeze the kettle between it and the washing-up. 'How do you like your coffee?'
'White, two sugars, please,' said Galbraith.
'I'll have mine black please, Miss Jenner. No sugar,' said Ingram.
'Do you mind Coffeemate?' Maggie asked the inspector, sniffing at a cardboard carton on the side. 'The milk's off.' Cursorily she rinsed some dirty mugs under the tap. 'Why don't you grab a seat? If you chuck Bertie's blanket on the floor, one of you can have the sofa.'
'I think she means you, sir,' murmured Ingram as they retreated into the sitting room. 'Inspector's perks. It's the best seat in the place.'
'Who's Bertie?' whispered Galbraith.
'The Hound of the Baskervilles. His favorite occupation is to shove his nose up men's crotches and give them a good slobbering. The stains tend to hang around through at least three washes, I find, so it pays to keep your legs crossed when you're sitting down.'
'I hope you're joking!' said Galbraith with a groan. He had already lost one pair of good trousers to the previous night's soaking in the sea. 'Where is he?'
'Out on the razzle, I should think. His second-favorite occupation is to service the local bitches.'
The DI lowered himself gingerly into the only armchair. 'Does he have fleas?'
With a grin, Ingram jerked his head toward the kitchen door. 'Do mice leave their droppings in sugar?' he murmured.
'Shit!'
Ingram removed himself to a windowsill and perched precariously on the edge of it. 'Just be grateful it wasn't her mother who was out riding on Sunday,' he said in an undertone. 'This kitchen's sterile by comparison with hers.' He had sampled Mrs. Jenner's hospitality once four years ago, the day after Healey had fled, and he'd vowed never to repeat the experience. She had given him coffee in a cracked Spode cup that was black with tannin, and he had gagged continuously while drinking it. He had never understood the peculiar mores of the impoverished landed gentry, who seemed to believe the value of bone china outweighed the value of hygiene.
They waited in silence while Maggie busied herself in the kitchen. The atmosphere was ripe with the stench of horse manure, wafted in from a pile of soiled straw in the yard outside, and the heat baking the interior of the flat through the uninsulated roof was almost unbearable. In no time at all both men were red in the face and mopping at their brows with handkerchieves, and whatever brief advantage Ingram thought he had gained over Maggie was quickly dispelled. A few minutes later she emerged with a tray of coffee mugs, which she handed around before sinking onto Bertie's blanket on the sofa.
'So what can I tell you that I haven't already told Nick?' she asked Galbraith. 'I know it's a murder inquiry because I've been reading the newspapers, but as I didn't see the body I can't imagine how I can help you.'
Galbraith pulled some notes from his jacket pocket. 'In fact it's rather more than a murder inquiry, Miss Jenner. Kate Sumner was raped before she was thrown into the sea, so the man who killed her is extremely dangerous and we need to catch him before he does it again.' He paused to let the information sink in. 'Believe me, any help you can give us will be greatly appreciated.'
'But I don't know anything,' she said.
'You spoke to a man called Steven Harding,' he reminded her.
'Oh, good God,' she said, 'you're not suggesting he did it?' She frowned at Ingram. 'You've really got it in for that man, haven't you, Nick? He was only trying to help in all conscience. You might as well say any of the men who were in Chapman's Pool that day could have killed her.'
Ingram remained blandly indifferent to both her frown and her accusations. 'It's a possibility.'
'So why pick on Steve?'
'We're not, Miss Jenner. We're trying to eliminate him from the inquiry. Neither I nor the inspector wants to waste time investigating innocent bystanders.'
'You wasted an awful lot of time on Sunday doing it,' she said acidly, stung by his dreary insistence on treating her with forelock-tugging formality. He smiled but didn't say anything. She turned back to Galbraith. 'I'll do my best,' she said, 'although I doubt I can tell you much. What do you want to know?'
'It would be helpful if you can start by describing your meeting with him. I understand you rode down the track toward the boat sheds and came across him and the boys beside PC Ingram's car. Is that the first time you saw him?'
'Yes, but I wasn't riding Jasper then. I was leading him, because he was frightened by the helicopter.'
'Okay. What were Steven Harding and the two boys doing at that point?'
