Murder in Mind Page 12

  Tara hesitated, catching her lip between her teeth.

  ‘Well, I don’t know what I can tell you, anyway,’ she said eventually. ‘I told the detective – I forget his name …’

  ‘Bartholomew?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right. Bartholomew, and the woman – Deane, isn’t it? I told them, over and over, that Sophie and I were friends, but not close friends. We didn’t share secrets or anything. She had days when she was moody, like we all do, but I’ve no idea if she was worried or just hormonal. More coffee?’

  Matt accepted, even though he didn’t really want it. He had a feeling Tara might know more than she thought she did, and, now she’d begun to expand, it seemed a shame to stop her.

  ‘Where did Sophie work?’

  ‘Work?’ Tara stifled a laugh. ‘That’s a good one! She did a bit of modelling from time to time – quite often on the racecourses. You know, hired by the sponsors to walk back beside the winners and stand and look pretty while the prizes are given out? I always feel sorry for them, half the time they look bloody freezing! But I don’t think she’d done any modelling for ages.’

  ‘Perhaps she got money from her family …’ Matt suggested.

  Tara nodded.

  ‘It’s possible. She didn’t seem to get on with them very well, but I know they weren’t short of a penny or two. There was someone she called Mosie. I think he was quite a bit older than her. I got the impression he was a sort of sugar daddy. There were flowers sometimes, and, once or twice, expensive jewellery. I would tease her, but she’d just laugh and accuse me of being jealous. She was infuriating at times, but you couldn’t help liking her.’ Tara looked away, picking up her coffee cup and taking a sip; to steady herself, Matt suspected.

  ‘I’m sorry. Would you like us to go?’ With characteristic sympathy, Kendra put out a hand to touch the other girl’s arm.

  Tara summoned a smile.

  ‘No. Please stay. It’s silly, but I miss her. I never thought I would, but I do. We shared this place for over three years, and it worked really well, on the whole. Half the time she wasn’t here, but knowing she’s never coming back makes it seem dreadfully empty, somehow. I still can’t believe that she’s actually dead; that someone murdered her. It just doesn’t seem real.’

  ‘Did you ever see this Mosie?’ Matt asked, thinking about Lord Kenning and the rumour Harry had told him about.

  ‘No, he didn’t come here, except once, to pick her up – but then I only saw his car. It was a Jag. A big, silvery grey one. I remember thinking, You lucky cow! And then, when she came back the next day, she told me she’d been with him. “Mosie took me to this sumptuous hotel in the country, but you mustn’t tell anyone, Tara,” she said, though I don’t know who she thought I was going to tell. So I reckon he was married, don’t you?’

  ‘Most likely,’ Matt agreed.

  ‘Oh, and there was something else – she told me once that Mosie liked to play games.’

  ‘Games … ?’

  ‘That’s what she said. I didn’t ask what – it’s not really my scene – I imagine she meant dressing up or something.’

  Matt turned the idea over in his mind. If it was Kenning and he wanted to keep the relationship quiet, how much worse would it be for him if it was known that there was a kinky element to his liaison with his niece?

  ‘Do you know if she had any other girlfriends; anyone she might have shared secrets with, perhaps?’

  Tara pursed her lips and shook her head.

  ‘Not that I ever met. As far as I could see, she seemed to socialise almost exclusively with men. We very rarely went out anywhere together – you know, for girls’ nights out or anything. It just wasn’t her scene.’

  ‘And there’s nothing else you can think of – odd phone calls, anything she said or did that struck you as strange, especially recently?’

  Again, Tara shook her head.

  ‘No. That’s what the police kept asking, but there was nothing. Everything was normal – or as normal as it ever was with Sophie around. I’ve been racking my brains all week and I haven’t come up with a thing. I’m sorry, I’ve not been much help to you, or your friend.’

  Having taken their leave of Tara Goodwin, a few minutes later Matt and Kendra stepped out through the glossy portal and paused for a moment on the pavement outside.

  ‘She’s nicer than I remembered,’ Kendra said. ‘At school, she used to get on my nerves – she was a bit loud.’

  ‘Whilst you were perfection, of course,’ Matt quizzed gently, and was rewarded by an indignant jab in the ribs. ‘Ouch! Now what have I said?’

  Linking arms, they started to walk back to where they’d left the car.

  ‘So, Sherlock, did you learn anything useful?’ Kendra asked.

  ‘Not a lot.’ Matt sighed. ‘I guess it was daft to think I would, but I had to try. That stuff about Mosie was the most interesting.’ He told Kendra what he’d learned from Harry about Lord Kenning.

  ‘Do you think he was Sophie’s sugar daddy, then? Why Mosie? What’s Lord Kenning’s name?’

  ‘Um …’ Matt scoured his memory. ‘Edward, I think, but she’d hardly use his real name, given the circumstances. I’d be interested to see what sort of car he drives …’ He broke off, adding explosively, ‘Now what the hell is she doing here?’

  Ahead, where the MR2 was parked in a line of cars at the side of the road, he could see a familiar redheaded figure, seated on the bonnet, apparently studying her fingernails.

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Casey McKeegan. That reporter I told you about. I don’t know what she’s doing here.’

  ‘Waiting for you, I’d say.’

  ‘Oh, ha ha.’

  They were less than twenty feet away before Casey looked up and saw them. Instantly, she straightened and greeted Matt with a wide grin, just as if Matt hadn’t warned her, earlier that day, to stay away.

  ‘How did it go with Tara?’ she asked, before he could say anything.

  ‘Kendra, this is Casey McKeegan. Casey, Kendra Brewer, my fiancée.’

  ‘Hi,’ Kendra said.

  ‘Hi.’ Casey gave her an unsmiling glance and turned back to Matt. ‘So how did it go? What did Tara tell you?’

  Matt shrugged.

  ‘Not much, I’m afraid. She couldn’t think of anything that would help.’

  ‘So you talked about the weather for an hour and fifteen minutes did you? Come on.’

  ‘Have you been watching the flat?’

  ‘Well, I had to do something. And don’t try and tell me you were going to ring me and give me an update; I wasn’t born yesterday!’

  ‘I might have done, if there had been anything to tell,’ Matt hedged. ‘Look, I’m afraid we’ve all had a wasted journey. Sophie didn’t take Tara into her confidence. She really doesn’t know anything more than what she’s told the police.’

  Casey’s eyes narrowed.

  ‘You,’ she said, pointing an accusing finger, ‘are not playing fair. I gave you Tara’s address; the least you can do is tell me what she said.’

  ‘She’s got a point,’ Kendra remarked.

  Matt cast her a darkling glance, then sighed.

  ‘All right. Let’s go and get a coffee or something. But I warn you, you’ll be disappointed.’

  ‘She’s quite a character, isn’t she? Your Casey.’

  Matt and Kendra were in the car, heading for home.

  ‘She’s not my Casey,’ Matt said.

  ‘Oh, I think she is – in her mind, anyway. I think she’s got a huge crush on you.’ Kendra slanted a look at him. ‘Actually, underneath that tomboyish exterior, I think there’s quite a pretty girl trying to get out.’

  ‘Well, it’s not trying very hard.’

  Kendra laughed.

  ‘That’s mean! Still, you can’t deny she’s bright. And, with her contacts, she could be very useful. If she can find out who this mysterious Mosie is, that’ll be a start, won’t it?’
r />   ‘Well, I’m pretty sure it must be Lord Kenning, but, if she can prove it …’ Matt shook his head. ‘I can’t work out how she got a job working for a paper like the Standard, at her age. It’s not as if she even looks her age. She looks about sixteen.’

  ‘Maybe that’s an advantage? I imagine she might get under people’s guard. Maybe an editor recognised a latent talent; who knows? So what’s the next move?’

  ‘I’m not sure. I think maybe I should have a little chat with Razor at Sedgefield tomorrow’

  ‘Talking of which …’ Kendra looked at her watch. ‘What time are you supposed to be meeting Rollo and Mikey?’

  ‘Three o’clock. Oh shit, I’d forgotten that. What’s the time?’

  ‘Ten to two. You’d better get a wriggle on.’

  Driving like a man possessed, Matt made it back to Norton Peverill, packed an overnight bag with Kendra’s help, grabbed his saddles, boots, and kitbag, and drove on to his rendezvous with the other jockeys, arriving only a few minutes late.

  Sedgefield Racecourse in County Durham was a round trip of five hundred miles or more, and not a place to which Matt would consider travelling without sufficient incentive in the form of quantity or quality of rides. On this occasion he had rides in all but one race on the card, but he might still have baulked at the distance, had Rollo Gallagher and young Mikey Copperfield not been travelling north, too.

  Because their job involved so much travelling, it was normal for jockeys who lived relatively close together to share the driving to the more distant courses. On a long haul, it was also normal for them to put up for the night in the house or lodgings of one of their colleagues who lived in the area. It was a reciprocal arrangement that, over the course of the year, saved all of them a good deal of money. Long hours spent on the road were tedious and contributed to sky-high insurance premiums but, in most instances, the likely financial rewards on offer for a day’s jump racing made the idea of flying to the course a non-starter.

  After an overnight stay crammed into the spare room of a seasoned jockey known as Limpet – for his famed ability to stay on even the clumsiest of animals to the bitter end – the four of them made their way together to Sedgefield.

  Razor arrived late at the course and then rode the winner in the first, which meant that Matt had no early opportunity to speak with him in private.

  Things began to pan out in his favour, however, when one of the other jockeys fell off going down to the start of the second race, and the rest of runners and riders were kept circling quietly whilst the loose horse was rounded up and caught.

  Threading through the large field, Matt managed to bring his horse alongside the grey ridden by Razor and engage the jockey in conversation.

  On the drive up from the south, Matt had wrestled on and off with the delicate question of how to bring up the subject of Lord Kenning and Sophie Bradford with Razor. If it had been almost any of the other jockeys that he knew, he would have just come straight out and asked, but ‘Razor’ Hislop was a different matter, and Matt couldn’t rely on him to keep the knowledge of his interest to himself.

  As it turned out, Matt’s own recent publicity had come to Razor’s ears, and he wasn’t the man to let the chance to mock pass him by.

  ‘Well, well, if it isn’t Inspector fucking Clouseau!’ he said, as soon as he saw Matt beside him. He continued in a fair imitation of Sellers’ character: “Ow is your hinvestigation coming along?’

  Matt rolled his eyes. He’d already had to put up with some of the same in the weighing room.

  ‘OK, OK, get it over with.’

  ‘You don’t seem to be ‘aving much success in clearing Mutton’s name, do you?’ Razor enquired, still in character. ‘Last I ‘eard ‘e’d been taken down ze nick, but maybe that was part of your cunning plan, non?’

  ‘Tell me what you know about Lord Kenning and Sophie Bradford,’ Matt said, abandoning subtlety. ‘I’m told it was you who started the rumour that they were having an affair.’

  ‘What? That was ages ago.’ Razor dropped the silly accent. ‘There was nothing to it. It was a mistake.’

  ‘So where did you get it from? Who told you?’

  ‘No one did. I got it wrong, that’s all. Kenning explained, I apologised; end of story.’

  Matt eyed him thoughtfully. It sounded out of character. The Razor they all knew and distrusted would never normally let something go as easily as that.

  ‘Why d’you want to know, anyway?’ Razor said then. ‘What’s old Kenning got to do with anything? You must be losing the fucking plot if you think he murdered her. Why don’t you just accept that your little pal probably did it, and move on?’

  ‘Because he didn’t do it.’

  Razor lifted an eyebrow and shrugged.

  ‘Well, whatever. But I’ll tell you something for nothing. Get on the wrong side of a man like his lordship and you might as well kiss your career goodbye. It’s professional suicide, mate, and don’t say I didn’t warn you!’

  Thoughtfully, Matt watched Razor ride away. The warning was to some extent unnecessary. You didn’t have to be Brain of Britain to work out that it would be extremely foolish to make an enemy of a man who had considerable influence in your chosen field, and he was surprised that the surly jockey had bothered to deliver such advice. Matt felt it would have been more in character for him to sit back and enjoy the sight of his rival playing with fire.

  Before he had time to ponder it further, the starter mounted his rostrum and delivered the thirty-second warning to put their goggles on. Instantly, Matt’s brain shifted into racing mode, and everything else was relegated to the area marked pending.

  The Sedgefield meeting was very successful for Matt, and the three southern jockeys spent another night in the north, using the following day – when there were no jump meetings – to travel home. On the journey, Matt entered into the conversations with Mikey and Rollo in a slightly abstracted way, his mind occupied with Jamie’s plight.

  He found himself at a bit of a standstill with regards to what to do next. Razor’s information had thrown a shadow of doubt upon his own growing conviction that Lord Kenning had been Sophie’s Mosie. He’d seemed so definite that it had been a mistake. It was true that Kenning’s own reaction, when Matt had mentioned his relationship with Sophie, had been one of intense annoyance, but then the simple fact of Razor’s past rumour-mongering could account for that. Razor’s easy dismissal of the story still bothered Matt. Had pressure been brought to bear? Would that explain the warning he’d passed on?

  After a day’s travelling, Matt reached Spinney Cottage feeling tired and looking forward to a quiet evening spent with Kendra, a glass or two of wine, and a DVD on the television.

  However, following a rapturous welcome from the dogs, Kendra greeted him with a hug and the information that Jamie had called from Charlborough Police Station, not five minutes before, and wanted to be collected.

  ‘They’re letting him go?’

  ‘I imagine so. Unless he’s overpowered the guard and escaped,’ she suggested with a twinkle. ‘I was just on my way to get him.’

  Belatedly, Matt noticed that she had a coat over her arm and her car keys in her hand.

  ‘If I’d known, I could have picked him up on my way past,’ he complained. He was too weary for repartee. ‘I wonder what’s going on. Have they charged him, do you know?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’m sorry, Matt. I tried to get you on your mobile, but couldn’t get through.’

  ‘Yeah, the battery’s flat. I forgot to take my charger. Look, can’t he get a taxi?’

  ‘He says he hasn’t any money …’

  ‘Well, he can pay when he gets here, surely?’

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t think of that. I’ll try and ring him back, shall I?’

  ‘Yeah, do that.’ Matt dumped his overnight bag on the sofa, then changed his mind. ‘No, forget it. I’ll fetch him. It’ll only take forty minutes.’

  ‘Oh yes? And the rest …�
�� Kendra said dryly. ‘Please, Matt … Slow down a little – for me? I don’t want to lose you.’

  Matt glanced at her in surprise. Apart from not liking to watch him race, she wasn’t especially given to anxiety. Under his scrutiny she dropped her gaze as though feeling suddenly self-conscious. He thought she looked a little pale.

  ‘Are you all right, sweetheart?’

  She smiled brightly at him.

  ‘Yes, fine. It’s just … you do drive too fast sometimes – even with me – and I dread to think how fast you go when I’m not in the car. I know you’re a good driver, it’s all the other idiots I worry about, and when you’re driving that fast, you haven’t got a hope of avoiding them.’ She waved a hand. ‘OK, I’ve said my piece. I’ll go and find something for supper.’

  *

  Jamie spoke little on the way back from Charlborough, seeming withdrawn and depressed. He recounted that the MG had been found upside down in a field, but, thankfully, not burned out, although even that fact didn’t appear sufficient to leaven his mood. As far as Matt could understand it, Jamie owed his continuing freedom to the absence of any of his fingerprints on Sophie’s stolen cards, but, beyond saying that the police hadn’t had enough evidence to hold him any longer, Jamie volunteered no further information about his three-day ordeal, and, when Matt questioned him, said he didn’t want to talk about it. Matt attempted to fill the silence by recounting the events of the past three days, but soon realised that – understandably – neither his non-productive investigations nor his racing successes would awaken much joy in Jamie’s heart.

  At the cottage, Jamie joined them for the meal Kendra had prepared, but ate little before saying he was tired and retiring to his room.

  Matt watched him go, thoughtfully.

  ‘Are you going to be here tomorrow? I’m at Hereford. I’m sorry, but I’m a bit worried about leaving him on his own,’ he said, as he and Kendra settled down on the sofa with their coffee. The dogs padded in after them, Sky and The Boys flopping down on the rugs, and Taffy squeezing herself onto the chair with them and laying her chin on Kendra’s knee with a satisfied sigh.