Murder in Mind (32 page)

'You really think that little half-pint animal is going to beat the mighty Secundo?' he enquired derisively.

'We'll see,' Matt replied. Jamie had received a formal offer to ride for Rockfield just a week ago and it was good to have the Irishman back on side. For Matt's part, his relationship with Kendra's father had undergone something of a change since Deacon's death and the revelations that came hot on its heels.

Walking the little bay horse round with the autumn sunshine warm through his thin silks, his mind drifted back to the days following that terrifying night.

He had awoken in the ambulance on his way to hospital, but, after the examination and stitches in the knife wound and wire tear, he'd succumbed to fatigue and slept through the night and half of the next day.

Waking in a hospital room, the first person he'd seen had been Kendra, who was sitting in the easy chair at his bedside, staring out of the window with reddened eyes. He'd softly spoken her name, and the hug she gave him – if a little physically uncomfortable in the circumstances – reassured him that, whatever else might fall apart, their relationship wasn't about to.

Deacon's death had hit the family hard, coupled – as it was – with the shock of discovering his involvement in Sophie Bradford's killing, but after three weeks, Matt was relieved to see that what could have split the family asunder had actually united them more strongly. Even Grace, not usually a team player, had seemed to rise to the occasion, although, as Frances remarked wickedly to Matt, in her case there was plenty of scope for upward motion.

Delafield was still in hospital with head injuries and the knowledge that DI Bartholomew was eagerly awaiting his discharge. Matt wasn't looking forward to the inevitable court appearance, but knowing how slowly the wheels of the justice system rumbled along, he was able to relegate it quite comfortably to the back of his mind for the time being.

When the police had finished questioning Matt, there had been a very difficult interview with Charlie Brewer to endure. Matt could recall it with uncomfortable clarity. The businessman had asked him to come to his study, offered him a seat; a drink, which he had refused; and then stood looking out of the window whilst apparently searching for the words to begin. In the end, Matt had taken pity on him.

'I know why you did what you did,' he said. 'I don't condone it and I find it hard to forgive just at the moment, but I do understand why you tried to cut me out of the picture.'

Brewer swung round.

'It wasn't my idea. Niall told me to get rid of you. He said, if you stayed, you were bound to work out the truth about Deacon and then we'd all be up on charges.'

'It was that evening I heard the two of you in here, wasn't it? That's when it all started to go belly-up.'

'So you did overhear,' the businessman said. 'I wondered if you had . . .'

'Not much, frankly, and what I did hear didn't make much sense, but I could tell that Delafield had something on you.'

'I'd just found out that he was gay,' Brewer said, his face twisting into an involuntary expression of distaste. 'I wasn't going to have that kind of influence around my son, so I told Niall he'd have to go. That's when he told me what Deke had done. He threatened to go to the police with it; said he'd tell them that I'd known all along. What could I do? I couldn't just hand my own son over to the police.'

'He needed proper help,' Matt pointed out. 'Didn't it occur to you that it might have been better for him, in the long run? Bartholomew says he'd probably have got off on diminished responsibility; it would have been manslaughter rather than murder. And, anyway, didn't you ever think of the girls?'

Brewer had cast him a look of deep anguish.

'Of course I thought of the girls – they were constantly on my mind – and God knows I'd never have put them in any danger, but . . . Well, Niall said it was probably an accident – the Bradford girl, I mean. He told me that Deacon gave him the slip and went off with the girl. The boy was naive, a dreamer. If she led him on and then got scared . . . Maybe they struggled and she fell . . . ? I don't know. But Niall said, if the police found out about Deacon's illness, they'd lock him up and throw away the key. And well – he's my son, for God's sake!'

'Delafield has no idea what happened,' Matt stated. 'He wasn't even there – I bet he didn't tell you that. He left Deacon and went out with his boyfriend. The whole thing was his fault, and he would have said anything to keep his job.'

Brewer nodded miserably.

'I know that now.'

'And the cat? Was that an accident, too?'

Brewer flinched as if Matt had hit him.

'That was later. Until then, I didn't know he was capable of something like that and, by that time, I was in too deep.' He hesitated, then said dully, 'You don't think the girl was an accident?'

Matt shook his head.

'I don't know. I don't suppose we'll ever know now. Deacon couldn't remember. He just seemed totally bewildered by what had happened.' He paused, looking at Brewer contemplatively. 'I still find it hard to believe that you'd go along with a vicious bastard like Delafield. Ruining my career was bad enough, but trying to turn Kendra against me – frightening her like that!'

'I didn't know he was going to do that,' the businessman protested. 'You know I would never have agreed to anything like that.'

'But you weren't above making use of it to try and separate us.'

Brewer met Matt's eyes for a moment and then looked away.

'I know it was wrong. I'm sorry.'

'I was never good enough for her, in your eyes, was I?' Matt stated without heat. 'A commoner.
A steeplechase jockey. You wanted a title, or, at the very least, money.'

Brewer turned back.

'All right, I admit it, I did want more for her. I wanted the best, what father wouldn't?'

'No, you're wrong there. Most fathers want their children to be happy. And the bottom line is that if you hadn't been so worried about what the world would think, none of this mess would have happened.' Matt had stood up, intending to leave before he said something that would irrevocably damage their future relationship; after all, the man was going to be his father-in-law one day, however little either of them relished the fact.

'Do you think I don't know that?' Brewer demanded. 'Do you think I don't blame myself every waking moment? It's
my
fault that the girl is dead and it's my fault Deacon is dead, and, whatever you may think of me – I did love him. I love all my family, and all I've done is fuck things up for everybody!'

Matt sighed, moved to compassion in spite of himself, but he couldn't truthfully think of anything comforting to say. He turned his back and went to the door.

'I don't blame you for hating me,' Brewer said. 'But, for Kendra's sake, can't we try and start again? I'd like to offer you your job back, on whatever terms you like. Will you consider it? The horses run better for you than for anyone else.'

Matt paused on the threshold, reluctantly impressed. He was only too aware how much the admission would have cost Brewer, after all he'd said in the past.

'I'm sorry. The answer's no,' he said, after a moment. 'I'll ride for you, when you've got something good to offer, but I don't want my job back – not yet awhile, anyway. I've a fancy to stay freelance. Why don't you give it to Jamie?'

Now, Matt sighed. The whole business had been so destructive; he had no idea how long it would take for the repercussions to die away. As well as Delafield, Charlie would be facing charges in due course, but it was expected that the courts would show a degree of leniency in the circumstances.

A quickening in Woodcutter's pace alerted Matt to the fact that Rollo's horse had been reshod and things were on the move, so he shrugged off the memories, shortened his reins, and pulled down his goggles. He was confident that the little bay was good, but there was no excuse for handicapping him by missing the jump-off at the start.

'Jockeys!' The familiar call set his nerves atingling and Woodcutter began to canter in a rocking-horse motion on the spot. Within moments, the tape flew back and they were away.

Woodcutter hadn't run on a track since Matt's win with him at Maiden Newton, and, although he'd exercised him a number of times at Doogie's, he hadn't shown any great enthusiasm on the gallops. This was clearly a horse that saved his best for the racecourse.

Keen and yet biddable, he had the ability to take the race on from the front, yet allowed Matt to play a waiting game, slotting in a third of the way down the field, on the outer edge to keep clear of trouble, and jumping as if there were prizes for style. Matt's only worry was that some unforeseeable problem would crop up, such as a loose horse taking him out at one of the fences, but it didn't happen, and Woodcutter gave him the ride of a lifetime.

Turning into the final straight with two to jump, his heart was singing. The little bay was placed fourth, tracking Secundo, Inkster, and Rollo's chestnut, and, as Matt let him have a little more rein, Inkster quickly dropped out of the equation. Woodcutter took the last level with the chestnut, but he was quick in the air and landed half a length clear.

'You've got him, Matt!' Rollo called as he fell behind and, hearing him, Jamie glanced over his shoulder before stepping up the pressure on the favourite.

Secundo responded willingly, but Matt knew he was on the better horse. With half a furlong to run, he finally gave Woodcutter his head and had to stifle a cry of pure exhilaration as the little bay lengthened his stride and passed Jamie's horse as if it was standing still.

Crossing the line, some four lengths the winner, Matt stood in his stirrups and punched the air. The October Cup was theirs, but that was quite plainly only the start of what this horse was capable of achieving. This was a one in a million kind of horse and, if Matt had his way, no one was ever going to ride it but himself; he was entitled to celebrate.

Back in the winner's unsaddling area, Jamie was magnanimous in defeat, seeming almost as excited as Matt was about the horse's performance, and later, after the presentation, he accompanied Matt, Doogie, and Woodcutter's new owner to the bar for a celebratory tonic water.

When the race had been relived half a dozen times and ambitious plans mooted for the little horse's future, the talk turned to the other hot topic of the day. It was rumoured that Lord Kenning had, citing ill health, stepped down from his position at the Jockey Club. No one was sure of the facts, but the peer was noticeably absent from what was one of his local meetings.

Matt had his own ideas about Kenning's sudden decision and when, as they left the bar, he spotted Stephen Naismith in a queue at the Tote kiosks, he excused himself from the company of the others and went across.

'Matt, hi!' Maple Tree's owner smiled. 'Caught in the act!'

'Collecting on Woodcutter's win, I hope,' Matt said.

'And placing a little sum on Maple in the last,' he replied, nodding. 'It's all rather worryingly addictive. I see what my mother saw in it now.' In a lower voice he added, 'What do you know about a mare called Peacock Penny? I'm told she'd be a good investment.'

'Is she for sale?' Matt asked, surprised. He remembered the serious young man who had been in the paddock the day he'd ridden the mare.

'Apparently. Her owner is rather put out by Westerby's imminent retirement from training, and has decided to sell both his horses and buy dogs instead.'

At this point he reached the kiosk and stepped forward to conduct his business, leaving Matt to digest the information he had imparted. Joining Matt again, minutes later, he folded a wad of cash into his back pocket with an evident air of satisfaction.

'I hadn't heard about Westerby,' Matt said thoughtfully. 'When did you hear?'

'Last night, when I visited to finalise the arrangements for removing Maple to Mr McKenzie's yard. The greedy sod tried to garner commission for putting me onto Peacock Penny!'

'This wouldn't have anything to do with Lord Kenning's sudden retirement, would it? I'm assuming we have you to thank for that . . .'

'Ill health, so I heard.' Naismith assumed an expression of innocence.

'And the rest!'

'Well, all right, I might have pointed out to him the benefits of a dignified withdrawal from the public eye, but, actually, when the facts were presented to him, he didn't really have much option. And I had a couple of aces to play.'

'The photos?'

'Those, and the little matter of a witness to his involvement with Westerby.'

'
Not Rick Smith
?'

'Yes, indeed. Nice lad. He was very helpful and good enough to sign a statement indicating his willingness to testify in court, if the need arose.'

'How on earth did you manage that?' Remembering the head lad's reticence with him, Matt could hardly believe it.

'Merely by offering the services of a top-class lawyer, if it should transpire that he needed one – not that I thought he would for a minute. Any half-competent judge would easily recognise how he'd been manipulated.'

'And how would a lad like Rick be able to afford this top-flight lawyer, may I ask?'

Naismith looked a little sheepish.

'Oh, well, there's this one guy I know who has been known to take on the odd case for a pittance, now and then, in the interests of justice.'

'
A guy you know
,' Matt repeated, eyebrows raised.

'Yes. Actually, it's not as noble as it sounds. Often the mere threat of his involvement is enough to see the case settled amicably, as now,' he observed.

'And Kenning's vendetta against me – all to hide his smutty little secrets?'

'Ah, but, you see, he'd had word there could be honours in the offing,' Naismith said. 'Needless to say, he won't be accepting – if the question does arise!'

Matt shook his head, smiling, but his attention was caught by Jamie, who had apparently hooked up with Casey McKeegan, and who was now standing by the door to the premier stands, trying to convey, by way of hand signals, that they were going up to the Brewers' box.

'You're wanted,' Naismith said, following his gaze.