Requiem for a Dealer (4 page)

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Authors: Jo Bannister

BOOK: Requiem for a Dealer
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She touched the back of his wrist with her fingertips. ‘Then maybe you should do what I did. Go and say sorry. Even if you're not quite sure what for. Even if there's not much chance of her hearing you.' She flashed him a quick, brilliant smile.
‘Especially
if there's not much chance of her hearing you.'
Daniel's face lightened too. ‘Yes, I'm sorry about that. I imagine it fairly put you off your stride when I opened my eyes.'
‘I thought you were at death's door. I only went to see you because I thought I could apologise without having to explain.'
‘Sorry,' Daniel said again.
Due to circumstances beyond his control, Daniel was well known at Dimmock General. It bought him a certain amount of licence. When he shyly explained the reason for his visit, expecting – perhaps even hoping – to be shown the door, one of the nurses took him to Intensive Care. Alison Barker was in an end bed. She didn't look as if she'd moved since Voss's photograph was taken.
‘Five minutes,' murmured the nurse. ‘And if anyone asks, you're a relative.'
Now he was here there was really nothing Daniel wanted to say to the girl. If she'd been awake he might have gently questioned her – about what she'd said, about what tragedies had befallen her. But she was comatose, and it didn't take a toxicologist to know she was nowhere near ready to wake up yet. Her face was grey, sweat beading the brow where the long brown hair was scraped back. Her eyelids looked bruised. A drip ran clear liquid into a vein inside her elbow and a plastic tube was trickle-feeding her oxygen. Somehow these vital, life-saving pieces of equipment turned her from a deeply vulnerable human being into an object, part of the hospital machinery. It seemed absurd even trying to speak to her.
But getting him in here had been a kindness and Daniel didn't want the nurses to wonder why they'd bothered. So he pulled a chair up to the foot of the bed and sat down, feeling vaguely ridiculous, hoping no one he knew would see him. He waited the five minutes he'd been given, then – with a sense of relief – got up to go.
A woman was watching from behind the glass screen. Daniel's heart tripped as if he'd been caught out in something improper. He thought the woman was Alison Barker's mother, that she'd been told he was a relative too and knew it was a lie. She must wonder who the hell he was and what he was doing here that needed disguising behind a falsehood.
In the circumstances he couldn't pass her without speaking. ‘I'm sorry if I held you up. I met Alison a few days ago. When I heard she was in here I came to see how she was.'
‘And how is she?'
The least frown gathered Daniel's light brows. Clearly he'd misunderstood: whoever the woman was, that wasn't something Alison's mother would say. ‘I don't really know,' he answered honestly. ‘She's still unconscious. Er – I'm Daniel Hood.'
‘Mary Walbrook. Ally's father was my business partner.'
Daniel looked around. ‘Is he here?'
The woman shook her head. She was a small, neat individual in a well-tailored coat and high heels. He put her in her early forties. ‘Stanley is dead,' she said plainly. ‘Ally has no family left. That's why I'm here. I thought she might need some things – clothes, toiletries. I wasn't sure there was anyone else she could ask.'
‘How did you know she was here?'
‘The police called. My number's on her phone.' Mary Walbrook's keen, intelligent eyes were openly assessing him. ‘So you and Ally had barely met but still you're here at ten o'clock on a Thursday morning when most people are otherwise engaged. What are you, the new boyfriend?'
‘Hardly. When I say we met I mean literally for five minutes. She … I …' The woman's gaze was tripping him, making him stumble. ‘She ran out in front of my car. I hit her. I didn't think she was hurt, but when she ended up in here …'
‘I was told she'd taken drugs.'
There was something about Mary Walbrook that reminded Daniel of Brodie. Not physically: she was smaller, less striking and ten years older than his friend. But there was a directness in her manner that probably came from the same place Brodie got hers: the knowledge of what she was worth in every sense including financially. Mary Walbrook was another businesswoman, another head of her household, another mover and shaker.
‘I was told that too,' he said. ‘I suppose I wanted to be sure it wasn't my fault she was here.'
‘And are you? Sure?'
It wasn't exactly aggressive, the way she addressed him. It wasn't exactly rude. It was as if she was probing him for weaknesses before deciding what kind of label to slap on him.
Daniel thought she'd got her work cut out. ‘Yes. That doesn't mean I don't care what happens to her.'
When Mary Walbrook smiled you could almost hear the crash of boots as the palace guard went from
Attention
to
At Ease.
The sculpted planes of her face relaxed and the sharpness went from her eyes. Her voice dropped half a tone and lost its edge. ‘Good. Ally could do with a friend. Before, but especially now.'
Daniel wanted to ask about Alison Barker, was looking for an excuse to stay until Mary Walbrook's visit was complete. But she just looked at the girl in the bed and shook her head. ‘She's not going to want any clothes today, is she? I'll come back tomorrow.'
Daniel fell into step beside her as she headed for the exit. Her stride was shorter than Brodie's too, and he didn't have to tilt his head to talk to her. ‘Have you come far?'
‘Peyton Parvo. About half an hour. You?'
‘I live on the seafront.' He smiled. ‘It takes me about half an hour too.'
She stared at him. ‘You
walked?'
‘Last time I drove a car I knocked someone down,' he said ruefully.
‘I'll drop you off.' It wasn't an offer so much as a statement.
‘It's out of your way.'
‘It's five minutes out of my way. It's of no consequence.'
Daniel went to thumb for the lift but the woman was already halfway down the stairs. He trotted after her. ‘Can you tell me about Alison? What sort of person she is, what sort of life she leads. I suppose, what got her into this situation.'
Mary stopped on a middle step and fixed him with her gaze. Her bright hazel eyes were indignant. ‘Why should I tell you anything about Alison? What entitles you to know things about her that she hasn't chosen to tell you?'
She was right, of course. Embarrassed, Daniel nodded. ‘I'm sorry, I don't mean to pry. Well, actually I suppose I
do
mean to pry, but only in the hope I can help. When we met she said …some things. I know, she'd just bounced off a car, she probably wasn't thinking too clearly, but she believed someone was trying to hurt her. Could she be right? Has something
happened that would make her think that?'
Mary took a deep breath and walked on, more slowly than before. ‘Mr Hood, you've come in at the tail-end of a family tragedy. Ally's been through hell these last few months, it's no wonder she's paranoid. She lost everything that mattered to her - her father, her job, her horses, her home. And then she pretty much lost touch with reality as well. Whatever she said to you, it would be a kindness to forget it.'
‘What happened?'
For a moment she debated whether to tell him. Then she did. ‘We had a run of bad luck. We almost lost the yard. Stanley and I were partners in a bloodstock dealership. Horses,' she said in plain English, seeing his confusion. ‘Ally worked with us, on the yard and as our show rider. It was an advertisement for us and an opportunity for her. But when the bailiffs came knocking we had to sell everything that was worth money. Keeping the jumpers was a luxury we could no longer afford. The Barkers' house and my cottage went as well. The yard pulled through, but only just.'
‘She must have been very upset.'
‘Of course she was,' said Mary sharply, ‘she'd been very successful with those horses. She was being considered for the British show-jumping team. And she'd done it all herself with just some promising young horses that came onto a dealer's yard. Now other people were going to benefit from her work and her skill, and even the money was owed elsewhere – she didn't see a penny of it. Of course she was upset. But she knew it was necessary. She'd have done anything for her father, the way he'd always done everything for her.'
‘And then he died?'
‘Yes. She gave up her career for Stanley and then Stanley died. Three months ago. She was inconsolable. I was afraid for her sanity. And I suppose' – she glanced back the way they'd come – ‘I was right.'
‘It makes sense to you, then,' said Daniel. ‘That she'd take an overdose.'
Mary Walbrook sighed. ‘I'm afraid it does, Mr Hood. The state she's been in the last few weeks I've kept waiting for the
phone to ring. It was no surprise at all when the police called me.'
Daniel was nodding slowly. ‘What about her mother? Does she know what's happened?'
‘Ally's mother died when she was three. A brain tumour. It was always Ally and Stanley, as far back as she could remember. Now she's alone.'
‘She must have friends?'
‘She
had
friends,' agreed Mary. ‘Six months ago she was on the crest of a wave and she had a lot of friends. When the yard got into trouble, suddenly she hadn't quite as many. None of us had. When she lost the horses a few more disappeared. But her real friends, the ones who cared about her, hung on in there until she made it impossible for them. She was crazy after Stanley's death, thrashing around looking for someone to blame. People tried to help her – she wouldn't let them. She flung wild accusations at everyone. One by one she exhausted their sympathy. Her behaviour caused a lot of hurt. In the end people walked away. There's only so much abuse anyone's prepared to take.'
Daniel gave a sombre smile. ‘So why are you here?'
The woman chuckled. ‘Because if we're not exactly family we nearly are, and family can't cut and run when the going gets tough. I knew what she was going through, I made allowances for it. Somehow we managed to stay on speaking terms after Stanley's death. Until just now I thought I was the only person left who cared what became of her.'
It wasn't an accusation but he defended himself as if it was. ‘She just seemed so – alone. So angry and alone. And I was afraid that she was in danger.'
‘Like I said, she became very difficult. She thought the world was against her.'
‘She was fantasising?' said Daniel. ‘You're sure?'
‘As sure as I can be. When her father died she wanted the police to launch a murder inquiry. They listened politely to what she had to say but there was no sense in it, no basis in fact. They were sorry for her too, but they couldn't give her the kind of help she wanted and she wasn't interested in the kind of help she
needed. I begged her to go for counselling. It was the closest we came to a bust-up. She slapped my face. It was good advice but I knew before I opened my mouth that she wouldn't take it.'
They'd reached the front of the hospital. Mary Walbrook led the way to her car. Daniel was expecting something racier than this elderly Land Rover. He caught himself staring and looked away, hoping she hadn't noticed. Of course, she had. ‘There are two reasons I don't drive a Ferrari. One is, it wouldn't tow a horse trailer. The other is, I can't afford it.'
‘Do you ride horses too?'
‘Not so much these days. The ground gets harder once you pass thirty. That's why I stopped competing and started dealing.'
Daniel knew nothing about horses, and it seemed he knew nothing about dealers either. He thought they were men in flat hats, checked suits and canary-coloured waistcoats. He thought smoking cigars was probably compulsory. ‘In show-jumpers?'
‘Competition horses generally. What we've started calling sports horses – they're worth more that way. Show-jumpers, eventers, dressage horses, hunters. All the way from the Hickstead or Badminton hopeful down to children's schoolmasters. There are a lot of horses out there, but most of them are rubbish. You can waste a lot of time and money looking for a good one. Or you can pay me to find it for you.'
Daniel laughed. Mary Walbrook raised a surprised eyebrow. Chastened, he explained. ‘I have a friend who does the same sort of thing. Not with horses but just about everything else. She calls her business
Looking For Something?
and uses exactly the same sales-pitch.'
‘That's because it's true.' Mary pulled out of the car park and onto the ring road. ‘The average person wanting to buy a riding horse will travel a thousand miles to look at half a dozen. There'll be something wrong with five of them. None of them will match the advertised description. The 16.2 warmblood will be a 15.3 Thoroughbred ex-hurdler with no mouth that won't go anywhere on its own. The nine-year-old all-rounder will be fifteen with spavins and navicular disease. The promising new – comer, potential in any sphere, needs bringing on, will have been overworked and overfaced before it was six and now needs
a JCB to shove it into a ring.'
Daniel smiled. ‘You exaggerate.'
‘Not even slightly,' said the woman. ‘In fact, there'll be things wrong with the sixth horse too, but after the other five he'll look great and you'll heave a sigh of relief. You'll ride him round a couple of times, and when he doesn't try to hang you in a tree and the vet says he's got the right number of lungs you'll hand over your hard-earned cash and think you've done pretty well. The likelihood is, though, he'll have problems that either limit what you can do with him or mean he'll be on the market again within a year. He might be a good enough horse, just not right for you. He might be a nice horse but not up to the standard you want to compete at. Or he might be monster once he's taken away from a yard where it habitually took three professionals to get the tack on and sedatives to get him shod.'

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