‘Your daughter’s riding is coming along well.’
‘Thanks,’ said Henry. ‘She’s really keen.’
‘Charlotte’s been riding for some years now and wasn’t getting any better. That’s why we decided to bring her here so she could see how other girls were getting along, maybe help her get better.’
‘Oh,’ said Henry, uncomprehending.
‘Since meeting Leanne she has improved.’
‘Good,’ said Henry, still puzzled about what was going on here. ‘She was at another riding school, then?’ he probed.
‘No, we gave her lessons at home.’
‘In the living room?’
‘No,’ she laughed. ‘We have stables and a small indoor arena.’
‘Oh, right, of course you do.’
‘You’re confused. .’ The woman held out her hand. Henry shook it. It was hot from holding the coffee. ‘My name’s Tara. . Tara Wickson.’
‘Pleased to meet you. I’m Henry Christie.’
She had shrugged when she said her name, in a gesture which seemed to suggest Henry should know who she was.
He did not and knew she would have to reveal more if anything further was likely to dawn on him. ‘Wow. . you’ve got your own stables,’ he said for something to say, trying to sound impressed.
‘Yes, we have a couple of race horses and some jumpers.’
Henry’s face showed shock and distaste. He could no longer hold back his feelings.
‘You don’t like horses,’ Tara said with a lop-sided smile.
‘Can’t think of one horse on my Christmas card list. I suppose they’re a necessary evil, especially if you’re learning to ride.’
Tara Wickson’s nice smile continued unabated. She looked into his eyes. He gulped and glanced quickly down at his hands and coughed uncomfortably. He checked the time. Twenty minutes to go. Then he thought that maybe he was being stupid and arrogant. Just because a woman looked directly at him did not mean she was gagging to go to bed with him. You arrogant bastard, he thought about himself and raised his eyes. She was far too young for him anyway.
She was sipping her coffee, her eyes still on him over the rim of her mug. Nice eyes.
‘You’re a policeman, aren’t you? Charlotte said Leanne had told her. A detective? Am I right?’
‘Sort of.’ He suddenly felt quite awkward. What else had Leanne told Charlotte?
‘Are you on special leave, or something?’
Henry guffawed. ‘Or something,’ he confirmed coldly.
‘Oh sorry, I’m treading on thin ice here, aren’t I?’
Henry opened his mouth to say something, thought better of it, shut it and grinned.
‘Leanne hasn’t actually said very much, in case you’re worrying and planning to beat her soundly later.’
‘Kids talk,’ he said philosophically. ‘I wouldn’t want to gag her.’ Then he made a snap decision and didn’t know why. He said, ‘Yes, I am a policeman. I am a detective, but it’s not special leave. I’m suspended from duty. I’m being investigated, you might say.’
Tara leaned back and eyed him thoughtfully. ‘For dishonesty?’ she asked bluntly.
He shook his head. ‘Stupidity. . lack of judgement. . disobeying a lawful order.’ Then he quickly clammed up. Why was he telling her this crap?
‘To be honest, I already know,’ she said.
‘Oh.’ He put his mug to his mouth and swigged from what was an empty receptacle. ‘Mm,’ he murmured, glaring into the mug.
‘You’re very prickly about it. I can understand that. It can’t be an easy time for you.’
‘No, but I’ve had lots of holidays out of it.’
‘So Leanne said.’
‘I will beat her soundly after all,’ Henry decided.
‘Are you bored?’
‘What? Here and now? Or with the situation I’m in?’
‘Bored by the amount of time you now have to kill.’
‘It is getting to me. Good at first, all that time to loll about, then it begins to pall somewhat. A bit like retirement, I would think.’
‘How do you fill your time?’
Henry looked at her square on. His expression told her that enough was enough. Even he wasn’t sure how they had got here, but he felt it was time to call a halt to the conversation. He had said enough to someone who was just a stranger. ‘How do you fill yours?’ he asked.
She blinked and said openly, ‘Shopping. Dining out. Sex. The usual, you know? When you’re rich, that is. Oh, horses, too.’
‘You’re rich then? You wanna tell me?’
‘Not really.’ Her voice was suddenly as tight as a closed drawbridge.
‘Shall we talk about the kids?’ Henry suggested, picking up on her vibes.
‘No,’ she snapped, then relaxed. ‘Look. . time to come clean, Mr Christie. I’m actually not just here for personal chit-chat, as pleasant as that may be. I’ll tell you my problem and I wonder if you could help me.’
‘Tell you what, let’s do it over a new cup of coffee each. I’m old-fashioned like that.’ He picked up the mugs and bought two new brews.
‘Thanks.’ She curled her fingers around the mug again like it was a comfort blanket. Henry noticed her nails were beautifully manicured and wondered if caring for her body was in her list of activities. She looked exceptionally well groomed. ‘I’ll be honest, I have asked around a bit about you before coming to see you. You come highly recommended.’
‘By who?’
She tapped her nose. ‘Can’t say. . but what it is, we have a few problems up at the stables and I wondered if you’d investigate them for me.’
‘I’m a cop on suspension. Stripped of all powers. I don’t investigate things any more. . and if it’s something the police should be looking at, why don’t you call in the local bobbies?’
‘They have been in but they’re not interested. Things to do with horses are obviously not on their priority lists, or whatever they call them. The first time I called the police, they took three days to come.’
‘Doesn’t surprise me,’ he said, having heard far worse stories, ‘But I take it it’s a fairly minor matter then? Why not employ a private investigator?’
‘Could do, I suppose — but here you are, a cop without portfolio and you’ve got time on your hands. I’d really appreciate it.’
‘It would be remiss of me, at this point, if I didn’t ask what the problem is,’ he said, trying to show some interest. Whatever it was, warning bells were ringing in his ears, because it would cause further complications in his already overcomplicated life, particularly if what she was asking him to do conflicted with him being suspended from duty.
Tara leaned down by her side and reached for the small sandwich box she had earlier put on the floor. She placed it on the table between them and prised the lid off. Inside was something wrapped in tin foil. She opened whatever it was whilst it was still in situ in the box, folding back the corners of the foil to reveal its contents.
Henry did not know what he was looking at. Even so, his guts churned and a shiver shot through him. It looked like a piece of minute steak, but with hairs on it and was triangular in shape, and deep brown, almost black in colour.
‘What the hell’s that?’ he recoiled.
‘A horse’s ear.’
It was a long time since Henry had felt queasy at the sight of anything. The job of being a cop had seen to the complete desensitization of his psyche, but a severed horse’s ear had certainly hit the mark.
The offending item was back in its tin foil, back in the sandwich box and out of sight. He and Tara Wickson were outside in the fresh air, walking back to the stable blocks. The lesson was due to finish shortly and the girls would soon be reappearing.
‘Do you carry that with you all the time? It’s certainly an effective calling card.’
‘No, I don’t.’
They walked on in silence until they reached a corner of a stable block where they paused. Tara leaned against the wall, drawing up one foot.
‘It belongs to Charlotte’s favourite horse, Chopin. A big, bay gelding. Soft as the day is long. When she went to see him this morning, first thing, she found him with his ear cut off and knife slashes across his rump and his tail chopped to pieces. There was blood everywhere. Poor animal, he was terrified.’