Elly Griffiths - A Room Full Of Bones

‘I wouldn’t,’ she says. ‘She might be at the hospital or trying to get some sleep.’

‘I’ll text then,’ says Clough. ‘Bloody hell. The boss hasn’t had a day off sick in his life.’

‘I believe you,’ says Judy. Nelson famously even hates going on holiday.

‘I saved his life once,’ says Clough.

‘I know you did,’ says Judy. She feels unaccountably sorry for him.

‘Bloody hell,’ says Clough again. ‘I can’t believe it.’ And they drive on in silence through the skeletal trees.

Sunday doesn’t seem to be a day of rest at the racing stables. They pass a line of horses in the lane, and when Judy parks her car by Caroline’s cottage they see stable lads leading more horses into a large round building with wooden doors.

‘What the hell’s that?’ asks Clough.

‘It’s a horse walker,’ says Judy knowledgeably, having learnt this on her previous visit. ‘They put the horses in there for exercise or to calm them down.’

They watch as the horses are led into separate compartments and move forward as the machine starts working. It’s rather like being stuck in a never-ending revolving door.

‘Cruel, that’s what I call it,’ says Clough.

‘The horses love it,’ says Judy.

Aside from a few curious glances, the stable lads ignore them, but, when they enter the yard Len Harris is waiting for them. His stance, jodhpur’d legs wide apart, does not look particularly welcoming.

‘We’re here to see Randolph Smith,’ says Judy, showing her ID.

‘Well, he’s not here,’ says Harris. ‘Doesn’t bother himself about the horses, Mr Randolph doesn’t. He’ll be up at the house.’

‘Can we walk through the yard?’ asks Judy.

‘I’d rather you didn’t,’ says Harris. ‘There are some sensitive animals here and they might be upset.’

It didn’t seem to worry them before, thinks Judy. She doesn’t like having to retreat, she feels that it makes her lose face in front of Clough. Her colleague, though, is only too happy to be away from the terrifying beasts.

‘The size of them,’ he keeps saying, as they take the path behind the yard wall. ‘They’re massive. It’s not right.’

‘I think they’re beautiful,’ says Judy. ‘I wanted to be a jockey once.’

Clough laughs scornfully. ‘They don’t have girl jockeys.’

‘Yes they do,’ retorts Judy. ‘Women jockeys have competed in the Grand National.’

‘You’re too big.’

‘Thanks a lot.’

‘You know what I mean. You have to be tiny to be a jockey.’

Judy realises that he’s trying to backtrack. Nevertheless, she can’t help being pleased when he steps off the path and straight into a pile of horse manure.

Randolph is waiting outside the house. Somebody must have told him to expect them. Judy, who didn’t meet him on her previous visit, is surprised how handsome he is. He looks just like the hero in some Regency romance, an effect heightened by his rather long black hair and by his slightly distracted manner. Clough just thinks that he looks like a tosser.

Randolph shakes Judy’s hand. ‘Thanks so much for coming. Where’s DCI Nelson?’

‘He’s not available,’ says Judy. ‘I’m DS Johnson and this is DS Clough.’ She can see Randolph looking at Clough. Probably thinks he’s in charge just because he’s a man.

‘Let’s go into the house,’ says Randolph. ‘It’ll be easier to talk there.’ Safer , he seems to imply.

They follow Randolph into the house, Clough surreptitiously wiping his feet. Judy, like Nelson before her, is surprised at how modern the house is. There seem to be no heirlooms or relics of the ancient house of Smith. Everything is as shiny and characterless as if it has just stepped out of a catalogue. Randolph leads the way through a gleaming modern kitchen, all brushed steel and red cabinets (no mention of coffee), and into a study crammed with trophies and pictures of horses. Is it his father’s study, wonders Judy. If so, does it seem strange to be receiving visitors here so soon after the old man’s death? Or is this what Randolph Smith has been waiting for all his life?

Randolph sits himself behind the desk. ‘Ma’s out,’ he says, though neither of them has mentioned his mother’s whereabouts. ‘Caroline’s off somewhere with her weirdo friends. So we won’t be interrupted.’

‘What about your other sister?’ asks Judy, remembering the disembodied voice. For fuck’s sake Randolph…

‘Oh, Tammy’s gone hot-footing it back to London. She can’t stand too much of us country types. She’ll be back for the funeral.’

‘Do you have a date?’ ventures Judy.

‘Thursday,’ says Randolph, looking down at his hands. ‘It’s on Thursday. Thursday the twelfth.’

He lapses into silence. Judy looks at Clough.

‘You said something about new evidence,’ she prompts.

‘Yes,’ says Randolph. His eyes, which Judy had thought were black, are actually very dark blue. He runs his hand through his hair, making it stand up in an Elvis quiff.

‘Look. Officer. I don’t know you very well and what I have to tell you might sound strange but I promise you I’m not on drugs or… or having a nervous breakdown or anything. It’s just that some fairly odd things have been happening and I think they might be connected to Dad’s death. That’s all.’ He blinks at them engagingly. Judy smiles at him.

‘Why don’t you tell us?’ she says.

‘Well, it all started a few weeks ago. I was coming home after a late night and I didn’t want to disturb the old dears so I came in through the back gates – where the old house used to be – and drove through the park. It was about two or three in the morning, I was just coming through the wood, where the all-weather track ends, and suddenly I saw these three men. I couldn’t believe it at first but they were definitely there, in a clearing between the trees.’

‘What where they doing?’ asks Clough.

‘Well this sounds weird, but they had long sticks with sort of skulls on the end of them and they were dancing.’

‘Dancing?’

‘I know it sounds crazy,’ says Randolph, rather miserably. ‘But there was a fire and they were dancing round it. They heard my car and looked round. One of them waved his stick at me and shouted something.’

‘What did you do? Did you speak to them?’

‘No. I know it sounds pathetic but I just wanted to get the hell out of there. I drove off. Left my car outside Caroline’s house and went to bed. But I went back in the morning and the remains of the fire were still there. And there were these weird patterns drawn in the ashes.’

‘What sort of patterns?’

‘I can’t really describe them. Wavy lines and circles and star shapes. But they had definitely been drawn deliberately.’

‘And have you ever seen these men again?’ asks Judy, ignoring Clough, who is trying to exchange significant glances.

‘No, but about a week later I came home late again.’ He laughs. ‘I’m afraid I’m rather a nocturnal animal, Detective Sergeant. I left my car outside Caroline’s, and I thought I heard something in the yard. I went to check but I thought it was just a fox or maybe that infernal cat. There was no one there but the security lights were on. And then I saw it. A dead snake nailed up over one of the horse’s stalls.’

‘A dead snake?’

‘Yes. A grass snake, I think. I took it down and threw it in the compost heap.’

‘Did you tell anyone?’

‘No.’ He pauses. ‘The thing is, my father had a particular fear of snakes. When he was little he had this ghoulish Irish nanny who used to tell him ghost stories, but she also used to tell him stories about snakes. You know that before Saint Patrick came along Ireland used to be infested with snakes? That’s what she said anyway. Anyway, she told him that, one day, a great snake – as green as poison – was going to come for him.’