Simon Brett - The Stabbing in the Stables

“To have it out with Walter Fleet?” Jude suggested.

“Yes. Yes, exactly that.”

“So what happened?” she asked gently. “What time did you get there?”

“About…I don’t know…quarter to six, maybe?”

All too vividly, Jude could picture the scene. The shock has diluted in the weeks since Walter’s death, but Nicky’s words made her confront it again.

“And there were no lights on?” she asked. “The stables were dark?”

“Yes.”

“Exactly as they were when I got there about a quarter of an hour later.”

“Mm.”

“And there were no lights on in the Fleets’ house either?”

“What?”

“Well, presumably you went to the house first? You’d have expected to find Walter there, rather than in the stables, particularly if there were no lights on in the stables.”

“Hm.” He seemed thrown for a minute, then went on. “Yes, I suppose I should have gone to the house first, but I wasn’t thinking very straight. I was so angry about this nasty smoothie coming onto Sonia that I…Anyway, the stable gates were unlocked-”

“Just as I found them.”

“Right. And I went in, I suppose you could say to have some kind of revenge on Walter.”

He was silent, and Jude felt a momentary pang of fear. Was Nicky about to confess to the murder? And if he did, what kind of danger would his confession put her in?

But no, Nicky Dalrymple was simply practising his narrative technique. This was exactly how he would retell his denouement when he did it for the benefit of the police. He slowed his voice down for the final line, and gulped uncomfortably at the recollection. “But then I found the body lying in the middle of the yard, the blood on his face and chest glistening in the moonlight…and I knew that Alec Potton had already had a far more extreme revenge on Walter than any that I had planned.”

“How do you know Alec Potton killed Walter? Did you see Alec there?”

“No. But he did it. Maybe you haven’t heard? Alec Potton has confessed to the police that he stabbed Walter Fleet.”

“Ah.” Jude made the monosyllable light and noncommittal, neither confirming nor denying that she already knew about the confession. “Well, good luck when you tell all that to the police. I don’t think they’re going to be terribly pleased about the fact that you lied to them.”

“No.” But he didn’t sound too worried. In fact, relieved by unburdening himself to Jude, Nicky Dalrymple appeared to have regained some of his old confidence. “Probably get a rap over the knuckles for my little white lie. But at least I haven’t done anything worse than lying. There’s nothing else the police can get me for.”

Oh no? thought Jude. There are crimes other than murder, you know. And, in the view of some, no less serious. Like domestic violence, for one.

“I don’t know, Carole. I don’t think Nicky was telling out-and-out lies. There was some truth in there. I mean, he’d got himself into a position where he had to admit that he was at Long Bamber Stables on the relevant evening.”

“Or you had got him into a position where he had to make that admission.”

“Whichever.”

“No, there’s a big difference. From what you say, I think you played him very skilfully, Jude. Credit where credit’s due.”

“Well, thank you. So yes, Nicky Dalrymple was at Long Bamber Stables, but I’m not entirely convinced about the reasons he gave me for his being there.”

“You’re not suggesting he actually killed Walter?”

“I don’t think so. His description of how he found the body was pretty accurate, and he did seem genuinely affected when he spoke about it. No, I don’t think Nicky Dalrymple’s our murderer.”

“So Alec Potton is.”

“I’m not yet entirely convinced about that either. Mind you, there is one useful detail that Nicky’s given me.”

“What’s that?”

“The timing of the murder. I’ve assumed-I don’t know whether the police have too-that the person I heard leaving the yard was Walter Fleet’s murderer. But now I know that person was Nicky Dalrymple. Well, the stabbing could have happened at any time after the last owner left the yard, which I think was established to be about five o’clock. Maybe the police have already worked that out from the postmortem.”

“I doubt it,” said Carole, recalling her Home Office experience. “I don’t think time of death can be established quite that accurately.”

“Hm. But it does open out the time frame a bit, doesn’t it? Raises the possibility of other people being at Long Bamber Stables between five and six that evening.”

“Yes. What we really need to do, Jude, is to establish some alibis.”

“Which I’m sure the police have already done.” She ground her teeth in frustration at their lack of information. “I wish I knew what Alec Potton was doing during the relevant hour that evening, and sadly the police are the only people who could tell us about that.”

Carole chuckled. “Oh, come on, he’s the one person who we do know about-or at least in his case we know what the police think he was doing. If he’s confessed, he must have told them that he was at Long Bamber Stables, stabbing Walter Fleet.”

“Yes, I suppose so. Oh, if only the police would let us have access to their files.” Jude smiled lugubriously across at her neighbour. “No fun being an amateur detective, is it, Carole?”

“Hello, Jude?”

“Yes?”

“It’s Sonia. Listen, I’ve just had a rather worrying phone call from Imogen Potton.”

“Oh?”

“Apparently she’s staying with her grandmother in Northampton, but she’s very upset.”

“Hardly surprising, given her father’s being charged with murder.”

“But that doesn’t seem to be what’s upsetting her. In fact, she didn’t mention Alec at all. First, she asked if I was all right. Then she wanted to know if Nicky was home. And, finally, she got round to what was really upsetting her. She’s worried about Conker.”

“There’s nothing wrong with Conker, is there?”

“No, no, she’s fine. I’ve checked with Lucinda. It’s just, you know, Imogen feels very close to that pony.”

“Yes,” Jude agreed. “She channels most of her emotions through her. Displacement anxiety. The pony’s easier to deal with than her parent’s divorce-and no doubt her father’s murder charge.”

“But Imogen’s terribly worried about her.”

“Anything specific?”

“She keeps going on about the Horse Ripper.”

“Why? There hasn’t been another incident, has there?”

“Not so far as I know. But there were a lot around this area. For some reason Imogen’s got it into her head that Conker’s going to be the next victim.”

“And she feels that, stuck up in Northampton, she can’t do anything about it?”

“Exactly. Oh, I’m sure it’s just an adolescent girl’s overactive imagination at work, but she does sound in a bad state. I’ve tried to reassure her, but I don’t think I’m much use at the moment to anyone.”

“Don’t say that, Sonia. Do you have Imogen’s grandmother’s number?”

“No, but Immy rang me on the mobile. I’ve got that.” She gave it to Jude. “If you wouldn’t mind ringing her…”

“I’ll try, but she didn’t have much time for me when we last met.”

“Please.”

“All right.”

“I’m sorry, Jude, I feel I should do something, but I just know if I suggested the idea, Nicky would forbid me from having anything to do with any of the Pottons.”

“By the way, did he tell you he came to see me?”

“Nicky?” At the other end of the phone, Sonia Dalrymple sounded thunderstruck. “Why on earth would he come to see you?”