Nick Oldham - Dead Heat

‘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.’

‘Bloody hell,’ said Henry.

‘Yeah, he was in a real state — and so was Charlotte.’

‘I can imagine. . yet she came riding?’

‘I thought it best. She enjoys it and it stops her dwelling on it for a while.’

‘She did look unhappy,’ Henry recalled.

‘She was — is — but I know the other girls will drag her out of it.’ Tara pulled a packet of cigarettes out of her pocket and offered one to Henry, who shook his head. Smoking was one of the few bad habits he did not have. She lit one and took a deep drag, exhaling the lungful of smoke with obvious relief. Henry watched her smoke. ‘It’s the third horse we’ve had mutilated.’

‘All in the stables overnight?’

‘Yes.’

‘What’s your security like?’

‘Good. At least I thought so.’

‘Do you have staff at the stables?’

‘Yeah — but not on site.’

Henry suggested, ‘Have you upset anyone recently?’

‘Not that I know of.’ She shrugged and smoked some more. ‘I’ll pay you if you come and investigate for us. A grand up front, even if all you do is come along and ask a few pertinent questions of different people. Then, if you stay longer charge me whatever you want to charge. I need to get this sorted and the local cops or our own security people don’t seem interested or capable.’

‘Your own security people?’

‘Mmm. . tossers.’

‘What do you mean, your own security people?’

‘My husband’s businesses need security on the sites he owns. We use them for the stables, too.’

‘What does your husband do?’

‘Mainly he’s a building contractor. Has other interests, too.’ She looked unimpressed as she spoke. ‘Haulage, import and export, all sorts of boring crap, building-site clearance. It’s the building sites that need security to stop pilfering.’

‘Who is your husband?’

‘John Lloyd Wickson.’

Now things made more sense to Henry. Pieces were slotting into place. He did not know Tara Wickson, but knew of John Lloyd Wickson, certainly by reputation.

Suddenly, interrupting his thoughts, came a burst of laughter as the three girls, Kelly, Charlotte and Leanne, appeared from the stables. They were red-faced, breathless and happy.

Quickly, Tara said, ‘If you come along and take a look at things, the payment will be discreet. Nothing official. Cash in hand. A grand, minimum.’

‘Dad! Dad!’ Leanne shouted, running towards him. ‘What about McDonald’s. . please, please, pleeeease!’ The other two girls were right behind her.

‘What about it, Mum?’ Charlotte said to Tara.

‘I don’t mind, but where’s Kelly’s mum or dad? I’ll take you all, then drop you all back off at home — if you don’t mind, Henry, and if Kelly’s parents don’t have a problem.’

‘Sure,’ said Henry. ‘No probs.’

‘Here’s my mum,’ Kelly exclaimed and ran off towards her. Charlotte and Leanne drifted away, chattering excitedly. Leaving Henry and Tara.

‘So. . will you do it?’ Her eyes pleaded with him and he went weak. Women did that to him: one look and he was hooked. He was a tart.

‘I really don’t think I can promise anything,’ he said with a new-found inner strength, which immediately wilted under Tara’s saddened gaze. ‘OK, OK, I’ll come and have a look round, but as much as I’d like a thousand pounds in my back pocket, I’ll have to forego any payment, thanks very much. It could make things a bit. . difficult,’ he said, screwing up his face. ‘These things are apt to get out.’

‘You are too honest for your own good,’ Tara smiled. She handed him a card with her phone numbers on it. ‘Mobile and home,’ she said, her eyes holding his again. She also described exactly where she lived and how to get to the house. ‘Maybe I could pay you in kind,’ she said mischievously.

So Henry was right after all. She did want to go to bed with him.

‘Surprise visitors!’

Kate Christie sat up sharply and looked out of the front window. She and Henry were sat with trays on their laps, eating Sunday tea whilst watching the natural history segment on BBC2. This had become a ritual over the last couple of months. Just the two of them, no daughters. They always seemed to be out at friends. Henry had grown to appreciate this time with Kate — preparing the meal together, drinking wine as they did, then sitting side by side on the settee, usually in silence as they ate and watched nature in the raw. It was something he had never done before on a regular basis, chilling out with her, and he found himself to be slightly annoyed to be interrupted by the unexpected guests, whoever they were. He and Kate were actually divorced, but were back together and had been for some time. Things were going pretty well. One day soon, he would be asking her to re-marry him. He tore his eyes away from a pride of lions feasting on an unfortunate antelope.