Cut Throat Read Free

occupant of the Range Rover, a youngish man with a friendly face and a shock of curly hair, leaned across and opened the passenger door. ‘Where’s the patient?’ he asked without preamble.
    â€˜Bottom field,’ the stocky girl told him.
    â€˜Okay, Sarah, jump in. We’ll go down in this. Is Bill there?’
    â€˜No, he’s not here. He’s gone to a tack auction with the Colonel. They should have been back by now. Oh, God! It would happen tonight.’
    As the girl climbed in next to the yet, Ross slipped, uninvited, into the back seat and slammed the door hastily as the vehicle lurched forward. Nobody queried his right to be there and Masters, who had remained silent throughout the exchange, watched his departure with a resigned shake of his head.
    They crossed the yard, swung left and bumped perhaps two hundred yards down a grassy track, with Sarah repeating her tale to the vet as they went. The track ended at a metal field gate, where the three of them scrambled out, leaving the Range Rover’s headlights on to illuminate the area beyond. A few strides took them to where the stricken horse lay, convulsing weakly.
    A lean, wiry figure rose to its feet at their approach and Ross could just make out the aquiline features of a young man with close-cropped dark hair and a glint of gold in one ear. Leo, he presumed.
    â€˜Hi,’ Roger said. ‘How is he now?’
    â€˜Quieter. He’s stopped thrashing about.’
    â€˜Hmm, that’s not necessarily a good sign,’ the vet said as he put his bag down and knelt at the horse’s head. ‘How long has he been like this?’
    â€˜I found him about forty minutes ago,’ Sarah told him, her voice shaking. ‘He was much worse then – thrashing about and scraping at the ground with his feet. I rang you straight away, but they said you were already out.’
    â€˜Yeah, another emergency. A difficult foaling. I came as quickly as I could.’
    â€˜What d’you think’s wrong with him?’
    â€˜Can’t say for sure,’ Roger said, shining a pocket torch into the horse’s accessible eye and then moving to listen to his heart and lungs through a stethoscope. The horse moved feebly, giving a long-drawn-out, breathy groan, and he patted it, soothingly. ‘His pupils are dilated and his pulse is rapid and very weak.’
    â€˜There’s shit all over the place,’ Leo commented. ‘I nearly slipped up in it.’
    â€˜It could be colic,’ Roger went on, moving his stethoscope to listen to Sailor’s gut. ‘But I think there’s something else. I’m worried about the salivation. It’s not usual.’
    â€˜Poisoning?’ Ross suggested.
    The vet looked up, noting his presence with a momentary frown. ‘It’s a possibility,’ he admitted. ‘All I can do at the moment is try and make him more comfortable.’ He straightened up and headed for the Range Rover. ‘I’m afraid, whatever it is, we’re probably going to lose him.’
    In the light from the vehicle, Sailor shuddered and kicked all four legs as a spasm took him. Beside Ross, Sarah made a small despairing sound, and without thinking, he put a hand out to squeeze her arm comfortingly.
    â€˜Diazepam,’ Roger said, coming back, syringe in hand. ‘An anti-convulsant. It’ll help relax his muscles.’
    The horse groaned and kicked again as he knelt to inject it.
    â€˜Poor old fella,’ he said softly.
    Less than twenty seconds later, Sailor heaved a huge, rattling sigh and relaxed.
    â€˜Ah,’ the vet said regretfully, patting the still neck. ‘That’s not the drug. I’m sorry, I’m afraid he’s gone. Is he one of the Colonel’s?’
    â€˜No. Mr Richmond’s,’ Sarah told him, staring wide-eyed at the corpse, and Ross recalled from Lindsay’s briefing that Franklin Richmond was a wealthy businessman and