Gently at a Gallop Read Free Page A

of course, you’ve checked it.’
    ‘First thing,’ Banham said. ‘I went over to Clayfield myself. But none of their horses was out on Tuesday, there was just Mrs Rising teaching the children.’ He passed his hand over his brow. ‘Frankly, this is the problem,’ he said. ‘There aren’t many horses near High Hale, and none of them were being ridden on Tuesday.’
    Gently shrugged. ‘Wasn’t there one on a farm, somewhere?’ Banham looked at Docking, who looked at Bayfield.
    ‘The Home Farm, High Hale,’ Bayfield said promptly. ‘It’s a stallion, belongs to the farmer, Nat Creke. Says it was in its loose-box all day, just went out for exercise in the evening. I think he was telling the truth, sir.’
    ‘Then there’s a gelding at the Old Rectory, sir,’ Docking said. ‘Belongs to a Mr Brooke, an accountant. It was in its paddock. Several people saw it.’
    Gently nodded slowly. ‘And that’s the lot?’
    ‘Unless someone fetched a horse in from elsewhere, sir.’
    ‘And we’re quite certain that a horse and nothing else killed Berney?’
    Docking stared. Then he opened his file.
    In effect, they’d called in a vet; but the photographs showed what little doubt there could have been. Berney’s mangled body amongst the trampled heather evoked a frightful image of what had taken place. The horse had reared and come down on Berney, punching its hooves through flesh and bone; several times. Chest and skull were crushed, and a cruel trademark left in the face. Tantalizingly, this was the only hoofprint. The packed, gravelly soil showed nothing but scuff-marks. A report attached to the photographs revealed that a wide area had been searched with no better luck.
    ‘Could you get a car to the spot?’
    ‘Not into the valley, sir,’ Docking said. ‘You could perhaps get a Land-Rover somewhere near it.’
    ‘Any signs of that?’
    Docking shook his head.
    So that was it. There had to be a horse – local or imported, they’d have to find him. Though it meant searching every shed and farm building in the district, and perhaps checking horses over half the county.
    Gently finished the tepid remains of his second lager. ‘Let’s get back to Berney,’ he said. ‘If Berney was running true to form, then there’s one person who’d probably know it. What does Mrs Berney tell us?’
    ‘Not very much,’ Banham said, mopping. ‘I’ve had a couple of talks with the lady, and either she doesn’t know or she’s not saying. The way she tells it Berney had reformed, had never looked at another woman since he was married. It was all sweetness and light, with him having found the right woman at last.’
    ‘How does she account for Berney’s actions on Tuesday?’
    ‘She just about called me a liar,’ Banham said. ‘She won’t believe he booked a room in Starmouth, nor that he never intended going to London. Berney was hoaxed, that’s her line. Somebody kidded him about the board meeting. Then, when somehow he tumbled to it, they lured him on to the heath and did him.’
    Gently hesitated. ‘He did book that room?’
    ‘Yes. The manager of the Britannic knew Berney by sight. When he saw the paper he gave us a ring, and we collected “Timson’s” case. It was Berney’s.’
    ‘Intriguing,’ Gently said. He twirled his empty glass for a moment. ‘If Mrs Berney were only partly right, it might account for a point that’s been puzzling me.’
    ‘What point is that?’ Banham asked.
    ‘Berney’s behaviour,’ Gently said. ‘It sticks out the more because of what you’ve been telling me – that Berney was a sure-fire, hell-bent womanizer. Yet here we have him making extravagant arrangements, driving miles, waiting for hours – and for what? He isn’t even going to spend the night with this woman. At the most, he’s going to roll her on the heath. He could have taken her in on his afternoon’s stroll.’
    Banham shifted uneasily, his chair creaking. ‘Perhaps he couldn’t shake off his