The Stabbing in the Stables Read Free Page A

and wait there.
    On the other hand…How were the police to know that she wasn’t just another incompetent, invisible woman in late middle age? In most recent dealings she’d had with them, that’s how she had been treated. There could be any number of reasons why an incompetent, invisible woman in late middle age might go through that open door. She might be looking for bandages, cloth, something to staunch the wounds of the victim, unaware that her ministrations would come too late. She might be looking inside the wooden building for someone to help. She might go there to hide from the homicidal maniac who had just committed one crime and was about to commit another. She might…
    Almost involuntarily, Carole felt her footsteps following the torch beam towards the open door.
    Â 
    The lack of lights in the Fleets’ house was a discouraging omen, and repeated ringing of the bell confirmed that no one was at home.
    For a second, Jude contemplated ringing the police from their doorstep, but quickly decided not to. Maybe, after all, Carole could be persuaded into a little preliminary private investigation before the call was made…?
    But the walk back from house to stables was interrupted by the beam of high headlights turning into the car park. Jude stopped, thinking the Fleets might have returned, but quickly recognised the Range Rover as it drew up beside her and the driver’s-side window was lowered.
    â€œJude…so sorry. Have you been waiting hours? I just got horribly delayed.”
    Even though flushed and flustered, Sonia Dalrymple’s face was still beautiful. She was a tall, leggy blonde in her early forties, with a fabulous figure toned by riding and a metabolism that never seemed to put on an ounce. Her voice had the upper-class ease of someone who had never doubted her own position in society. No one meeting her would ever be able to associate such a goddess with the deep insecurities that had brought her to Jude in search of healing.
    â€œNo, don’t worry, there’s no problem.” As her client doused the lights and got out of the car, Jude realised how inappropriate, in the circumstances, her words were.
    Sonia Dalrymple was wearing cowboy boots and the kind of designer jeans that had been so gentrified as to lose any connection with their origins as working clothes. She had a white roll-neck sweater under a blue-and-white striped body-warmer. The blonde hair was scrunched back into an untidy ponytail.
    â€œAgain I’m terribly sorry. Come on, let’s see how old Chieftain—”
    â€œSonia, something’s happened.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œI was just trying to tell the Fleets…at least I assume they live in that house…”
    â€œYes, they do.”
    â€œâ€¦but there’s no one in. There’s…Sonia, there’s been an accident in the stables.”
    The woman’s face paled. “Oh, God. Is Chieftain all right?”
    â€œYes. All the horses are fine.”
    Sonia’s reaction of relief seemed excessive to Jude, but then she wasn’t a horse owner.
    â€œNo, I’m afraid it’s a human being who’s suffered the…accident.”
    â€œWho?” The anxiety was at least as great as if had been for Chieftain.
    â€œNo idea. It’s a man.”
    â€œWhat’s happened to him?”
    â€œHe’s dead.”
    â€œOh, but…how?”
    â€œIt looks very much as if he’s been stabbed to death.”
    â€œYou mean murder?”
    Jude nodded grimly. “Come and have a look.”
    Inside the stables Carole stood exactly where Jude had left her, torch modestly pointing downwards. Sonia was hastily introduced, and Carole moved the torch beam to spotlight the dead man.
    â€œOh, my God!” A deep sob shuddered through Sonia’s body.
    â€œYou recognise him?” asked Jude.
    â€œYes. This is—or was—Walter Fleet.”

3
    O NCE SUMMONED, THE