Judas Horse Page 6

  Oaks couldn’t stop grinning as they walked back to the car. ‘Sirrr!’ he laughed in his West Country burr. ‘That was fucking awesome.’

  Jack leant against the passenger door of the car and looked out over the endless chequerboard of fields. Oaks, oblivious, got into the car and started the engine. Then he stopped the engine and got out again, unsure as to why Jack had paused. ‘Never stop looking at this,’ Jack said, looking towards the horizon. ‘I was brought up somewhere similar to this, but my daughter will grow up in London. It’s an amazing city, but, shit . . .’ He spread his arms. ‘Look at this.’ Oaks’s brow furrowed as he desperately tried to see what Jack was seeing. ‘You have to understand what Mrs Fullworth values, in order to get her to do what you want.’

  ‘So, we’re manipulating her?’

  ‘Of course. As long it’s for the right motive, it’s fine. This . . .’ Jack looked to the horizon again. ‘This is where Elli’s anger and fear comes from; from losing this. Losing it to scum. This countryside is Maisie’s. How dare anyone take it from her? Maisie’s in fucking Swindon. Have you ever been to Swindon?’

  The furrow on Oaks’s brow disappeared and his eyes opened wide. He got it. Then Oaks’s mobile rang and he stepped away to answer it.

  Jack took this moment to take a snap of the view and text it to Maggie. She immediately texted back.

  Wish we were with you xxx.

  ‘Sir,’ Oaks cut in. ‘Charlotte Miles owns a plant nursery and gardening business just outside Churchill. It’s in the grounds of a smallholding – pigs, chickens, ducks, goats, that sort of thing. She has two vehicles: a van for delivering veg and plants, and an old pickup for the garden maintenance side of things. Between those two jobs, she works for most people round here. Either her van or her pickup was at each of the properties, a couple of nights before it was burgled.’

  Although Oaks was telling Jack that they’d found a common denominator, he wasn’t confident that Charlotte was the common denominator. Oaks explained how she had already been interviewed and eliminated as she had a solid alibi for each burglary. ‘And besides, sir, Charlotte definitely isn’t a six-foot-plus bloke,’ Oaks added.

  Jack pointed out that, although he agreed Charlotte could not be involved in the burglaries themselves, she could still be a scout of some kind, potentially recce’ing properties before they were hit. Oaks was doubtful. ‘Well, yeah, she could. But then, so could John – he’s our postman. And so could June – she’s our 50-odd-year-old paper girl. And so could . . .’ Jack walked away. He didn’t want to listen to Oaks listing everyone who visited houses on a weekly, if not daily basis.

  *

  Ridley stood erect and motionless in the witness box, arms behind his back. His suit jacket hung perfectly off his shoulders and you could hardly see him breathing. His face was unreadable as he listened to every syllable of every word of every question the defence lawyer asked. And whilst Ridley was thinking of how to answer, his eyes did not move around to suggest a faulty memory or any kind of elaboration. He was statuesque. DS Laura Wade couldn’t take her eyes off him.

  Once she realised she was staring, she began to blush. Jesus Christ! she thought to herself. Ridley looks as hot as hell up there!

  Ridley wasn’t Laura’s type at all. Jack was her type. She and Jack had been partners for just over a year and she’d fancied the pants off him for every second of that time – his dark, bohemian looks and effortlessly rugged appearance made her heart beat faster whenever she saw him. Laura had hoped this feeling would abate once Maggie became pregnant, but it didn’t; she just became better at hiding it.

  Ridley, in contrast to Jack, was skinny and boring. But seeing him so composed and convincing in the witness box made her realise just how smart he was. Laura had never before found ‘smart’ attractive, but maybe she was maturing, she thought.

  She found herself defending Ridley against her own preconceptions: in her mind, she replaced ‘skinny’ with ‘athletic’. ‘Boring’ with ‘smart’, and suddenly . . . Ridley was a catch!

  The judge’s gavel came down and Laura’s dream bubble burst. Ridley stepped down from the witness box and Laura followed him out into the courthouse corridor as he took a call on his mobile. He smiled at Laura, indicating that he’d be with her in a minute. ‘Trust me,’ Ridley said into his mobile, ‘DS Warr never dismisses anyone until he’s 100 per cent certain that they’re not involved. Let him backtrack. Let him double-check. Go with him, Joe, or you’ll regret it.’

  Once he’d hung up, Ridley headed for Laura, seated alone on the corridor bench.

  ‘You look nervous, Laura. There’s no need. Be concise, be confident. We’ve got this.’

  A thought popped into her mind – an old conversation she and Jack had had months ago whilst taking the piss out of the fact that Ridley prepared for every case and every raid so slowly and then delivered so quickly. Laura had made a flippant comment back then: ‘Do you think he’s like this in the bedroom? Prepping at the speed of a tortoise and delivering at the speed of a train!’ But now the joke had morphed into an exciting image that Laura couldn’t get out of her head. Her name was called by the Court Clerk – she was next to take the witness stand. Ridley threw her an encouraging smile. ‘Just focus. Don’t be distracted by anything.’

  Yeah, right! she thought.

  *

  Charlotte Miles’s property was exactly as Jack had imagined. The fence marking the perimeter was high and solid to protect the free-roaming sheep, ducks and chickens, but the inside fences were makeshift. The pigpen’s structure was a mix of recycled wooden and metal gates from other areas of the smallholding, strapped together with wire; this was home to three very large pigs. And the extensive veg and fruit fields were protected by chicken wire and plastic zip ties. In what must have once been the back garden, greenhouses were filled to bursting with plants that grew out of the tiny gaps between the glass and its frame, and beyond that there was a stunning orchard boasting lemon, apple and pear trees.

  The exterior of the house was shabby and weather-worn, with windows so dirty they were impossible to see through. Oaks knocked on the equally dirty door.

  A woman in her thirties opened it. She was slender and pretty with long, messy hair tied in a knot hanging between her shoulder blades. She wore a vest top and dungarees cut low at the side, so they revealed the top of her hips. On her feet, she wore thick green knitted socks, designed to fit snugly into the Hunter wellington boots behind the door.

  ‘Hi, Annie. This is Annie Summers,’ Oaks announced. ‘Annie, this is DS Jack Warr from the Met in London.’ As Annie smiled and stepped back to allow them in, Oaks added quietly, ‘Take your shoes off, sir.’ It was only now that Jack caught sight of his once-black brogues, thick with what he hoped was only mud. Oaks, on the other hand, was wearing brown boots with soles so thick that the leather uppers were hardly dirty at all.

  Beyond the muddy porch, the outwardly mucky farmhouse was immaculate. Dark wooden ceiling beams split the large reception room into lounge, dining area and kitchen. The lounge was cosy, with plush cream carpets and modern furniture complete with numerous cats scattered about the place, while the dining area and kitchen were more like a typical farmhouse with an Aga, hanging pans and heavy terracotta floor tiles.

  Oaks told Annie that they were here to see Charlotte; they did try to call ahead but received no reply.

  ‘Lotte’s useless with her mobile,’ said with a smile. ‘She’s with the horses, so it’ll be on top of a hay bale somewhere. She won’t even know it’s not in her pocket.’ As Annie spoke, she texted. This was quickly followed by an electronic whistle from somewhere near the kitchen windowsill. Annie headed for a flowerpot by the side of the sink, and there was Charlotte’s mobile. ‘See! Didn’t even make it out of the house. Do you want me to take you over, Will, or can you make your own way?’

  Oaks assured Annie that he’d be able to escort Jack to the stables, no problem.

  Once they had thei
r shoes back on, Jack asked how well Oaks knew the two women, seeing as Annie referred to him by his first name. Oaks reiterated what Jack already knew – that everybody knew everybody round here and things could get incredibly messy if they discovered that one of their own was in league with the burglars.

  Around the back of the farmhouse, not visible from the road, were two stable blocks with space for four horses in each. One block was currently full, the other empty and being used as storage for animal feed and the equipment that Charlotte used for her gardening business. As Jack and Oaks approached, Charlotte was guiding the four horses into a neighbouring field. They raced excitedly into the open green space where they bucked and kicked, before settling to feed on the fresh grass.

  Charlotte was a bigger woman than Annie, but not fat; she looked strong and athletic from working the land and tending animals. She had thick curly brown hair tied back with a yellow ribbon, similar dungarees and Hunter boots to Annie’s and a longer T-shirt underneath that hid her midriff. A large red checked shirt finished the look, and Jack would have assumed by its size that it belonged to the man of the house, if he hadn’t already been told by Oaks that Annie and Charlotte were a couple. Once the horses were in the field and the gate securely fastened, Charlotte started searching her pockets in vain for something that clearly wasn’t there.

  ‘It’s in the kitchen, Charlotte!’ Oaks shouted, so she turned to face them.

  Charlotte had the lightest blue eyes, framed by long black lashes. Her petite nose and big lips made her face effortlessly pretty, although not beautiful in the truest sense of the word. She was riveting to look at. Oaks introduced Jack, and Charlotte asked if they minded her continuing to work whilst they talked. This simple gesture of courtesy immediately set her aside from the likes of Mrs Fullworth – Charlotte was naturally confident, and so could also be polite without fear of seeming submissive. She did not need to assert her position with anyone. Charlotte disappeared into one of the stables and reappeared carrying a pair of men’s wellingtons. She handed them to Jack – ‘They were my father’s once upon a time.’ Now Jack knew the owner of the oversized shirt.

  Jack propped himself against a tractor tyre, swapping his ruined shoes for a dead man’s wellies, and watched Charlotte stride back and forth stocking up the feed for when her horses returned to their stables, clearly not fazed by having two police officers in her stable yard. She then collected two bridles and headed for the field where the four horses she’d just let out were enjoying the freedom of the open land.

  ‘Watch this.’ She grinned with pride as she raised her hand and let out a soft whistle. A big dapple-grey mare pricked up her large ears and galloped towards them. The grey stopped right in front of Charlotte and lowered her head to allow the bridle to be slipped into place. ‘Have you missed me, Florrie? She has the sweetest temperament. Perfect for children. She’s going to spend a couple of hours helping out at the riding school later today, because one of theirs has gone lame.’

  Jack found himself in awe of the relationship Charlotte clearly had with Florrie, seeing this animal, standing head and shoulders above Charlotte, doing as she was asked out of something other than ownership or duty. It seemed to him that the horse respected, trusted, maybe even loved Charlotte. Jack found it inspiring to watch. She then took the second bridle, climbed the gate and ventured into the field. At the far end, a chestnut brown beast of a horse grazed on his own. Charlotte raised her arm high in the air and kept it there until she had his attention. Once he’d seen her, she made a swift gesture to come forwards. The chestnut reared up for a second, like a bucking bronco, then galloped towards her at a frightening speed.

  Even from the safe side of the gate, Jack could feel the ground shuddering underfoot. Charlotte gave Jack a glance over her shoulder. ‘He’s showing off.’ The chestnut raced past her, looped, circled and eventually came to rest by her shoulder, head held high. ‘He’s a mustang. A rescue from some prat from the US who brought him over here and then couldn’t train him. They gelded him, but that didn’t help. They saw him as no practical use to anyone, so they neglected him. I saw him in their field as I was passing one day and – my God – he was magnificent. Underweight and unkempt, but still magnificent. See how he’s not giving me his head?’

  This mustang stood far taller than the grey, towering over Charlotte. Then his head turned and his dark, frightened eyes focussed on Jack. He let out a jet of hot air from his nostrils that blew loose hair across Charlotte’s forehead. She looked up and whispered, ‘Judas.’ The mustang lowered his head and allowed her to put on his bridle. That’s all it took. The right word, at the right moment.

  ‘Do you know what a Judas Horse is?’ Charlotte asked as she buckled the bridle into place. ‘When the wild mustangs are running free, you corral one and train it. It can take weeks, even months, but when he’s ready, you can release him and he’ll bring his team back into the corral like Judas betraying them.’ Charlotte looked thoughtfully at Judas. ‘We’re waiting for the vet to come and give him his regular medical. He’s not yet as strong as he should be. But he’s getting there. Shall we go for some tea? Annie will have the kettle on.’

  In the kitchen, Annie did indeed have tea on the go. Hunks of white bread were roughly cut and laid out waiting to be smothered in homemade jam or honey. Jack declined, but Oaks tucked in. ‘Annie makes the most amazing bread,’ he said, cramming in a huge mouthful.

  Once the niceties were done, Jack asked Charlotte about Eloise Fullworth.

  ‘Mrs Fullworth is one of my clients.’ Charlotte was candid about how well she knew the family. She answered quickly, without pausing, which suggested she wasn’t thinking about what might be the best thing to say. This told Jack that she probably had nothing to hide. ‘I do her garden; keep it tidy, that sort of thing. I change plants I think need changing, trim what I think needs trimming; she lets me decide. I do one afternoon a week for her. Tuesdays normally, but that can shift depending on when Maisie’s home. When Maisie’s there, it’s their time. Mrs Fullworth is very protective.’ When Jack asked what Maisie was like, Charlotte suggested that she was probably much stronger than her mother gave her credit for.

  Jack went on to ask more generally about Charlotte’s clients. ‘I meet the staff at residential properties,’ she explained. ‘But the rentals tend to bring their own people with them, and they rarely use me as they don’t stay long enough. The full-time staff are often Eastern European. Lovely. Well, I like them. Not that I’d be able to spot a wrong-un if they were standing in front of me, I don’t suppose. I can spot a bad horse from a good one a mile away, but people . . . I’m sorry but I’m not much use to you, DI Warr.’

  *

  Back in the squad room at Chipping Norton, all six of Gifford’s officers were now at their desks, eating the cold breakfasts they’d been bought hours earlier. One of the men who’d been out and about re-questioning victims had brought back a Tupperware box full of scones from old Mr and Mrs Gaddas. He’d also been provided with a jar of jam and a tub of clotted cream. Mrs Gaddas was housebound due to illness, but she was still able-bodied and loved baking for visitors.

  Jack respectfully popped into Gifford’s office to update him, before the rest of the team. But Gifford was not in the mood for pleasantries. ‘I’ve been on to DCI Ridley,’ Gifford said as if this would knock Jack off-balance. Jack reckoned Gifford must have complained about Jack double-checking all of his hard work, but he knew Ridley would have politely but firmly put him straight. ‘You better not be dragging your feet now you’ve started this messy little ball rolling,’ Gifford continued. ‘Remember what I said about getting answers before the complaints start hitting the DCI’s desk.’

  ‘Elli – Mrs Fullworth won’t be complaining, sir. I can assure you of that.’ Jack left it at that and headed for his team. Jack had ‘accidently’ used Mrs Fullworth’s first name, so that Gifford knew the kind of relationship Jack had been able to establish in just one ten-minute visit.

 
In the squad room, Jack asked each officer in turn to introduce themselves, and then share any relevant discoveries. As this began, Jack sat his desk, got out a brand new pair of brown boots, just like Oaks’s, and swapped them for the muddy shoes he was currently wearing. He then binned the shoes.

  His team were brimming with a new enthusiasm, stemming from a couple of pieces of additional information that had been uncovered. As people spoke, Oaks wrote everything on the evidence board: four more burglaries had now been unofficially reported, with no one wanting their house to be treated like a crime scene at this late stage. They’d moved on and would not be dragged back. But the dates, times, methods of entry and items taken were all new and potentially important information.

  Most re-interviewed burglary victims had put their ordeals behind them, upped their security, claimed on their insurance and got on with their lives. Although this made little sense to Jack, he understood that it was all relative – losing £50,000 of insured property here would be like him having his bike nicked.

  Within the hour, the whiteboard was full and a second had been borrowed from another department. They now had a comprehensive list of all properties that owned updated security systems, new CCTV, guard dogs and, in some cases, security guards.

  Oaks walked backwards away from the evidence boards, until he was in his newly adopted position right by Jack’s side. Jack immediately noticed that he was now a good half inch taller in his new boots, which he liked the feel of. That morning, Oaks had been a fraction taller than him; now they were the same height. Jack was average, just shy of 5’10”, but in this job, he knew he was considered to be on the short side.