A Forgotten Shadow, page 6
“What were these two messages? Who were they from?” asked Shadow who was struggling to make sense of what he was being told.
“They don’t say, but they are going to get all the texts transcribed.” Jimmy paused and smiled. “They say the messages on the burner are definitely from a woman and some of the stuff is quite sweet! I wonder if it was from his wife—maybe they had a good relationship after all.”
Shadow, however, remained unimpressed.
“Why didn’t Ben and Ollie call us with all this? They’ve left out half the information we need. Call them back.”
“Sorry, I can’t, Chief,” apologised Jimmy. “The signal here isn’t strong enough. It looks like they tried phoning us but couldn’t get through. The signal is pretty hit and miss.”
Shadow tutted and shook his head. What was the point of all this high-tech equipment if it didn’t work when you wanted it to?
“We’ll have to try them again later.” He sighed. “Let’s get going.”
When they set off again, Shadow relayed to his sergeant the news Maggie had shared with him about Flynn and the wine-stained clothing.
“So do you think he was having an affair, Chief?”
“Well, all the evidence seems to be pointing in that direction. First Maggie’s story and then this business with the burner phone. Despite your optimism, Sergeant, I don’t know why any man would need an untraceable phone to contact his own wife.”
Jimmy’s face fell.
“Oh, I hope he wasn’t having a fling with Clancy. I saw her leaving the pub with Giles last night and thought they made a really cute couple.”
Shadow shook his head at his sergeant’s sentimentality and returned to his reading material.
Chapter Four
Across 5. Ride the filly or stallion along the shore (5 letters)
Before leaving the station, Shadow had telephoned both FitzAllan’s stables and Kirkdale Castle. Clancy sounded like she had been crying again and said that they had only just heard about Aidan. She told him Siobhan FitzAllan would be leaving for the racecourse at around half past eleven. Jarvis informed him that the duke was holding a small luncheon party before also departing for the races, so they decided to head for the Grange first. As the chief constable had warned, journalists and camera crews were gathered at the entrance, but the uniformed officers from Thirsk waved Shadow’s car through. Clancy was there to greet them when they arrived. She looked a little flustered and out of breath.
“Hello there, I thought I was going to miss you. I nipped into the church and lit another candle for poor old Aidan. It’s not a Catholic church of course—my mother would never forgive me—but it will have to do for now. And I had to go the long way around to avoid that nosy lot,” she said gesturing to the press in the distance.
The two detectives followed Clancy back around the house to the stable yard. They were met with a far more chaotic scene than the previous day and unlike yesterday, apart from the occasional red-rimmed eye, nobody was showing any sign that two of their colleagues had recently died. Stable lads and lasses scurried about as several horses were being loaded on to a transporter along with all their tack. Directing the operation in a loud Irish accent was a tall woman in riding boots and jodhpurs. Her long curly hair was the colour of conkers.
“Siobhan, the police are here to see you. This is Chief Inspector Shadow and Sergeant Chang,” said Clancy tentatively before politely stepping out of the way. Siobhan nodded in their general direction, but her eyes remained fixed on a large grey stallion that didn’t seem too keen on the idea of going into the transporter. Shadow was about to offer Siobhan his hand, but noticing she was holding a bridle in one and a crop in the other cleared his throat instead.
“Good morning, Mrs FitzAllan. Thank you for seeing us and may I first offer our condolences on the loss of your husband and Mr O’Doyle. I understand this must be a difficult time for you, but would it be possible for you to answer a few questions?”
“Ask away, Chief Inspector, but I don’t have much time with Flynn and now Aidan gone. I’m left to do the work of three people, and we need to be in York in less than two hours.”
Shadow nodded. From her attitude there certainly didn’t seem for any need to tiptoe around the new widow, so he got straight to the point.
“Can you tell us when you last saw your husband?”
“He swanned off yesterday morning to see his hoity-toity friends, leaving me to do all the graft, again, and on the eve of the Ebor meeting. ‘’Tis important to socialise with the owners,’ he’d say. Socialising my arse! He was only there for the craic. As for Aidan! He swore to me he’d stay with Moon all night and what did he do? Drank himself into a stupor then went and got himself run over. Honestly, I’m surrounded by eejits!” she exclaimed as she pointed at a quivering groom. “Where is Native’s saddle?” she screeched at the red-faced young man. “Do you expect his jockey to ride him bareback? You’re not at the Tipperary Fair now. You great lummox!”
Thanks to studying the Racing Post in the car, Shadow understood that Moon and Native were Voodoo Moon and Native Friend, two horses that were due to run that day. He pressed on despite the ever-increasing chaos in the yard.
“I think I should inform you that it was one of our own officers whose car hit Mr Doyle. He was off duty at the time,” explained Shadow. Siobhan finally glanced in his direction.
“I bet the poor sod’s shaken up. Don’t worry—you’ll get no grief from me on that score. What did Aidan think was going to happen to him, sprawled out across the road like that?”
“When did you last see Mr O’Doyle?”
Siobhan shrugged.
“It would have been about seven. That’s when I left York and I was back here about eight, maybe a bit after. When we’d unloaded, I went to bed. Isn’t that right, Clancy?” she asked the younger woman, who immediately nodded her head in agreement. Shadow scanned the yard and quickly counted up the grooms who were dashing back and forth. There were six in total, the same number who had been huddled together in the pub last night.
“Are all your staff present here today?” he asked.
“Yes, this is the lot of them—neither use nor ornament half the time.”
Shadow wasn’t sure if that was fair, but it did mean they all had an alibi for the time of Aidan’s death, just as those at the shoot could back each other up over Flynn’s death. It was frustrating to say the least.
“Did you telephone your husband at all yesterday?”
“Why would I waste my time doing such a thing? What use would he be to me, all dressed up in his tweeds, pretending to be lord of the manor?”
“Can you think of anyone who may have wished your husband harm?” Shadow persisted, despite Siobhan continuing to be distracted by her four-legged charges. “Somebody he had argued with? We heard that there had been some disagreement with Lady Victoria DeVere.”
“Plum!” snorted Siobhan. “She’s a right old wagon. Always harping on about animal rights. She swans around like she’s the Mother Teresa to all things four-legged. That’s all very well for someone who’s never had to work for a living. She’s practically turned Bluebell Farm into a refuge, taking in every waif and stray going, and then encouraging sabs to come into the village.”
“Sabs?” enquired Jimmy nervously, when Siobhan paused briefly to take a breath. He was rewarded with a contemptuous look.
“Saboteurs!” she almost spat out. “The place was swarming with them last year. Trying to disrupt the hunt or shooting parties. They turned up here with their placards a few months back. I soon told them where to go with their crusty hair in dreadlocks and stinking of hemp! Wastrels the lot of them!”
Shadow had to hand it to Siobhan, she could fling around an impressive array of insults.
“Getting back to Mr O’Doyle, was he aware of Mr FitzAllan’s death? Was he upset by the news?”
“He was. I told him as soon as Clancy phoned me, but I told him clear as day, it wasn’t the time to start blubbing. The best thing he could do for Flynn now was to take care of Legend and he couldn’t even do that right.”
“Would that be Kirkdale Legend?” asked Shadow becoming more grateful for Maggie’s newspaper by the second.
“That’s right, although he’s more of a liability than a legend. He should be a champion. His mother won the Thousand Guineas, and his father won the St Leger. He can run like the wind out on the gallops but take him to a course and he goes on strike. I swear he thinks he’s on holiday. We took him and Wantage Whisper yesterday. Whisper’s a calming influence. I’ve got high hopes for him at York. I only pray this business with Aidan hasn’t upset him too much.”
Shadow couldn’t help noticing Siobhan seemed far more concerned about the horses than her employees or her husband. The last horse due to be loaded on to the transporter suddenly reared up and Siobhan jumped forward to grab his lead rein and began barking more instructions. Shadow decided this was their cue to leave, so he thanked her and wished her luck, but she barely acknowledged him. Clancy escorted them back to their car.
“I know we asked you yesterday but are you positive nobody here contacted Mr FitzAllan? You see the screen of his phone was damaged when we found it. Could he have heard some bad news and smashed it out of anger or frustration?”
The young woman shook her head. “No, I asked around after you’d gone yesterday, but nobody called him and to be honest, Chief Inspector, Flynn wasn’t the smashing things type. Siobhan used to say he was so laid-back he was horizontal.” Clancy’s face flushed a little. “I know what you must be thinking, but Siobhan and Flynn had…well their marriage was more like a working relationship than a romance. They led pretty separate lives.”
“What about Mrs FitzAllan’s relationship with Mr O’Doyle?”
“Aidan and Siobhan never really saw eye to eye,” replied Clancy, sounding a little apologetic. Shadow privately wondered if Mrs FitzAllan ever saw eye to eye with anyone that didn’t have a mane and a tail.
“Was Siobhan here alone last night or did someone stay with her?” he asked.
“She was on her own. I offered to stay, but she said she’d rather be alone. Some of the stable lads live on site in a flat above the horses in the yard, but I think everyone was in the pub until last orders,” explained Clancy. “Oh, that reminds me, here’s the list of everyone who works here. I thought you might find it useful, but I’m sorry I don’t have any contact details for Aidan’s next of kin. He never really talked about his family back home much,” she apologised as she produced a sheet of paper from her folder and handed it over to Jimmy. They continued walking past the paddock where six or seven horses stood munching grass and swishing flies away with their tails.
“How come they get to spend the day grazing in the sun? Are they retired?” asked Jimmy.
“No not exactly, these are all horses that compete in National Hunt racing, you know over the jumps, so they only race in the winter months. Oh, and that handsome chestnut chap over in the corner is Parnell. He’s the love of Siobhan’s life. They used to compete together. They were quite the team.”
“Siobhan was a jockey?” asked Shadow.
Clancy smiled and shook her head.
“No, she’s too tall to go on the flat or even over the jumps, but she used to be a champion in endurance and cross-country back in Ireland. That’s how she met Flynn. He was the vet to the Irish team. When she retired from competing, they decided to start training horses together.”
“I see,” said Shadow. “Could I ask you about another incident? You may not remember it, but about a week ago, Flynn had red wine spilt on a shirt and his suit jacket. We wondered if you knew what happened.”
Clancy flushed a little, but she nodded her head. “Yes, I do remember. He looked a real mess when he got back. He’d been at Ripon during the day. Siobhan and the horses arrived back hours before him. He said he’d called in to Sir Charles Richmond’s for dinner on the way home and that’s when he spilt it. Why is that important?” asked Clancy, looking puzzled.
“Oh, it probably isn’t, but we’re trying to build up a picture of his life during the time leading up to his death,” replied Shadow smoothly.
“I see, well, be sure to let me know if you need anything else. Take care now.”
She waved goodbye as the two detectives climbed back into their car. Jimmy started the engine and began to negotiate a tight three-point turn. Shadow was deep in thought, replaying the conversations they’d just had.
“What did you make of Siobhan, Chief?” asked Jimmy then, before Shadow could reply: “She’s pretty fiery, isn’t she? You wouldn’t want to cross her, would you? I bet she could have thrown a glass of wine over Flynn.”
“I think she’s more likely to have smashed the whole bottle over his head,” grunted Shadow. When Maggie had first told him the story, he had assumed the wine throwing had been the work of a wronged wife. Now having met Mrs FitzAllan, he wasn’t sure she cared enough about her husband to react strongly to him having an affair. There was something else Siobhan had said that was bothering him. He turned to his sergeant. “What did you think about the way she described Aidan? She said he was sprawled across the road—perhaps it’s simply a figure of speech, but it sounded like a graphic description.”
“You mean as though she had seen him?”
“Possibly. Check exactly what time she left the racecourse and when she arrived back here at the Grange—ideally with someone who doesn’t work for her and isn’t terrified of her.”
“No need, Chief, I can confirm that,” replied Jimmy. Shadow looked at him in surprise.
“Do you mind telling me how?”
“We passed her as we were leaving the castle. Don’t you remember? I was about to pull out and had to brake when she came around the corner, but she still beeped her horn and gave me the finger.”
“You sure it was her?”
“Positive.”
“Were you in danger of crashing into her?”
“Nowhere near! I was still on the driveway, but I guess her temper doesn’t improve when she’s behind the wheel.”
“Or she wanted to make sure we’d seen her and remembered her,” mused Shadow.
Jimmy turned and frowned at him. “But our car’s unmarked. How would she have known who we were?” he asked.
“It wouldn’t be difficult around here, where everybody knows each other. Suppose Clancy called her to say the police had been to the yard, two male officers in a black Audi and the driver was wearing a leather jacket and sunglasses. Then on her way home, Siobhan saw us leaving the castle and now you are her alibi,” Shadow explained and shook his head. “Talk about perfect timing. She couldn’t have planned it much better if she’d tried.”
They carefully pulled away from the Grange and waved to the two waiting uniformed officers as the swarming press clicked their cameras and shouted out questions. As they drove away, Jimmy interrupted Shadow’s thoughts again.
“Clancy seems nice doesn’t she, Chief?”
“Yes, she does,” agreed Shadow, “but she doesn’t have much of an alibi.”
Jimmy looked perplexed. “But we saw her and Giles walking over to their cottage.”
“Being at home with your boyfriend isn’t as solid as being in a crowded pub all night or being spotted driving home by two police officers.”
Despite having made an appointment this time, their welcome at the castle was no warmer. Jarvis showed them to the library once more. He informed them that the duke was regrettably indisposed, but Shadow would be able to interview Sir Charles and also Lord and Lady Eastwold who were all at the shoot and had stayed at the castle following last night’s party.
“This feels like being in one of those country house murder mysteries, Chief,” whispered Jimmy as he turned on his electronic notebook and settled into one of the armchairs after the butler had left them.
“That’s probably because we are in a country house and investigating a murder that is currently a mystery,” replied Shadow irritably. He had decided to remain standing by the empty fireplace. The sun was streaming into the room through the French windows, and he found he was dazzled wherever he tried to sit down.
Piers Eastwold was the first to be shown in. He was tall with blue eyes and blond hair that was beginning to thin. Shadow guessed he was about the same age as the duke and that as a young man he must have been handsome, but he now had the flushed cheeks and bloodshot eyes of a heavy drinker. Without bothering to return Shadow’s greeting, he went straight to the silver tray on the table and poured himself a large whisky, then yanked the heavy velvet curtain across the glass door to block the offending sun.
“That’s better. I’ve got the mother of all hangovers,” he declared before flopping down on the sofa opposite Shadow.
“Could you describe the events leading up to Mr FitzAllan’s death yesterday, please Lord Eastwold?” he asked politely.
“What is there to say? We had lunch, Flynn went to make a call and he didn’t come back.”
“Make or take a call?” asked Shadow.
“What’s the difference?” asked Eastwold with a shrug as he took a sip of his drink.
“Well, did someone call him, and he left to answer it, or did he say he needed to phone someone?” persisted Shadow, but Eastwold just shrugged again.
“I can’t remember. I really wasn’t paying that much attention,” he replied sounding bored.
“What do you think happened to him?” asked Shadow. Eastwold looked at him as though he thought he was quite dim.
“Well, he was shot wasn’t he? Maybe his gun went off by mistake, maybe he had bad news over the phone and decided to top himself. How should I know? Isn’t it your job to find out?”
“Indeed it is, and we don’t believe his wounds were self-inflicted.”
“Then maybe someone was lying in wait for him.”
“Do you have anyone in mind?”
