Murder in Mind (11 page)

She took a sip of her coffee, and Matt took advantage of the pause.

'Her boyfriend was a friend of mine.'

'Which boyfriend? Darren?'

'No. Jamie.'

'Oh, little Jamie – that's what she called him – she said he was sweet, but I don't think she was very serious about him. I don't think she was very serious about any of them, come to that. It was all a big game to her. She used to come back here and laugh about them sometimes; about how she could wrap them round her little finger.'

'The police think Jamie might have killed her . . .' Matt let the statement hang in the air.

'Oh my God! But
you
don't – obviously – if he's your friend.'

'No, I'm certain he didn't. Did you know Sophie was pregnant?' Matt asked. As she hadn't recognised him, it seemed they'd struck lucky and Tara hadn't read Saturday's
Daily Standard.

'How did you know that? The police asked me that, the other day. No, she didn't tell me, but it doesn't surprise me. I mean, she was always forgetting to take her pill. I'm surprised it hasn't happened before now, to tell the truth. She . . . well, let's just say she lived life to the full and leave it at that.'

'So she didn't seem worried or upset about anything?'

'Not particularly. She had her ups and downs, just like anyone else.' She paused, and looked from Matt to Kendra, frowning. 'Look, what's going on? You weren't just passing, were you? What are you doing here?'

Kendra reddened a little under her scrutiny, and Matt made the decision to come clean.

'I'm sorry. No, you're right, we weren't just passing. The thing is, Jamie's a good friend of ours and he's in a lot of trouble. We're just trying to help him, that's all.'

Tara hesitated, catching her lip between her teeth.

'Well, I don't know what I can tell you, anyway,' she said eventually. 'I told the detective – I forget his name . . .'

'Bartholomew?'

'Yes, that's right. Bartholomew, and the woman – Deane, isn't it? I told them, over and over, that Sophie and I were friends, but not close friends. We didn't share secrets or anything. She had days when she was moody, like we all do, but I've no idea if she was worried or just hormonal. More coffee?'

Matt accepted, even though he didn't really want it. He had a feeling Tara might know more than she thought she did, and, now she'd begun to expand, it seemed a shame to stop her.

'Where did Sophie work?'

'Work?' Tara stifled a laugh. 'That's a good one! She did a bit of modelling from time to time – quite often on the racecourses. You know, hired by the sponsors to walk back beside the winners and stand and look pretty while the prizes are given out? I always feel sorry for them, half the time they look bloody freezing! But I don't think she'd done any modelling for ages.'

'Perhaps she got money from her family . . .' Matt suggested.

Tara nodded.

'It's possible. She didn't seem to get on with them very well, but I know they weren't short of a penny or two. There was someone she called Mosie. I think he was quite a bit older than her. I got the impression he was a sort of sugar daddy. There were flowers sometimes, and, once or twice, expensive jewellery. I would tease her, but she'd just laugh and accuse me of being jealous. She was infuriating at times, but you couldn't help liking her.' Tara looked away, picking up her coffee cup and taking a sip; to steady herself, Matt suspected.

'I'm sorry. Would you like us to go?' With characteristic sympathy, Kendra put out a hand to touch the other girl's arm.

Tara summoned a smile.

'No. Please stay. It's silly, but I miss her. I never thought I would, but I do. We shared this place for over three years, and it worked really well, on the whole. Half the time she wasn't here, but knowing she's never coming back makes it seem dreadfully empty, somehow. I still can't believe that she's actually dead; that someone
murdered
her. It just doesn't seem real.'

'Did you ever see this Mosie?' Matt asked, thinking about Lord Kenning and the rumour Harry had told him about.

'No, he didn't come here, except once, to pick her up – but then I only saw his car. It was a Jag. A big, silvery grey one. I remember thinking,
You lucky cow!
And then, when she came back the next day, she told me she'd been with him. "Mosie took me to this sumptuous hotel in the country, but you mustn't tell anyone, Tara," she said, though I don't know who she thought I was going to tell. So I reckon he was married, don't you?'

'Most likely,' Matt agreed.

'Oh, and there was something else – she told me once that Mosie liked to play games.'

'Games . . . ?'

'That's what she said. I didn't ask what – it's not really my scene – I imagine she meant dressing up or something.'

Matt turned the idea over in his mind. If it
was
Kenning and he wanted to keep the relationship quiet, how much worse would it be for him if it was known that there was a kinky element to his liaison with his niece?

'Do you know if she had any other girlfriends; anyone she might have shared secrets with, perhaps?'

Tara pursed her lips and shook her head.

'Not that I ever met. As far as I could see, she seemed to socialise almost exclusively with men. We very rarely went out anywhere together – you know, for girls' nights out or anything. It just wasn't her scene.'

'And there's nothing else you can think of – odd phone calls, anything she said or did that struck you as strange, especially recently?'

Again, Tara shook her head.

'No. That's what the police kept asking, but there was nothing. Everything was normal – or as normal as it ever was with Sophie around. I've been racking my brains all week and I haven't come up with a thing. I'm sorry, I've not been much help to you, or your friend.'

Having taken their leave of Tara Goodwin, a few minutes later Matt and Kendra stepped out through the glossy portal and paused for a moment on the pavement outside.

'She's nicer than I remembered,' Kendra said. 'At school, she used to get on my nerves – she was a bit loud.'

'Whilst you were perfection, of course,' Matt quizzed gently, and was rewarded by an indignant jab in the ribs. 'Ouch! Now what have I said?'

Linking arms, they started to walk back to where they'd left the car.

'So, Sherlock, did you learn anything useful?' Kendra asked.

'Not a lot.' Matt sighed. 'I guess it was daft to think I would, but I had to try. That stuff about Mosie was the most interesting.' He told Kendra what he'd learned from Harry about Lord Kenning.

'Do you think he was Sophie's sugar daddy, then? Why Mosie? What's Lord Kenning's name?'

'Um . . .' Matt scoured his memory. 'Edward, I think, but she'd hardly use his real name, given the circumstances. I'd be interested to see what sort of car he drives . . .' He broke off, adding explosively, 'Now what the hell is
she
doing here?'

Ahead, where the MR2 was parked in a line of cars at the side of the road, he could see a familiar redheaded figure, seated on the bonnet, apparently studying her fingernails.

'Who is it?'

'Casey McKeegan. That reporter I told you about. I don't know what she's doing here.'

'Waiting for you, I'd say.'

'Oh, ha ha.'

They were less than twenty feet away before Casey looked up and saw them. Instantly, she straightened and greeted Matt with a wide grin, just as if Matt hadn't warned her, earlier that day, to stay away.

'How did it go with Tara?' she asked, before he could say anything.

'Kendra, this is Casey McKeegan. Casey, Kendra Brewer, my fiancée.'

'Hi,' Kendra said.

'Hi.' Casey gave her an unsmiling glance and turned back to Matt. 'So how did it go? What did Tara tell you?'

Matt shrugged.

'Not much, I'm afraid. She couldn't think of anything that would help.'

'So you talked about the weather for an hour and fifteen minutes did you?
Come on.
'

'Have you been watching the flat?'

'Well, I had to do something. And don't try and tell me you were going to ring me and give me an update; I wasn't born yesterday!'

'I might have done, if there had been anything to tell,' Matt hedged. 'Look, I'm afraid we've all had a wasted journey. Sophie didn't take Tara into her confidence. She really doesn't know anything more than what she's told the police.'

Casey's eyes narrowed.

'You,' she said, pointing an accusing finger, 'are not playing fair. I gave you Tara's address; the least you can do is tell me what she said.'

'She's got a point,' Kendra remarked.

Matt cast her a darkling glance, then sighed.

'All right. Let's go and get a coffee or something. But I warn you, you'll be disappointed.'

'She's quite a character, isn't she? Your Casey.'

Matt and Kendra were in the car, heading for home.

'She's not
my
Casey,' Matt said.

'Oh, I think she is – in
her
mind, anyway. I think she's got a huge crush on you.' Kendra slanted a look at him. 'Actually, underneath that tomboyish exterior, I think there's quite a pretty girl trying to get out.'

'Well, it's not trying very hard.'

Kendra laughed.

'That's mean! Still, you can't deny she's bright. And, with her contacts, she could be very useful.
If she can find out who this mysterious Mosie is, that'll be a start, won't it?'

'Well, I'm pretty sure it must be Lord Kenning, but, if she can prove it . . .' Matt shook his head. 'I can't work out how she got a job working for a paper like the
Standard,
at her age. It's not as if she even looks her age. She looks about sixteen.'

'Maybe that's an advantage? I imagine she might get under people's guard. Maybe an editor recognised a latent talent; who knows? So what's the next move?'

'I'm not sure. I think maybe I should have a little chat with Razor at Sedgefield tomorrow'

'Talking of which . . .' Kendra looked at her watch. 'What time are you supposed to be meeting Rollo and Mikey?'

'Three o'clock. Oh shit, I'd forgotten that. What's the time?'

'Ten to two. You'd better get a wriggle on.'

Driving like a man possessed, Matt made it back to Norton Peverill, packed an overnight bag with Kendra's help, grabbed his saddles, boots, and kitbag, and drove on to his rendezvous with the other jockeys, arriving only a few minutes late.

Sedgefield Racecourse in County Durham was a round trip of five hundred miles or more, and not a place to which Matt would consider travelling without sufficient incentive in the form of quantity or quality of rides. On this occasion he had rides in all but one race on the card, but he might still have baulked at the distance, had Rollo Gallagher and young Mikey Copperfield not been travelling north, too.

Because their job involved so much travelling, it was normal for jockeys who lived relatively close together to share the driving to the more distant courses. On a long haul, it was also normal for them to put up for the night in the house or lodgings of one of their colleagues who lived in the area. It was a reciprocal arrangement that, over the course of the year, saved all of them a good deal of money. Long hours spent on the road were tedious and contributed to sky-high insurance premiums but, in most instances, the likely financial rewards on offer for a day's jump racing made the idea of flying to the course a non-starter.

After an overnight stay crammed into the spare room of a seasoned jockey known as Limpet – for his famed ability to stay on even the clumsiest of animals to the bitter end – the four of them made their way together to Sedgefield.

Razor arrived late at the course and then rode the winner in the first, which meant that Matt had no early opportunity to speak with him in private.

Things began to pan out in his favour, however, when one of the other jockeys fell off going down to the start of the second race, and the rest of runners and riders were kept circling quietly whilst the loose horse was rounded up and caught.

Threading through the large field, Matt managed to bring his horse alongside the grey ridden by Razor and engage the jockey in conversation.

On the drive up from the south, Matt had wrestled on and off with the delicate question of how to bring up the subject of Lord Kenning and Sophie Bradford with Razor. If it had been almost any of the other jockeys that he knew, he would have just come straight out and asked, but 'Razor' Hislop was a different matter, and Matt couldn't rely on him to keep the knowledge of his interest to himself.

As it turned out, Matt's own recent publicity had come to Razor's ears, and he wasn't the man to let the chance to mock pass him by.

'Well, well, if it isn't Inspector fucking Clouseau!' he said, as soon as he saw Matt beside him. He continued in a fair imitation of Sellers' character: "Ow is your hinvestigation coming along?'

Matt rolled his eyes. He'd already had to put up with some of the same in the weighing room.

'OK, OK, get it over with.'

'You don't seem to be 'aving much success in clearing Mutton's name, do you?' Razor enquired, still in character. 'Last I 'eard 'e'd been taken down ze nick, but maybe that was part of your cunning plan,
non?'

'Tell me what you know about Lord Kenning and Sophie Bradford,' Matt said, abandoning subtlety. 'I'm told it was you who started the rumour that they were having an affair.'

'What? That was ages ago.' Razor dropped the silly accent. 'There was nothing to it. It was a mistake.'

'So where did you get it from? Who told you?'

'No one did. I got it wrong, that's all. Kenning explained, I apologised; end of story.'

Matt eyed him thoughtfully. It sounded out of character. The Razor they all knew and distrusted would never normally let something go as easily as that.

'Why d'you want to know, anyway?' Razor said then. 'What's old Kenning got to do with anything? You must be losing the fucking plot if you think he murdered her. Why don't you just accept that your little pal probably did it, and move on?'

'Because he didn't do it.'

Razor lifted an eyebrow and shrugged.