Murder in Mind (24 page)

By the time Matt had changed and weighed out, his first flurry of excitement over the recollection had ebbed and died. As far as he knew, no link had existed between Deacon's minder and Sophie Bradford, and, if Delafield had been at Doogie's birthday bash, his movements that night would no doubt have been thoroughly checked out by DI Bartholomew and his wonderful computer, so, presumably, he was in the clear. All in all, Delafield looked a less likely suspect than Kenning, if that were possible.

Trying to relegate the matter to the back of his mind, Matt went out to meet Doogie, the retired SAS captain, and Delta Tango.

By the end of the afternoon, Ray Landon's fortunes had begun to revive. He had looked a little discomfited upon coming face to face with Matt after Trestle Table had dumped him, but Matt had merely said, 'Cunning bastard, isn't he?' To which the younger man had responded with a rueful nod.

Brewer's remaining two runners performed well enough, one netting a second place, but, as Delta Tango won that particular race for Matt and Doogie, it was unlikely to have aroused much joy in the businessman's heart. Indeed, on the one occasion when their paths crossed, Brewer walked past Matt with his gaze fixed on some point away to one side.

'You're welcome to Anthony's rides until his wrist heals, if Brewer doesn't come to his senses before then,' the Scot told Matt as they walked back to the car park together.

'I appreciate that. I'll get Josh Harper to ring you.'

'If you would. I've got two runners at Wincanton on Saturday, if you're free, and don't forget you've got Woodcutter in the October Cup, Saturday fortnight. Did I tell you he'd been sold?'

Matt shook his head.

'Well, it won't make any difference. I haven't got all the details yet, but the new owner is keen that you should continue to ride him.'

'Oh, that's good.' Matt permitted himself a secret smile – he'd been counting on it.

'Good to see your mate out and about,' Doogie commented.

'My mate? Who?'

'Jamie Mullin. Didn't you know he was here? Saw him with Casey not ten minutes ago. You know – Casey McKeegan, daughter of the
Daily Standard
's senior editor.'

'She's what?'

'Ah, she didn't tell you. Now I'll cop it.'

'I didn't realise you knew her . . .'

'My godchild,' Doogie announced, with a sideways look. 'Ah, you didn't know that either, did you? Who d'you think put it into her head to campaign on your behalf?'

'Well, I did wonder, at first,' Matt admitted. 'Thanks. Kendra would have it that she was sweet on me.'

'Och, she's that, too.' Doogie's eyes twinkled under his snowy brows. 'But she's young – she'll see sense.'

'So her father is editor of the
Standard
, is he?
I wondered how she managed to get that job at her age.'

'You mustn't be thinking it just fell into her lap, lad. She's had to work for it, and she's got a rare talent, so I've heard.'

Doogie stopped as they came up to the old blue estate car that had borne him to and from the races for as long as Matt had known him.

'Anyway, you can tell Jamie that there's a couple of rides going begging next week, if he's interested – and if he hasn't put on too much weight from lazing about. If he puts up a good show, there could be some more, you never know.'

'I'll tell him,' Matt said, shaking the trainer's hand warmly. 'And thanks again.'

After Matt had waved goodbye to Doogie, he used his mobile phone to call Casey and, within five minutes, had tracked her down to a bar overlooking the course. The last race had just been run and she and Jamie were drinking coffee, amidst a sprinkling of people who were probably warming up after an afternoon spent yo-yoing between paddock, betting kiosks, and stands.

Having been alerted to the fact by Kendra, Matt could appreciate the ongoing transformation in Casey's appearance. Gone was the unruly mop of curls, to be replaced by a decidedly chic crop; her freckles were subdued under a dusting of make-up; and a fitted brown leather jacket had replaced the amorphous Puffa.

'You look very smart,' he said approvingly, and was rewarded with a demure, 'Thank you, sir.'

Matt turned to Jamie. 'So, what're you doing here?'

'Casey persuaded me. She wanted to talk and she suggested we meet here.'

'Well, it might just be the best move you've made for a long time,' Matt told him, settling on the other side of their table with a huge, indulgent cappuccino in front of him. He passed on Doogie's message.

Jamie was astounded.

'You're kidding!'

'Nope. Anthony Redman's broken wrist might well prove a godsend for both of us. Not that that'll be any comfort at all to
him.
I feel almost as if we should send him a thank you letter.'

'Christ! I'll have to do some sweating – I must have put on half a stone.'

'So, what did you want to see me for?' Casey wanted to know. 'Changed your mind about following up the lead on Steve Bryan?'

'No!' Matt said sharply. 'And I want you to promise you won't try it on your own, either.'

'But it's such a wasted opportunity,' she complained.

'Look, I've got something else for you to do, if you can,' Matt said, hoping to divert her mind. 'Can your contact find out whether a Niall Delafield was at the party the night Sophie was killed? I didn't see him there, but Deacon was, and, as he seems to act as his minder, it seems likely that Delafield was around, somewhere.'

'And we want to know this because . . . ?'

'Because he's the only person I can think of – other than Kenning – who has army connections.'

'Was he having it off with Sophie Bradford, too? Sorry, Jamie,' she added hastily.

'Not that I know of, but I couldn't say for sure,' Matt replied, glad to see that Jamie seemed to have taken Casey's unthinking remark in his stride. 'Will you be able to do it? I'd ask Bartholomew, but I don't think he'd tell me, and I don't especially want my head bitten off again.'

'Sure,' she said, airily. 'What's his name again? Delafield? How do you spell that?'

'As it sounds; one L,' Matt told her. 'So, who's your contact in the police force? No – don't tell me . . . Your uncle is the Chief Superintendent . . .'

'What?' Casey looked at him narrowly. 'Oh, I get it – you've found out about my dad. Who told you?'

'Your godfather.'

'Hang on a minute,' Jamie put in. 'I'm missing something here. Who is Casey's father?'

'Only the editor of the
Daily Standard
,' Matt said. 'Why do you keep it a secret?'

'That's rich! You of all people should know the answer to that one.'

This time it was Matt's turn to narrow his eyes thoughtfully.

'I won't tell if you don't,' he said after a moment.

'What about Jamie?'

Jamie responded with a shrug.

'Whatever. I don't know what you're on about anyway.'

'OK, it's a deal,' Casey said, getting to her feet and hoisting a hefty-looking shoulder bag into place. 'Right, I'll go see what I can find out about this Delafield blokey. See you later, Jamie.'

She leaned forward and gave her fellow country-man a kiss, waved to Matt, and headed for the door.

'And
are
you seeing her later?'

'We're going out for a Chinese,' Jamie said, watching Casey weave her way between the tables. 'So, what was that all about? You lost me completely at the end there.'

'Oh, it was just about wanting to be taken on her own merit,' Matt said, and she had every right to be, he reflected. As she had just demonstrated with her research on his own background, she was thorough to a fault.

Because he had two of Roy Emmett's horses to ride on the Saturday, in addition to Doogie's, Matt rode work for John Leonard the following morning, arriving in the same instant as Ray Landon, and it was a toss-up as to which of the three of them felt the most uncomfortable about the situation. Nothing much was said beyond what was essential to the business of the day, and Matt left feeling thankful that Kendra's father hadn't been there to further compound the awkwardness.

Matt was pleased to see that his old friend, Temperance Bob, was in normal work again, the problem with his back presumably sorted out, although, when he raised the subject with the trainer, Leonard put his recovery down to a combination of heat treatment and swimming. It appeared that Toby Potter hadn't come to see the horse after all.

Neither Matt nor Landon stayed for breakfast.
Matt, unwilling to prolong the ordeal for any of them, made the excuse of wanting to get back to feed the dogs, a job which, normally, Kendra would have done.

A phone call to Birchwood Hall the previous night had again been fielded by Grace, but Kendra had rung back less than ten minutes later, and he was greatly reassured to find that she was clearly missing him. He didn't press her to return, but arranged to visit her at her father's the following evening after racing.

With no race meeting that day, Matt buried himself in working on the new kitchen, determined to have it ready for when Kendra returned. He didn't allow himself to dwell upon just when that might be.

At six o'clock that evening, he was cleaning paint off his brushes and hands when Casey rang and he hastily wrapped a cotton rag around his fingers to pick up the handset.

'Got your info,' she announced, with a justifiable touch of smugness. 'But I'm not sure it helps.'

'Oh.' Matt couldn't help feeling disappointed. 'Tell me anyway.'

'OK. Niall Anton Delafield: age thirty-seven; one-time medic in the Parachute Regiment; never married and only surviving family – his mother – lives in Devon. Disappeared abroad for a while and, as far as I can tell, he's been working for Brewer for about six months as a security consultant.'

'OK, I'm impressed. And was he at the party?'

'Yes, but only for a short while, apparently. He drove Deacon Brewer there and then went and had a kip in his car in the car park until Deacon came out, just before the trouble flared up between Jamie and Sophie. They were both seen coming and going on the security cameras in the club entranceway. Delafield told the police that they then went on to visit a friend in Warminster before going back to Birchwood Hall – presumably that's Brewer's place.'

'Yeah, that's right.'

'Well, it seems his story checks out. They stopped to get petrol at a station some six or seven miles away at about the time Sophie Bradford was killed. The car – with the two of them in it – was caught on the forecourt CCTV and Delafield himself filmed entering the shop and paying with his credit card. It all seems right and tight.'

'Damn,' Matt said. 'Back to square one. But thanks, anyway – brilliant work.'

'So what now?'

Matt sighed.

'I wish I knew.'

'Well, I still think we should check Steve Bryan out. It's the only real lead we've got.'

'But we don't even know for sure that he's one of the guys who jumped me.'

'Oh,
come on
, he must be,' Casey said. 'It was his van and he's ex-army – what more do you need?'

'Well, Bartholomew will have checked him out by now, if you gave him the numberplate. You did give him the numberplate?' Matt added, suddenly suspicious.

'Of course I did. But it wouldn't hurt to see if he ever served in the same regiment as Delafield, would it?'

'I guess not. And while you're at it, see if you can find out if either of them have any connection, army or otherwise, with my friend Kenning.'

'Right. Will do,' Casey agreed, sounding much happier as she rang off.

If Matt had worried that his meeting with Kendra might be attended by a little embarrassment after the way they had parted, his fears were soon laid to rest. She met him at the front door and threw her arms around his neck before he had a chance to say a word.

'I'm sorry, sweetheart,' he muttered into her hair, and her reply was merely to hug him tighter.

When eventually she loosened her hold and stood back, her eyes were swimming with tears.

'We are all right, aren't we?'

'Of course we are,' he said, smiling, and she produced an answering smile.

Across the hall a door opened and a voice said, 'Oh my, how touching! The lovers reunited.'

'Ignore her,' Kendra advised, without turning her head. 'It's what annoys her the most. Will you stay to dinner?'

'Oh, I don't know.' The idea held little appeal for Matt. 'Your father and I, well . . .'

'But he's not here. He's away on business and won't be back till tomorrow. Please, Matt – you're expected. And Harry's here . . .'

Matt took a deep breath.

'OK. As long as you promise to defend me from Grace.'

'Idiot! You know you're more than a match for her. Come on, Mum's in the sitting room.'

Saved from the prospect of a painful confrontation with Charlie, and made to feel especially welcome by Joy, Matt enjoyed the evening, in spite of the occasional barbed comment from Grace. Harry seemed in good spirits and Matt wondered at the timing of his presence; apart from the barbeque, when all the Leonards had been invited, Harry had never been invited to a meal, as far as he knew. When the cat was away, he mused . . .

Kendra herself seemed relaxed and happy, and it was brought home to Matt with a sense of guilt just how quiet and depressed she had become over the last few days at Spinney Cottage. Had she hidden it well, or had he been too taken up with his own worries to notice at the time?

Deacon was present for the meal; it was the first time Matt had seen him since Hereford, although he was in one of his dreamy moods and contributed little to the conversation. However, when they moved to the drawing room with their coffees and Frances suggested they play board games, Deke became more animated and volunteered to unearth Pictionary and Trivial Pursuit from a cupboard in the hall. Even though the idea was greeted with groans from most of the company, the protest was half-hearted and, before long, they were all engrossed, entering into the spirit of the games with childish enthusiasm.

'Deke has the luck of the devil, doesn't he?' Matt observed later, as he and Kendra sat together on the green brocade settee, alone in the drawing room. When they had eventually tired of the games, the others had gradually drifted away, with the exception of Grace, who showed every sign of staying put, until her mother reappeared and removed her, on the pretext of needing her help.