Death of a Friend by Rebecca Tope Read Free Book Online

of that is way off the mark.’
    ‘Perhaps, while you’re here, we could askone or two technical questions?’ The Inspector adopted a subtly submissive demeanour as he said this.
    ‘Fire away,’ the landowner invited, placated.
    ‘Firstly, what would be a reasonable distance for a rider and horse to travel, say in two or three hours? At the sort of pace designed not to attract attention.’
    Fairfield answered unhesitatingly. ‘Fifteen, twenty miles, maximum. Further than that, and they’d be cantering. Though I’m not sure anybody would take notice of a rider cantering along some of the quieter bridleways. Thirty-five miles wouldn’t be impossible for a good animal. Opens up a pretty wide range of possibilities for your enquiries, eh, Inspector? Glad I’m not in your shoes.’
    DI Smith made some notes, thanked his witness and suggested that Den drive him home again. They parted with high civility, each acknowledging that jobs must be done and roles must be played. But as he walked out to the car, Den knew that Gerald Fairfield still had to feature significantly on the short list of those who had means, motive and opportunity to kill Charlie Grattan. Indeed, Den concluded with a wry smile that Gerald was on a very, very short list of such individuals.
    In the car they talked inevitably of Nina. Denwas aware of a mutual need to replay the scene of her death with someone who had been there. ‘I’ve been dreaming about it,’ Gerald admitted. ‘In the dream, the horse is covered in blood. Nobody ever asked about his welfare, you know. Whether the poor lad had a bruised nose. All that shouting and screaming upset him; he’s been off his fodder ever since. I’m not complaining, obviously. I’m probably lucky nobody’s demanded he be put down.’
    ‘They are animal rights activists,’ Den pointed out. ‘That presumably extends to horses.’
    ‘Hah!’ Gerald laughed sarcastically. ‘You’re joking! You, of all people, must know what they get up to, what they do to police dogs and horses. They’re nothing but hypocrites and fools. Surely you’re with me on that?’
    ‘I think that’s a bit sweeping,’ Den ventured. ‘I haven’t much personal experience, but from what I’m hearing about Charlie, he was no fool. He had a lot of respect from a lot of people. He was a Quaker, too. I don’t think they’re generally regarded as hypocrites.’
    ‘A Quaker, eh? Like old Barty White, my terrier supplier. He’s no hypocrite, either, though I bet his Quaker pals think he is. He’ll know your Charlie, I suppose.’ He gave a slight chuckle. ‘I don’t envy you sorting this one out. That Cattermole family defies comprehension, for astart. You won’t have known the old woman, I imagine? Died four or five years ago now.’
    ‘Old woman?’
    ‘Eliza. Mother of the three girls. Amazing character. When I was fifteen, I was insanely in love with her. Never really got over it – though that’s off the record.’
    ‘But she must have been …’
    ‘Mid-thirties, at least. Hadn’t had any of the girls at the time. She was working on it, though. Eliza Cattermole brought the sixties to Devon all by herself. God, it seems like another world now.’
    ‘What happened to her husband?’
    ‘No such person. Didn’t hold with anything so conventional as marriage. You ask Martha – she’ll cheerfully tell you. She’s the best of the bunch by a long way. The only one with a proper job and her feet on the ground. Not that any of that’s got anything to do with this business.’
    Den wasn’t so sure. In his limited experience, he had already learnt that motivation for murder was highly likely to extend a long way back into the past.
    ‘So who’s their father? Is he still around?’
    ‘It wasn’t just the one chap,’ Gerald explained patiently. ‘There were three different ones. Nobody from round here. She’d go off to London or wherever and come back pregnant. Did it deliberately. We assumed it was