Price.â She looked pointedly at the Turnbulls, who sat across the table from her.
âYouâre a venomous bitch,â Jonathon Turnbull said.
While Lady Saxton only lifted an eyebrow at his outburst, Rachel Turnbull began to cry. The Duchess rapped sharply on the table with her gloved knuckles. âI warn you, Jonathon, such language will not be tolerated here.â
Jack frowned. âMr. Turnbull, I advise you to keep yourself in check.â
âIn check? An innocent woman has been murdered in the most brutal fashion, and youâre bothered by my language! Why arenât you trying to find the killer?â
Jack threw his notebook down on the table. âIâm doing just that, but first I must wade through a few tales of sordid behavior. And speaking of finding the killer, where did you go after you left the parade ring, Mr. Turnbull?â
Turnbull leaned forward. He seemed as tense and coiled as a snake eager to strike. Higgins realized the fellow was as agitated by Dianaâs death as Saxton and Longhurst, only he showed it through anger.
âI feel like Iâm living in a damned nightmare! As if I would harm Diana. While she was being murdered, I was trying to find my wife. More fool I to think Rachel needed me more. Neither Saxton nor I would kill such a beguiling woman. We adored Diana.â
Tears rolled down Rachelâs cheeks. Higgins exchanged troubled glances with Eliza, who seemed as uncomfortable as he was.
Jackâs left eye squinted tighter than before. âMrs. Turnbull, I am sorry to upset you more, but I must ask where you went after leaving the parade ring.â
Eliza reached over and gave her a handkerchief. Rachel took it with a grateful but watery smile. After a moment, she regained control.
âJonathon had words with Lord Saxton when Miss Price arrived. I was too far away to hear what was being said, but the situation confirmed rumors Iâd heard.â Her voice was so quiet, Higgins strained to hear. âI simply could not face Jonathon at that moment. Like Lady Saxton, I began to walk blindly through the crowd. I didnât stop until the race began. When that gentleman was trampled, the crowd grew so agitated that I returned to the viewing box.â She took a shaky breath. âThatâs all I can tell you, Detective Inspector.â
Someone rapped on the door. âCome in!â Jack barked.
A constable entered the office with a jockey. It was Jimmy âBomberâ Brody, who rode the Donegal Dancer to victory. Brody snatched off his flat racing cap and held it in his long-fingered hands, along with a riding crop. He still wore the Wrexham purple and green silks.
âYou wanted to speak to me, Detective Inspector?â
âYes, I did. Before I forget, how is Traceryâs jockey?â
âBert Whalley? Shaken up a bit, sir, but all right.â
âGlad to hear it. I know you were with the others when Miss Priceâs body was found. But youâd left by the time the police arrived.â
âSorry, Inspector, but I have another race today. I had to meet with the trainer. Otherwise Iâd be as good as dead myself.â He flushed. âSorry. That was a stupid thing to say.â
âDid you see anyone suspicious today in the stables? Someone who didnât belong there?â
âThat I did. The fellow who ran out on the racecourse.â
âWhat?â Higgins couldnât hide his surprise.
âI saw the man this morning as soon as the course opened. I caught him wandering about the stalls. He werenât dressed fine enough to be an owner, and he didnât look like any trainer Iâd ever seen. Seemed a bit off, too. Writing in some fool book, talking to himself. Had a bad feeling about him. I told one of the grooms to toss him out.â
âYouâre certain this was the same man who ran out onto the field?â
âNo doubt, Inspector. I saw that madman when they