Land Rites (Detective Ford), Andy Maslen [best way to read ebooks .txt] 📗

He’d been to charity fundraisers at the Guildhall with Lou, as well as the occasional mayoral dinner and regional police functions as a representative of Bourne Hill. At all of them, titled people swanned around as if they owned the place. Which, Ford reflected ruefully, they probably did.

Inverted snobbery? That’s what Lou used to say, teasing him afterwards in bed. ‘My working-class hero,’ she’d say, laughing and pulling him close.

He knew the problem. They gave off a vibe that said, We’re untouchable, beyond your reach, masters – and mistresses – of the universe. Leave well alone or you’ll be sorry.

Wanting a second pair of eyes and ears for this particular interview, he headed to Bourne Hill to collect Hannah. On the way there, his phone rang: the Journal’s news editor.

‘Inspector, it’s Emily Latimer. We’re running the story tomorrow, but we can’t use one of the images.’

‘Oh?’

‘The nudie one breaches our family-friendly editorial policy. Sorry.’

He smiled. ‘That’s OK. The other three were pretty distinctive.’

Ten minutes later, with Hannah sitting beside him, he turned the Discovery towards Alverchalke.

CHAPTER TEN

Gravel popped and crunched beneath the Discovery’s tyres as Ford pulled up in front of the grand house at the centre of the Alverchalke estate. A patchwork of sandstone and flint diamonds and sections of chequered red and black bricks, it had been modified, or repaired, multiple times over the years. At the front left-hand corner, a circular tower rose above four sets of three octagonal brick chimneys, giving the whole edifice a lopsided look. An ancient wisteria climbed over the first storey, flooding the leaded windows with a waterfall of pendulous purple flowers that emitted a sweetish, spicy scent.

He contrasted the house with the Bolters’ gaudy ranch-style home. They were affluent, too, in their way, but had nowhere near the wealth that oozed from between the stones of Alverchalke Manor.

Ford stretched his neck in the too-tight shirt collar he’d buttoned on the way over. He looked down at his M&S suit trousers. Noticed a small coffee stain near the left knee. Was JJ right? Should he upgrade his wardrobe?

Yes, because cleaning blood, shit and vomit off a designer suit would be a really useful way to spend his time.

With Hannah beside him, he marched up to the oak door and yanked a wrought-iron bell pull connected to a wire that ran through a hole in the stonework. From somewhere deep inside the house he heard the tinkling of a bell.

While they waited, Ford caught the sound of hoofbeats. From around the tower, a huge black horse, its coat flecked with foamy sweat, trotted towards them. A young woman sat astride it. She nodded down at them. No riding helmet, Ford noticed. In her early thirties, he judged, and built along substantial lines.

Cream jodhpurs emphasised muscular thighs. The sleeves of a royal-blue T-shirt did the same for her broad shoulders and upper arms. Blonde hair held back by a black velvet Alice band revealed a high domed forehead. Her tanned face bore a friendly smile.

Ford walked towards her, intending to introduce himself. He reached into his pocket for his ID and held it out in front of him.

Something in his movement must have spooked the horse. It shimmied sideways, tossing its head. Then, without warning, it reared up in front of him, whinnying loudly.

He stepped back hurriedly, out of range of its hooves. The young woman shifted her weight and rode out the storm before the horse’s forefeet came down with a double clop on the gravel.

Leaning forward, she stroked its neck and whispered something into its pricked-up ear. Whatever she said did the trick. The wild-eyed animal that had looked ready to trample Ford into the dirt a few seconds earlier now appeared as docile as a riding-school hack.

‘Sorry about that,’ she said, looking down at Ford. ‘Woodstock’s normally pretty friendly around strangers. Can I help you?’

‘We’re here to see Lord and Lady Baverstock,’ Hannah said. ‘Are you their daughter?’

‘That’s me.’ She dismounted and led the horse over to them, where it stood snorting and shaking its silky mane. She held out her hand. ‘Lucy. But everyone calls me Loopy.’

‘Do you live here?’ Ford asked.

‘Yah. The old ancestral seat’s big enough for the whole fam. Mummy, Daddy, me and Stodge.’

‘Stodge?’ Ford asked, imagining a silky-coated golden retriever.

‘Yah. Stodgy Stephen. He’s my brother. What are you, anyway? Bankers?’

‘Police,’ Ford said. ‘Detective Inspector Ford.’

She frowned. ‘Police?’

‘Yes,’ Hannah said. ‘Although technically I’m police staff, which means I’m not warranted. I’m Dr Hannah Fellowes, deputy head of forensics.’

Ford caught the flash of confusion that clouded Lucy’s high forehead then disappeared. Hannah’s detail-obsessed mind could catch people unawares. It was a useful, if unconscious, trait.

‘Oh, yah, of course. How do you do?’

‘We’re investigating a murder,’ Hannah said.

Lucy flinched. ‘Murder? Oh God, how absolutely awful!’

‘The body of a young man was found on the land of one of your tenant farmers,’ Ford said. ‘His name was Tommy Bolter. Did you ever meet him?’

Lucy looked at him for a couple of seconds, then turned away and nuzzled the horse’s cheek. ‘Tommy Bolter, Woody. Did we ever meet him?’ She turned back to Ford and Hannah. ‘He says no. Soz.’

Hannah pointed at the horse. ‘You’re using a Western saddle. Why is that?’

Ford looked. The bucket-shaped saddle had a horn at the front and a lot more padding than those used by the mounted cops he’d worked with.

Lucy smiled at Hannah. ‘He can be a handful, as you’ve just seen. I like the extra security.’

A young woman opened the door dressed in a forest-green uniform of skirt and jacket over a white blouse. Sensible low heels on her feet and dark tights despite the warm spring weather. Ford wondered if she was Old Dan’s grand-niece.

‘OK, well, have fun with the old folks,’ Lucy said. She clicked her tongue. ‘Come on, Woodstock, let’s get you rubbed down.’

She led the horse away, its soft nickers audible all the way to the far end of the house.

Ford turned to the woman who’d