‘Dressing room?’
‘We use spare bedrooms as dressing rooms. One each.’
No children, I thought.
‘They also found another phone in Declan’s room. A pink one. They asked if it was mine.’
‘What did you say?’
‘I told them I’d never seen it before.’ She paused as if not wanting to know the answer to her next question. ‘Was it Zoe’s?’
‘Yes, it was,’ I said. ‘Declan claims he dropped her off at Newmarket Station on Sunday afternoon, but she left her phone in his car. Didn’t he tell you about meeting her?’
‘Not a word.’
‘Where did you think he’d been all day?’
‘He told me he was going to see a yearling. He does it often on Sundays during the summer in the run-up to the autumn sales.’
‘What time was he back?’
‘I don’t know. I wasn’t here. I went to a hotel for the night.’
‘On your own?’
I must have sounded surprised.
‘Yes. On my own. I went to see a show at Potters Resort near Great Yarmouth. I know the owners. I stay with them. Four or five times a year they have top TV and West End stars performing on Sunday nights. I often go but Declan doesn’t want to. He doesn’t like live music much.’
‘But you were at Oliver’s with Declan on Monday when I arrived.’
‘Declan called me early to tell me about the fire so I came straight back.’
But not before you’d put on your make-up, I thought.
At this point the taxi arrived at the Bedford Lodge.
‘I’d better go now,’ I said. ‘Declan asked me to tell you he was sorry.’
‘For what?’ she asked acidly. ‘For killing his sister or for getting caught?’
I’d only thought it. Arabella had said it.
‘You mustn’t jump to conclusions,’ I said again. ‘Declan is totally adamant that he hasn’t done anything wrong. There’s probably a completely innocent explanation.’
‘There is nothing innocent about lying to me about meeting Zoe.’
She was crying again.
‘Look,’ I said. ‘Do you want me to find someone to come and be with you?’ Although goodness knows who I would get at this hour. Maybe Susan or Maria? But surely neither would be popular with Arabella.
Or did I dare call Kate? Would she even answer my call?
‘No,’ Arabella said. ‘Thank you. I really couldn’t face anyone. It would be too humiliating. I’ll be fine on my own.’
‘Try and get some sleep. We’ll speak more in the morning.’
I disconnected the call and went into the hotel.
Only when I was getting into bed did I realise she hadn’t answered my question of why she called Zoe’s husband Pete not Peter.
I made a mental note to ask her again when I next saw her.
When my alarm went off just after five, I was convinced that I’d been asleep for only a few minutes. But the clock said otherwise and it was already light outside, the first rays of morning sunshine streaming through a crack in the curtains.
I dragged myself reluctantly out of bed.
I was exhausted.
Was it really only twenty-four hours since I’d got up to go and see Ryan’s horses work? It felt more like a week than a day.
Why aren’t I still dead to the world, I asked myself as I stood under the shower trying to wash the sleep from my eyes. I couldn’t comprehend for one second why I’d agreed to go to Declan’s yard to see Chrissie. I must be mad.
I flicked on the BBC News Channel, more to keep me awake than anything else, and was greatly surprised to see footage of myself walking out of the police investigation centre the previous night and climbing into a taxi.
I hadn’t noticed the TV crew at the time, nor the presenter with them who was next seen speaking directly into the camera.
‘Police say that a forty-one-year-old man has been arrested on suspicion of murder in connection with the human remains found in Monday’s stable fire in Newmarket. The man is being questioned here at Bury St Edmunds.’ The shot again showed the building behind the reporter, with POLICE INVESTIGATION CENTRE written in large silver letters on its red-brick exterior wall. ‘No details have been officially released concerning the identity of the suspect but the BBC understands that he is being named locally as Declan Chadwick, brother of Ryan Chadwick, the trainer of the dead horses.’
I knew that it wouldn’t have taken long for the media to establish who had been arrested but even they had excelled themselves this time.
Maybe my waiting taxi driver of last evening hadn’t been asleep after all. One quick phone call, a tweet, or even a post on his Facebook page would have been enough.
And to think I’d put any future relationship with Kate at serious risk by not saying why I’d so abruptly abandoned her, for fear of being the source.
My driver and his Mercedes had been reinstated and they were waiting for me outside the hotel at quarter to six on Thursday morning.
There was a copy of a national newspaper lying on the passenger seat with ‘FIRE VICTIM’S BROTHER ARRESTED’ as its main headline in two-inch-high bold capitals.
I scanned through the front-page story. So much for the presumption of innocence, I thought, as paragraph after paragraph implied Declan’s guilt. No doubt the lawyers had been through everything with a fine-tooth comb to ensure it wasn’t libellous, but it must have been a close-run thing. And, in my view, the reporters had clearly breached Declan’s right to privacy — but they were only interested in selling newspapers.
When I arrived in Hamilton Road, there were already two TV news vans parked side by side outside Declan’s house, their rooftop satellite dishes facing skywards like a pair of large white hands waiting for a catch.
‘Turn into the yard rather than the house,’ I said to the driver, but if I thought that meant I would escape the attention of the camera crews, I was much mistaken. They were camped out at every entrance, even if they hadn’t actually yet trespassed onto the property itself.
I kept my head down as the Mercedes pulled into the stable yard, where there was considerable confusion around what should be done.
Chrissie was in the yard office and in a bit of a fluster.
‘What are we to do?’ she asked in desperation. ‘Some of the lads haven’t even come in to work.’
‘Keep calm and carry on as best you can,’ I said. ‘I was with Declan last night and he told me to ask you to send all the horses out for a canter, except for today’s runners. He also said to tell Joe to get the two off to York before seven-fifteen.’
‘How can we? The place is besieged by the press.’
‘Ignore them,’ I said. ‘The more you carry on as before, the less they’ll be interested. That’s the best thing you can do for Declan.’
She stared at me.
‘Did he do it?’ she asked.
‘Declan categorically denies having done anything wrong.’
I wasn’t convinced she believed it. Did I?
‘Has Arabella been out to see you yet?’ I asked.
‘You’re joking,’ Chrissie said with a laugh. ‘Arabella never appears before eight-thirty even on the best of days. Mostly later. Sometimes not at all.’
I’d have to leave for Bury St Edmunds by eight-thirty, at the very latest, and this clearly wasn’t going to be one of the best of days.
‘I need to speak to her,’ I said, pulling my phone out of my pocket. ‘I’ll give her a call.’
‘I’d wait a bit if I were you,’ Chrissie said. ‘She has quite a sharp tongue in her head if she’s woken too early.’
I knew how she felt, I thought, and yawned.
‘Coffee?’ Chrissie asked.
‘I’ll make it,’ I said. ‘You go and sort out the horses.’