The approach road was turning grey in a gauzy late afternoon, early tendrils of mist rising from a nearby copse that held a small brook. The tarmac ended by a farmhouse which looked carefully restored: right down to the wagon-wheel propped up against the front and the requisite wheelbarrow-as-flowerbed by the entrance. To the right, a gravel path led to the stables, behind which was a large metal shed that Rainer presumed was for indoor work, or dressage, or whatever. To the left, a wooden cabin served as an office.
Rainer didn’t like horses. They were too big. His girlfriend had a niece who rode and he’d occasionally driven the kid to events. Horses were too large, made random noises, almost constantly changed their foot position in a way that caught him off guard, and stared with those large, liquid eyes.
He wiped his shoes on a doormat that squelched with disinfectant. The cabin had four desks, all swamped with badly filed paperwork. He or Dana would make short work of tidying this to a proper standard; Lucy or Mike would simply never allow it to happen. He could feel his fingers twitch. A brunette with glasses noticed him and nudged a colleague. The middle-aged man sauntered across with the air of someone who’d been there for years.
‘Can I help you?’
‘Rainer Holt, police. Is the owner of the centre around, please?’
‘You’re looking at him, son. Dan Mathers. Co-owner, I should say. My better half owns the other half.’ Mathers offered a hearty country-welcome handshake. ‘Police, you say? Is something wrong?’
‘Oh, no, nothing like that. Is there someplace we could talk?’
Mathers strolled around the desk. ‘Well, I’m going back to our cottage to get some papers. We could talk on the journey.’ He looked down and grinned. ‘Don’t worry – gravel path all the way. That shoeshine isn’t in danger.’
They re-crossed the courtyard. The clop of distant hooves punctuated birdsong; Rainer noticed some fading saplings near the shed.
‘You bought this place from the Whittlers?’
‘Ah, well, Jeb Whittler. Yeah, his parents died before. I think the place was too much for him on his own, and anyway, he had some construction business that needed investment. Yeah, a while ago now.’
Rainer did a 360, certain that Mathers was the type who responded to flattery. ‘It wasn’t in this condition, though? It all looks immaculate.’
‘Thank you. Number of staff here, and how much we pay ’em, bloody well should look perfect. Nah, it was a mess,’ Mathers continued. ‘The main house there? Just about habitable. We lived there while we knocked down the old barns, built the stable complex and the dressage arena.’
He pointed to the large metal shed and Rainer wondered if Jeb had been involved in its construction.
‘That doubles as riding space when it’s too wet or hot outside. At that point, it was day-trippers only, but the big money is in residential. So we built this little cottage over here for ourselves and converted the main house into a bed-and-breakfast arrangement. Customers like being in and around the horses the whole time. And it keeps the insurance down if the owners live on site.’
‘I see. And you’ve produced champions, I read?’
‘Ooh, more Marlene’s department than mine. She’s the horse whisperer; I’m the accounts whisperer.’ They crossed a cute little bridge over a brook, the smell of freshly mown grass stronger here. ‘That’s where she is today – looking at some potential new horses up past Earlville. Yeah, we’ve had a couple of regional champions. Nearly had an Olympian – Suzanne Doyle. Got that close. Would have made it next Olympics, but she had to give it up. So yeah, pretty good.’
They stopped near a picnic bench beside the cottage. The owners’ home was built of the same stone as the main house: Rainer guessed they’d re-used the stone from demolishing the old barns. The cottage already had creepers winding to the first floor. He could see the fence to one side and the road beyond, flashes of colour through the branches as cars whipped past. Dan Mathers seemed reluctant to show him inside, so they managed an awkward shuffle to the bench.
‘So, Dan, I’m here to learn as much as I can about the Whittlers, and about the farm as you inherited it.’ Rainer put his forearms on the table: the wood felt rough and unfinished. ‘Did you meet Jeb’s parents at any point?’
‘Nah, they were dead before we even moved to the area. Car crash, as I understand. No, we had to get out of the city and stretch, you know? It was only Jeb by then. We asked around the neighbours before we bought, though. As you do. They thought the Whittlers were creepy. All of them, mind, the kids included. Quiet, closed in; wore old-fashioned clothes.’ Mathers glanced back towards the main house. ‘The parents preached Bible a lot; I know that much. When we moved in Jeb had pretty much taken his own personal stuff and scarpered. If you’d told me he ran off the morning we arrived, I wouldn’t have been surprised. I mean, everything else was left as it was – like a ghost ship, or something. Bibles everywhere, oodles of crosses, lots of religious tracts on the bookshelves. It was weird. We offered it all to the local church – come and take it away. They said no. I think there was plenty of friction between the Whittlers and that church. We didn’t want to get into all that so we threw it all out.’
It interested Rainer that Jeb appeared to have moved suddenly, as though there was some final-second imperative to being gone. Presumably the legals of the move would have taken weeks. Jeb could have sorted out both his stuff, and his parents’, while the contracts were going through. He had been clinging on, seemingly reluctant to actually let go. Or he’d been doing something specific, which mattered and couldn’t be interrupted, up to the last minute.
‘You didn’t keep any of it?’
‘Sorry, son. Never thought the police would come looking for it years later. Why, do you need it?’
‘Oh, it’s an ongoing case: it would have been background, mainly. So you moved in after Jeb moved out. Ever see him again?’
‘He still lives in Carlton. We used to wave if we saw each other in town, but nothing more than that.’ Mathers stopped, but cut across Rainer’s next question. ‘Oh, wait.’
‘What?’
‘I did see him. Just a… what, a few weeks ago. Where was that? Where?’ Mathers patted his pockets, as though an answer were there. ‘Lemme think for a second. I had the car, not the ute, so it must have been… a Tuesday. Definitely a Tuesday. I saw him out at that store – Jensen’s Store, on the Derby Road.’
Rainer tried to hide the jolt.
‘You saw him? Definitely Jeb? And definitely there?’
‘Oh yeah, he hasn’t changed much: maybe a bit paunchier than I remember. When you look like that, you kinda stand out. Big guy, bald, big shoulders. Yeah, it was him.’ A sudden breeze caught Mathers’ hair and shifted all of it sideways two centimetres. He slid the piece back into place with insouciance. ‘Jeb was talking to the owner – I know that guy from the local business club, here in town. Uh… Lou. Yup. Lou Cassavette. Yeah, two peas in a pod, those.’
It was better than Rainer could have anticipated. A link – once removed – between Nathan Whittler and the victim.
‘What were they talking about?’
‘Oh, I only saw them in passing. I’d stopped for a long black and I was on my way out and back home; they were standing outside and yacking. I didn’t catch what about. Is that important?’
Yeah, thought Rainer. It really is.
‘Ever see them together before?’
Mathers became a little more cautious.
‘Why?’
‘Because I’m interested, Mr Mathers. Have you ever seen Jeb Whittler and Lou Cassavette together at any time?’
Mathers’ eyes narrowed. It didn’t strike Rainer that Mathers was dissembling; more that he’d suddenly realised he was sitting on a nugget of social gold. Mathers would bore his wife to death about it this evening, Rainer had no doubt. Without meeting Marlene, Rainer already felt a little sorry for her.