Judas Horse

Chapter 6

The next morning, half of Jack’s new team were at their desks wading through all of the evidence, specifically looking for people or vehicles present in the vicinity of all of the burglaries, while the other half were out taking fresh statements and asking all known burglary victims if they knew of anyone else who’d been targeted and not actually reported it.

The pinging of Gifford’s mobile could be heard two seconds before he himself appeared in the squad room carrying a mixture of hot and cold breakfasts for everyone. He was clearly surprised to see only three of his officers at their desks. ‘The others are re-interviewing, sir,’ Jack explained quickly. He knew Gifford would be unhappy that this order had been given without being run past him first. ‘We know that some burglaries have not actually been reported and that’s no use to us. We need the whole picture, so we can see the pattern — if there is one. We’ll get nowhere by being reactive; we must be proactive. And any pissing off of bigwigs we do now will be forgotten once we catch this gang.’

Without replying, Gifford handed the hot breakfasts to those of his officers who were present and put the cold breakfasts on the desks of those who were out and about. He was giving himself time to consider Jack’s rather insubordinate first order of the day.

‘They have gone plainclothes, sir,’ Oaks added once the silence got too much for him. ‘So, they shouldn’t get too many curtains twitching.’

Gifford had no choice but to go along with the decision for now. ‘Well... we’d better have something to show for it by the time the complaints hit the DCI’s desk.’

‘We will.’ Jack took a deep breath before delivering his next sentence. Gifford’s response would tell him whether this case was winnable or not. ‘Oaks and I are on our way to re-interview Maisie Fullworth.’

Gifford slammed the tray of drinks down on the nearest desk.

Jack was prepared for this reaction and he already knew what he was going to say. ‘I won’t work with one hand tied behind my back, sir. Mrs Fullworth does not know what’s best for this community — we do. The fact that she can’t see it is not my problem.’

Gifford pursed his lips, stuck out his chin and nodded. Then he took his perpetually pinging mobile out of his pocket, went into his office and shut the door. As the disgruntled DI sat down at his desk to read his messages, Jack saw right through the fat man’s suddenly very transparent façade. Gifford was not a leader, but a follower in disguise. Jack would be gentler with him from now on — not out of pity or guilt, but because he knew that there was no need to be pushy with a man who wasn’t going to push back.

Mrs Fullworth wasn’t happy to see the police on her doorstep again and made it very clear from the outset by not stopping what she was doing. She moved around the kitchen, sweeping zig-zag-shaped chunks of mud into the corner nearest the back door. ‘I tell Mr Fullworth to kick the step before he comes in, so that his boots drop their mud outside, but he always forgets.’ Then, almost without taking a breath, she began recapping how incredibly cooperative she’d been so far. ‘You have the contact details for all staff — the pool maintenance chap has died since then, so you can strike him from your list. You have the insurance details for the £2,000 ring — that payment took several months to arrive with me, now there’s a crime for you. Not that the ring can be replaced. That’s the crux of it all with a robbery, isn’t it? It’s so bloody personal. What else, oh yes, the cash; well, I’ll not see that again. Never mind. It was only £500 for housekeeping and the like—’

‘Mrs Fullworth,’ Jack interrupted. ‘When is Maisie back with you?’ Jack knew it was important for him to gain control of the conversation. So far, Mrs Fullworth had not stopped talking, in an endeavour to assert her authority, and although Jack could see it working with Oaks, it definitely wasn’t going to wash with him.

‘My daughter...’ Mrs Fullworth emphasised her words to indicate her ownership over Maisie. ‘My daughter has suffered with anorexia for much of her teenage life, but since the burglary, it’s got worse. She is currently with her aunt, my sister, Lisa, in Swindon. Lisa is an art therapist. Maisie’s going through a rough patch and it helps her to be away from here. Away from all of the traumatic memories.’ Jack asked again when Maisie was due to return, but was told that it would be open-ended. ‘Healing has its own timeframe.’

‘Unfortunately, Mrs Fullworth,’ Jack replied firmly, ‘we also have a timeframe. These burglars are working their way through your community, your friends. They’re making fools of us.’ Mrs Fullworth’s eyes narrowed and her knuckles turned white as she squeezed the handle of the broom. ‘They know you value your privacy as highly as your possessions, and so they force you to choose.’ Jack took a step towards her, getting closer than she was comfortable with, so he could see that she wasn’t arrogant at all. She was scared. Now he knew what to say. He promised to give her the one thing he knew she’d genuinely lost. ‘My intention is to take control away from them and give it back to you. Your daughter can return to her home, unafraid. Do you have a first name I could use, Mrs Fullworth?’

Within seconds of Mrs Fullworth blushing like a schoolgirl and announcing that her first name was Eloise — ‘you can call me Elli’ — she’d revealed the guilt she felt for having been at her weekly bridge game at the time of the burglary. She and several female friends met every Tuesday and on this particular night, Maisie had been home due to her school’s mid-term break. Elli had still gone out, because it was her one night off and she worked so hard the rest of the week. So Maisie had been left home alone, to be confronted by a man in her bedroom. Elli had almost cried at the thought of what could have happened to her little girl on that horrible, terrifying night. As a family, she was thankful they had got off very lightly.

Oaks couldn’t stop grinning as they walked back to the car. ‘Sirrr!’ he laughed in his West Country burr. ‘That was fucking awesome.’

Jack leant against the passenger door of the car and looked out over the endless chequerboard of fields. Oaks, oblivious, got into the car and started the engine. Then he stopped the engine and got out again, unsure as to why Jack had paused. ‘Never stop looking at this,’ Jack said, looking towards the horizon. ‘I was brought up somewhere similar to this, but my daughter will grow up in London. It’s an amazing city, but, shit...’ He spread his arms. ‘Look at this.’ Oaks’s brow furrowed as he desperately tried to see what Jack was seeing. ‘You have to understand what Mrs Fullworth values, in order to get her to do what you want.’

‘So, we’re manipulating her?’

‘Of course. As long it’s for the right motive, it’s fine. This...’ Jack looked to the horizon again. ‘This is where Elli’s anger and fear comes from; from losing this. Losing it to scum. This countryside is Maisie’s. How dare anyone take it from her? Maisie’s in fucking Swindon. Have you ever been to Swindon?’

The furrow on Oaks’s brow disappeared and his eyes opened wide. He got it. Then Oaks’s mobile rang and he stepped away to answer it.

Jack took this moment to take a snap of the view and text it to Maggie. She immediately texted back.

‘Sir,’ Oaks cut in. ‘Charlotte Miles owns a plant nursery and gardening business just outside Churchill. It’s in the grounds of a smallholding — pigs, chickens, ducks, goats, that sort of thing. She has two vehicles: a van for delivering veg and plants, and an old pickup for the garden maintenance side of things. Between those two jobs, she works for most people round here. Either her van or her pickup was at each of the properties, a couple of nights before it was burgled.’

Although Oaks was telling Jack that they’d found a common denominator, he wasn’t confident that Charlotte was the common denominator. Oaks explained how she had already been interviewed and eliminated as she had a solid alibi for each burglary. ‘And besides, sir, Charlotte definitely isn’t a six-foot-plus bloke,’ Oaks added.

Jack pointed out that, although he agreed Charlotte could not be involved in the burglaries themselves, she could still be a scout of some kind, potentially recce’ing properties before they were hit. Oaks was doubtful. ‘Well, yeah, she could. But then, so could John — he’s our postman. And so could June — she’s our 50-odd-year-old paper girl. And so could...’ Jack walked away. He didn’t want to listen to Oaks listing everyone who visited houses on a weekly, if not daily basis.

Ridley stood erect and motionless in the witness box, arms behind his back. His suit jacket hung perfectly off his shoulders and you could hardly see him breathing. His face was unreadable as he listened to every syllable of every word of every question the defence lawyer asked. And whilst Ridley was thinking of how to answer, his eyes did not move around to suggest a faulty memory or any kind of elaboration. He was statuesque. DS Laura Wade couldn’t take her eyes off him.

Once she realised she was staring, she began to blush. Jesus Christ! she thought to herself. Ridley looks as hot as hell up there!

Ridley wasn’t Laura’s type at all. Jack was her type. She and Jack had been partners for just over a year and she’d fancied the pants off him for every second of that time — his dark, bohemian looks and effortlessly rugged appearance made her heart beat faster whenever she saw him. Laura had hoped this feeling would abate once Maggie became pregnant, but it didn’t; she just became better at hiding it.

Ridley, in contrast to Jack, was skinny and boring. But seeing him so composed and convincing in the witness box made her realise just how smart he was. Laura had never before found ‘smart’ attractive, but maybe she was maturing, she thought.

She found herself defending Ridley against her own preconceptions: in her mind, she replaced ‘skinny’ with ‘athletic’. ‘Boring’ with ‘smart’, and suddenly... Ridley was a catch!

The judge’s gavel came down and Laura’s dream bubble burst. Ridley stepped down from the witness box and Laura followed him out into the courthouse corridor as he took a call on his mobile. He smiled at Laura, indicating that he’d be with her in a minute. ‘Trust me,’ Ridley said into his mobile, ‘DS Warr never dismisses anyone until he’s 100 per cent certain that they’re not involved. Let him backtrack. Let him double-check. Go with him, Joe, or you’ll regret it.’

Once he’d hung up, Ridley headed for Laura, seated alone on the corridor bench.

‘You look nervous, Laura. There’s no need. Be concise, be confident. We’ve got this.’

A thought popped into her mind — an old conversation she and Jack had had months ago whilst taking the piss out of the fact that Ridley prepared for every case and every raid so slowly and then delivered so quickly. Laura had made a flippant comment back then: ‘Do you think he’s like this in the bedroom? Prepping at the speed of a tortoise and delivering at the speed of a train!’ But now the joke had morphed into an exciting image that Laura couldn’t get out of her head. Her name was called by the Court Clerk — she was next to take the witness stand. Ridley threw her an encouraging smile. ‘Just focus. Don’t be distracted by anything.’

Yeah, right! she thought.

Charlotte Miles’s property was exactly as Jack had imagined. The fence marking the perimeter was high and solid to protect the free-roaming sheep, ducks and chickens, but the inside fences were makeshift. The pigpen’s structure was a mix of recycled wooden and metal gates from other areas of the smallholding, strapped together with wire; this was home to three very large pigs. And the extensive veg and fruit fields were protected by chicken wire and plastic zip ties. In what must have once been the back garden, greenhouses were filled to bursting with plants that grew out of the tiny gaps between the glass and its frame, and beyond that there was a stunning orchard boasting lemon, apple and pear trees.

The exterior of the house was shabby and weather-worn, with windows so dirty they were impossible to see through. Oaks knocked on the equally dirty door.

A woman in her thirties opened it. She was slender and pretty with long, messy hair tied in a knot hanging between her shoulder blades. She wore a vest top and dungarees cut low at the side, so they revealed the top of her hips. On her feet, she wore thick green knitted socks, designed to fit snugly into the Hunter wellington boots behind the door.

‘Hi, Annie. This is Annie Summers,’ Oaks announced. ‘Annie, this is DS Jack Warr from the Met in London.’ As Annie smiled and stepped back to allow them in, Oaks added quietly, ‘Take your shoes off, sir.’ It was only now that Jack caught sight of his once-black brogues, thick with what he hoped was only mud. Oaks, on the other hand, was wearing brown boots with soles so thick that the leather uppers were hardly dirty at all.

Beyond the muddy porch, the outwardly mucky farmhouse was immaculate. Dark wooden ceiling beams split the large reception room into lounge, dining area and kitchen. The lounge was cosy, with plush cream carpets and modern furniture complete with numerous cats scattered about the place, while the dining area and kitchen were more like a typical farmhouse with an Aga, hanging pans and heavy terracotta floor tiles.

Oaks told Annie that they were here to see Charlotte; they did try to call ahead but received no reply.

‘Lotte’s useless with her mobile,’ said with a smile. ‘She’s with the horses, so it’ll be on top of a hay bale somewhere. She won’t even know it’s not in her pocket.’ As Annie spoke, she texted. This was quickly followed by an electronic whistle from somewhere near the kitchen windowsill. Annie headed for a flowerpot by the side of the sink, and there was Charlotte’s mobile. ‘See! Didn’t even make it out of the house. Do you want me to take you over, Will, or can you make your own way?’

Oaks assured Annie that he’d be able to escort Jack to the stables, no problem.

Once they had their shoes back on, Jack asked how well Oaks knew the two women, seeing as Annie referred to him by his first name. Oaks reiterated what Jack already knew — that everybody knew everybody round here and things could get incredibly messy if they discovered that one of their own was in league with the burglars.

Around the back of the farmhouse, not visible from the road, were two stable blocks with space for four horses in each. One block was currently full, the other empty and being used as storage for animal feed and the equipment that Charlotte used for her gardening business. As Jack and Oaks approached, Charlotte was guiding the four horses into a neighbouring field. They raced excitedly into the open green space where they bucked and kicked, before settling to feed on the fresh grass.

Charlotte was a bigger woman than Annie, but not fat; she looked strong and athletic from working the land and tending animals. She had thick curly brown hair tied back with a yellow ribbon, similar dungarees and Hunter boots to Annie’s and a longer T-shirt underneath that hid her midriff. A large red checked shirt finished the look, and Jack would have assumed by its size that it belonged to the man of the house, if he hadn’t already been told by Oaks that Annie and Charlotte were a couple. Once the horses were in the field and the gate securely fastened, Charlotte started searching her pockets in vain for something that clearly wasn’t there.

‘It’s in the kitchen, Charlotte!’ Oaks shouted, so she turned to face them.

Charlotte had the lightest blue eyes, framed by long black lashes. Her petite nose and big lips made her face effortlessly pretty, although not beautiful in the truest sense of the word. She was riveting to look at. Oaks introduced Jack, and Charlotte asked if they minded her continuing to work whilst they talked. This simple gesture of courtesy immediately set her aside from the likes of Mrs Fullworth — Charlotte was naturally confident, and so could also be polite without fear of seeming submissive. She did not need to assert her position with anyone. Charlotte disappeared into one of the stables and reappeared carrying a pair of men’s wellingtons. She handed them to Jack — ‘They were my father’s once upon a time.’ Now Jack knew the owner of the oversized shirt.

Jack propped himself against a tractor tyre, swapping his ruined shoes for a dead man’s wellies, and watched Charlotte stride back and forth stocking up the feed for when her horses returned to their stables, clearly not fazed by having two police officers in her stable yard. She then collected two bridles and headed for the field where the four horses she’d just let out were enjoying the freedom of the open land.

‘Watch this.’ She grinned with pride as she raised her hand and let out a soft whistle. A big dapple-grey mare pricked up her large ears and galloped towards them. The grey stopped right in front of Charlotte and lowered her head to allow the bridle to be slipped into place. ‘Have you missed me, Florrie? She has the sweetest temperament. Perfect for children. She’s going to spend a couple of hours helping out at the riding school later today, because one of theirs has gone lame.’

Jack found himself in awe of the relationship Charlotte clearly had with Florrie, seeing this animal, standing head and shoulders above Charlotte, doing as she was asked out of something other than ownership or duty. It seemed to him that the horse respected, trusted, maybe even loved Charlotte. Jack found it inspiring to watch. She then took the second bridle, climbed the gate and ventured into the field. At the far end, a chestnut brown beast of a horse grazed on his own. Charlotte raised her arm high in the air and kept it there until she had his attention. Once he’d seen her, she made a swift gesture to come forwards. The chestnut reared up for a second, like a bucking bronco, then galloped towards her at a frightening speed.

Even from the safe side of the gate, Jack could feel the ground shuddering underfoot. Charlotte gave Jack a glance over her shoulder. ‘He’s showing off.’ The chestnut raced past her, looped, circled and eventually came to rest by her shoulder, head held high. ‘He’s a mustang. A rescue from some prat from the US who brought him over here and then couldn’t train him. They gelded him, but that didn’t help. They saw him as no practical use to anyone, so they neglected him. I saw him in their field as I was passing one day and — my God — he was magnificent. Underweight and unkempt, but still magnificent. See how he’s not giving me his head?’

This mustang stood far taller than the grey, towering over Charlotte. Then his head turned and his dark, frightened eyes focussed on Jack. He let out a jet of hot air from his nostrils that blew loose hair across Charlotte’s forehead. She looked up and whispered, ‘Judas.’ The mustang lowered his head and allowed her to put on his bridle. That’s all it took. The right word, at the right moment.

‘Do you know what a Judas Horse is?’ Charlotte asked as she buckled the bridle into place. ‘When the wild mustangs are running free, you corral one and train it. It can take weeks, even months, but when he’s ready, you can release him and he’ll bring his team back into the corral like Judas betraying them.’ Charlotte looked thoughtfully at Judas. ‘We’re waiting for the vet to come and give him his regular medical. He’s not yet as strong as he should be. But he’s getting there. Shall we go for some tea? Annie will have the kettle on.’

In the kitchen, Annie did indeed have tea on the go. Hunks of white bread were roughly cut and laid out waiting to be smothered in homemade jam or honey. Jack declined, but Oaks tucked in. ‘Annie makes the most amazing bread,’ he said, cramming in a huge mouthful.

Once the niceties were done, Jack asked Charlotte about Eloise Fullworth.

‘Mrs Fullworth is one of my clients.’ Charlotte was candid about how well she knew the family. She answered quickly, without pausing, which suggested she wasn’t thinking about what might be the best thing to say. This told Jack that she probably had nothing to hide. ‘I do her garden; keep it tidy, that sort of thing. I change plants I think need changing, trim what I think needs trimming; she lets me decide. I do one afternoon a week for her. Tuesdays normally, but that can shift depending on when Maisie’s home. When Maisie’s there, it’s their time. Mrs Fullworth is very protective.’ When Jack asked what Maisie was like, Charlotte suggested that she was probably much stronger than her mother gave her credit for.

Jack went on to ask more generally about Charlotte’s clients. ‘I meet the staff at residential properties,’ she explained. ‘But the rentals tend to bring their own people with them, and they rarely use me as they don’t stay long enough. The full-time staff are often Eastern European. Lovely. Well, I like them. Not that I’d be able to spot a wrong-un if they were standing in front of me, I don’t suppose. I can spot a bad horse from a good one a mile away, but people... I’m sorry but I’m not much use to you, DI Warr.’

Back in the squad room at Chipping Norton, all six of Gifford’s officers were now at their desks, eating the cold breakfasts they’d been bought hours earlier. One of the men who’d been out and about re-questioning victims had brought back a Tupperware box full of scones from old Mr and Mrs Gaddas. He’d also been provided with a jar of jam and a tub of clotted cream. Mrs Gaddas was housebound due to illness, but she was still able-bodied and loved baking for visitors.

Jack respectfully popped into Gifford’s office to update him, before the rest of the team. But Gifford was not in the mood for pleasantries. ‘I’ve been on to DCI Ridley,’ Gifford said as if this would knock Jack off-balance. Jack reckoned Gifford must have complained about Jack double-checking all of his hard work, but he knew Ridley would have politely but firmly put him straight. ‘You better not be dragging your feet now you’ve started this messy little ball rolling,’ Gifford continued. ‘Remember what I said about getting answers before the complaints start hitting the DCI’s desk.’

‘Elli — Mrs Fullworth won’t be complaining, sir. I can assure you of that.’ Jack left it at that and headed for his team. Jack had ‘accidently’ used Mrs Fullworth’s first name, so that Gifford knew the kind of relationship Jack had been able to establish in just one ten-minute visit.

In the squad room, Jack asked each officer in turn to introduce themselves, and then share any relevant discoveries. As this began, Jack sat his desk, got out a brand new pair of brown boots, just like Oaks’s, and swapped them for the muddy shoes he was currently wearing. He then binned the shoes.

His team were brimming with a new enthusiasm, stemming from a couple of pieces of additional information that had been uncovered. As people spoke, Oaks wrote everything on the evidence board: four more burglaries had now been unofficially reported, with no one wanting their house to be treated like a crime scene at this late stage. They’d moved on and would not be dragged back. But the dates, times, methods of entry and items taken were all new and potentially important information.

Most re-interviewed burglary victims had put their ordeals behind them, upped their security, claimed on their insurance and got on with their lives. Although this made little sense to Jack, he understood that it was all relative — losing £50,000 of insured property here would be like him having his bike nicked.

Within the hour, the whiteboard was full and a second had been borrowed from another department. They now had a comprehensive list of all properties that owned updated security systems, new CCTV, guard dogs and, in some cases, security guards.

Oaks walked backwards away from the evidence boards, until he was in his newly adopted position right by Jack’s side. Jack immediately noticed that he was now a good half inch taller in his new boots, which he liked the feel of. That morning, Oaks had been a fraction taller than him; now they were the same height. Jack was average, just shy of 5’10”, but in this job, he knew he was considered to be on the short side.

They still had no prints, no damage for the sake of it and no alarm systems tripped. What they did have was one dead dog and a sick old man who was in bed during his break-in.

‘It’s my belief,’ Jack started, ‘that this gang is getting inside information from someone you all know and have probably already interviewed. I want a calendar on this whiteboard showing all upcoming social events — golf tournaments, harvest festivals, school plays, walking groups, theatre groups, bridge nights — let’s see if we can predict when they might hit next.’

Oaks immediately picked up the whiteboard pen and got to work, and soon everyone was chipping in. It turned out the social calendar for residents in and around Chipping Norton was a busy one. Most residents were out more than they were in, which was a boon for burglars.

But Jack’s biggest problem came from those property owners who still wouldn’t give up the names of the famous people renting at the time of a burglary. It meant that apart from the unfortunate Maisie, there were no witnesses at all.

As Oaks filled up the whiteboard, one thing was abundantly clear: this gang was bold, because they came prepared with transport big enough to cart away antique furniture and paintings; they weren’t restricting themselves to easier, smaller items such as jewellery and cash. And they hadn’t been caught in more than three years of activity, meaning every one of them was a professional. Except, that is, for the person caught creeping up Maisie’s stairs. This discrepancy was bugging Jack.

Were the people who stuck a knife into the ear of a dog the same people who ran when a teenage girl spotted them in the mirror of her wardrobe door? And, perhaps more to the point, were the people who had never once been caught on camera, or left a single fingerprint, the same people who allowed Maisie to spot them so carelessly? Jack was beginning to think that Maisie’s burglar was someone else entirely.