Imposition (DI Gardener 5)

“Now you’re talking my language,” said Reilly.

“We’ve been very concerned about you.”

“It’s Robbie Carter you need to worry about.”

“You don’t like him?”

“That’s an understatement,” she replied, peeling a banana.

“Before we get into anything, do you mind if I ask where you’ve been?”

“My sister’s. She lives in Skipton. I had to get away, needed fresh scenery and to be left alone with my thoughts.”

Gardener nodded. He knew that feeling all too well. “Okay. Let’s start at the beginning. You were obviously a good friend of Jane’s. When did you last see her alive?”

Carrie’s eyes misted over immediately. “Friday, at the stables.”

“What time would that be?” Reilly asked, having produced a small pad and pen.

“I was there most of the day.” Carrie Fletcher finished the banana and deposited the skin in a bin close to the table. “I got there about ten o’clock. Matthew and Lizzie were around but they were leaving on a business trip. I spent most of the time in the stable. Jane was taking an early lesson. We had a bite to eat together in the tack room.”

“When did you last see her alive?”

“It would have been four o’clock, when I left.”

“What was she doing?”

“She was in the small arena with a pupil.”

“How did she seem to you throughout the day?”

“Same as always. Very talkative. She really loved what she did. If she could have spent twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week at the stables, she would have done.”

“That anything to do with Robbie?” asked Reilly.

“No. She loved horses – being around them.”

“You say you left at four o’clock. Do you have any idea what time she went home?”

“No, but I think the lesson was due to finish at four-thirty, so any time after then and probably before six. I sent her a Facebook message about eight o’clock to see if she fancied going out for a drink.”

Gardener knew that from Emma Longstaff but decided to not say anything.

In the background the radio rattled out a concession of sixties numbers.

“Did she reply?”

“Yes, pretty quickly. Said she was tired and fancied a night in.”

Carrie Fletcher finished her coffee and poured some more, offering Reilly another. Gardener declined further tea.

“When you were with her on Friday, could you tell if anything was bothering her?”

Sitting back down, she said. “Nothing I could detect. And she certainly never mentioned anything.”

“After the Facebook message, did you hear from her again that night?”

That was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Carrie started to weep openly, shaking her head. “I’m sorry.”