A Room Full of Bones: A Ruth Galloway Investigation

was it?’
    Randolph looks surprised. ‘Oh, a fellow called The Necromancer. Good sort. Bit of a devil in his own way, though.’
    This time they go back through the yard. Judy wants to show Len Harris that she can’t be intimidated so easily and perhaps she wants to scare Clough a little, taking him so close to the fearsome horses. The first yard seems quiet enough, stable lads are mucking out, trundling wheelbarrows about, but again they ignore Judy and Clough completely. A man in a leather apron is examining the hooves of a large grey horse.
    ‘Farrier,’ Judy says. Clough looks blank.
    ‘Blacksmith,’ she explains.
    ‘I wouldn’t want his job. That white horse is the size of an elephant.’
    ‘Grey,’ says Judy, pausing to pat the horse’s neck. ‘White horses are called grey. Unless they have pink eyes, that is.’
    ‘Don’t bother trying to educate me,’ says Clough, giving the grey a wide berth. ‘Let’s just get out of here.’
    A ginger cat comes bustling up and rubs itself round Judy’s legs. This reminds her of something.
    ‘Do you think we should tell Ruth? About the boss?’
    Clough thinks for a moment. ‘Maybe we should. It’d sound better coming from you.’
    Thanks a lot, thinks Judy, though she agrees with him. After all, isn’t bad news her speciality?
    They are passing through into the second yard when, suddenly, there is a terrible noise from one of the stables. A dreadful clattering and banging accompanied by the spine-chilling screams of an animal in pain. Judy runs towards the sound but her way is blocked by Len Harris.
    ‘No you don’t.’
    ‘What’s going on?’ demands Judy, slightly breathless.
    ‘One of the horses has cast himself. It often happens. Especially if they’ve been flown over recently.’
    Judy tried to look past Harris into the stable. She gets a fleeting glimpse of a horse on the ground, an anguished rolling eye.
    ‘This happened before. When I was here a few days ago. I remember it.’
    ‘Like I say, it’s not unusual. Billy!’ He shouts to a passing stable boy. ‘Can you show these people out?’ And he turns and shuts himself in with the horse.
    Judy hesitates. Harris was undeniably rude and her detective instincts tell her to stay and discover what’s going on. But Clough is already on his way out and, after all, the welfare of the horses is not her primary concern right now. Telling herself that she’ll call the RSPCA, ask them to pay a discreet visit, she follows Billy out through the main yard. He’s a thin lad, about sixteen, with spots and a pronounced squint.
    ‘What happened to the horse called Fancy?’ Judy asks. ‘I saw him when I was here last.’
    Billy’s eyes shoot, alarmingly, in two opposite directions. ‘I’ve never heard that name.’
    ‘Fancy,’ repeats Judy. ‘Four-year-old colt. He had colic.’
    Billy shakes his head. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t know all the horses. Here’s the main gate now. I’ve got to get back to work.’
    In the car, accompanied by a pungent smell of dung, Clough explains why all the Smith family are clinically insane. ‘I mean Rudolph, Randolph, whatever he’s called. All that crap about strange men dancing in the woods. Loco, that’s what he is.’
    ‘I thought it was quite convincing,’ says Judy.
    ‘I’m surprised at you,’ says Clough. ‘Never thought you’d fall for all that Hugh Grant crap.
It’s just that some fairly odd things have been happening.’
He puts on an accent that’s halfway between Prince Charles and Julian Clary.
    ‘He doesn’t look like Hugh Grant,’ says Judy. ‘More like Robert Pattinson from the
Twilight
films.’
    ‘Never heard of ’em,’ says Clough.
    ‘They’re for young people,’ says Judy.
    Clough grunts and continues with the attack. ‘Whatabout the incredible reappearing snake? Someone’s having a laugh here.’
    Judy thinks of something Cathbad told her about a saint who was meant to appear in two places at once. That’s the thing about Cathbad; you never know what he’s going to say next. The opposite of Darren. Thinking of the missed family lunch, she sighs, feeling even guiltier than usual.
    ‘Seriously,’ Clough persists. ‘You don’t think there’s anything in all this voodoo nonsense?’
    ‘I don’t know what I think,’ says Judy. ‘But clearly someone was trying to frighten Lord Smith. The letters, the dead snakes. Someone had a grudge against him and now he’s dead. That’s worth investigating.’
    ‘It