A Room Full of Bones: A Ruth Galloway Investigation

that a woman is standing in the background, a tall woman with long dark hair. Judy squints at her in the darkness.
    ‘Then who …?’
    ‘Tamsin,’ says Caroline. ‘You saw Tamsin. She looks very like me.’
    Is it possible? Judy thought she recognised Caroline but she’d only seen her once before. And because she was expecting Caroline, she’d hardly looked at the dark-haired woman who’d opened the door. Clough, by his own admission, had never met her before.
    ‘Tamsin,’Judy repeats.
    ‘I was due to meet her at the pub this evening,’ says Caroline. ‘But she never turned up.’
    ‘She and Harris are both tied up in this drugs thing,’says Randolph. ‘We’ve suspected for some time, haven’t we, Caro?’
    ‘We suspected something,’ says Caroline, ‘but we weren’t sure …’ Her voice dies away.
    ‘Where are they now?’ says Judy. ‘They’re both armed. We’ve got to call for back-up.’
    ‘They’re not at the big house,’ says Randolph. ‘We’ve just come from there.’
    ‘Can we stop chatting and call for back-up,’ says Clough. His voice sounds strained, as if he’s in pain.
    ‘Come to my house,’ says Caroline. ‘I can give you something for that leg.’
    ‘I’m going to search the park,’ says Randolph. ‘They won’t be far away. They must have been planning to come back and check on you.’ And without another word he vaults onto the back of the great seventeen-hand horse. The Necromancer cavorts like a charger, arching his neck and swinging his quarters round. Randolph just laughs. The horse has no bridle, only a halter. A few seconds ago he was a raging mass of muscle and fury. Now he looks like the perfect mount, spirited but in complete control. ‘See you later,’ says Randolph, and with a clatter of hooves he and The Necromancer gallop off into the night.
    Judy watches, open-mouthed. ‘I thought that Randolph didn’t know anything about horses.’
    ‘Who told you that?’ says Caroline indignantly. ‘He’s a wonderful rider.’
    Ruth watches from her bedroom now, still holding Flint. The wind is louder than ever, the stunted trees in thegarden blown into a frenzy. Bob finishes another circuit of the embers, then he pauses and, unmistakably, raises his staff in her direction. Is it a salute or a threat? Ruth doesn’t know, because Bob turns and forces his way back through the low bushes into his own garden. The fire is almost out. Ruth looks at the clock by her bed. Nearly two o’clock. She thinks of the hospital, miles away across the storm-tossed night. What’s happening to Nelson? Is he alive or dead? Isn’t three a.m. the low point for the human soul, the hour when most people die? Flint meows and she puts him down. She can hear him wandering crossly around the room as she gets into bed. She thinks that she will lie awake for hours, but when she closes her eyes sleep comes instantly.
    Judy rings for an armed response unit from Caroline’s mobile phone. Tamsin was right about one thing; the telephone lines are down. Judy also rings Whitcliffe, who asks a million awkward questions (‘How did you come to be there in the first place?’) and says he’ll be on his way. Judy also sends a unit to Len Harris’s flat and a Met patrol car to Tamsin’s house.
    ‘But her children …’ says Caroline, her face crumpling.
    Tamsin should have thought of that before she started drug smuggling, thinks Judy. But aloud she says, ‘They’ll be very discreet.’ How discreet can a knock on the door at two a.m. be? She sees the time on Caroline’s mantelpiece clock, a strange chrome contraption resembling Dali’s famous floppy timepiece. It fits with the surreal nature of the night. Has she really been threatened atgunpoint, rescued by Clough and trapped in a confined space with a mad horse? But it must be true. Clough is here now, having his leg bandaged by Caroline. The Necromancer’s hoof took a chunk out of his shin and it’s bleeding copiously. Caroline says he’ll need a tetanus jab, Clough grunts sceptically. Judy thinks that Caroline is pleased to have something practical to do. She seems quite calm and organised, looking round for antiseptic cream and cotton wool, but as soon as the bandaging is done she collapses in a chair and buries her face in her hands. Judy pats her shoulder.
    ‘It’s OK.’ But this is as unsuccessful with Caroline as it was with The Necromancer because it’s not OK, is it?
    The sound of hooves outside adds to the