The Kill Call

the concrete floors, combed out by owners wanting their animals to look their best in the sale ring. Some of the horses stood resignedly in a corner of a pen, others were clearly nervous, swinging restlessly from side to side as far as their halters would let them, scraping their hooves on the concrete as they shied away from potential buyers. An elegant yearling colt was tugging at his halter and whinnying.
    ‘No sign of them.’
    In the pig building, an auctioneer in a white coat was selling saddles and tack, standing on a metal walkway over the pens. Another had begun to work his way through the farm implements lined up outside. Stalls were selling horse vitamins, hoof picks and blankets. From the back of a lorry, a youth was unloading nets of stock-feed carrots.
    ‘There’s plenty of intelligence on the Widdowsons in the system,’ said Cooper, ‘not to mention a few convictions for Rick Widdowson, Naomi’s brother.’
    ‘And they should be here?’
    ‘According to their mother.’
    But the first market worker they spoke to just shook his head. ‘The Widdowsons? No, not today. They’re practically gippos, aren’t they? You’re more likely to see them at Appleby horse fair.’
    The second person they asked was no more help than the first.
    ‘No. But if I do see them, I’ll act normal, shall I?’
    ‘Yes, that might be helpful, sir,’ said Cooper.
       
    Fry was standing outside Long Acres Farm, listening to the mocking chatter of the jackdaws. A liveried police vehicle was drawn across the entrance to prevent anyone leaving, though she feared it might be too late.
    Only the elderly mother was in the house, a cantankerous old woman in carpet slippers who could barely move across the room on her sticks. But a white Fiat was parked in the yard, which the PNC confirmed was registered to Naomi Widdowson. And beyond it, under the cover of a Dutch barn, was an old blue Land Rover belonging to the brother, Rick Widdowson.
    Rick had quite a record. A series of minor assaults and convictions for criminal damage dating back to his early teens, and later public order offences and petty thefts that had barely let him stay out of prison. If the jails weren’t so full, he might not have had such luck, with a sheet of previous like that. As it was, Rick Widdowson was currently on probation, with a set of conditions. No wonder Naomi had assumed that the police had come looking for her brother.
    Fry looked at the stables, with two horses’ heads hanging over the loose-box doors to see what was going on. And she corrected herself. In the circumstances, Naomi couldn’t possibly have assumed automatically that they’d come for Rick. It must have been a ploy on her part, a diversion to give an impression of her own innocence. Interesting that she’d drawn attention to her own brother to protect herself.
    ‘Are we going to search the outside premises, Sergeant?’ asked one of the uniformed officers from the response team.
    ‘Not until we have a few more bodies,’ said Fry. ‘There are too many outbuildings. Too many nooks and crannies. The three of us couldn’t possibly cover it.’
    ‘We might be here a while. It’s Saturday.’
    ‘I know.’
    Fry wondered how Cooper and Murfin were getting on at the horse market. Last she’d heard, they were just waiting, as she was.
    Then she looked at the stables again. She was trying to remember the details of her visit here yesterday with Gavin Murfin. She had a clear picture of Murfin standing in front of the loose boxes, clicking his tongue like an idiot, and asking the names of the horses. ‘ That’s Bonny at the end. Baby is the one in the middle. And the gelding is called Monty .’
    Bonny, Baby, Monty. But there were only two heads watching her, with no sign of the gelding. Where was the third horse?
       
    After half an hour, Ben Cooper and Gavin Murfin were still sitting in their car at the cattle market in Derby. People passed them clutching bags of carrots, bits of leather tack and hoof oil.
    ‘Hello, do we know them?’
    Cooper jerked his head around at Murfin’s question, thinking he must be missing something. But he saw only a couple of women in denim jeans and body warmers who had stopped to stare at them.
    ‘You’re going to miss the Rams today, Gavin,’ said Cooper, relaxing again. ‘Aren’t they playing at home?’
    ‘I don’t care any more,’ said Murfin. ‘I’d rather support Nottingham Forest.’
    ‘Really? But you were always