“That obviously didn’t work out, either,” said Reilly.
Atkinson shook his head. “No, she reckoned there was no love in the relationship and all Peter had wanted was a housekeeper and cook. She never told me, mind, she told Carrie all of this. Peter wasn’t bad to her. She had a new vehicle and all the housekeeping money she wanted but it weren’t enough. All he ever thought about were his cars. He rarely took her out unless it were a business meeting. He’d quite happily ply both himself and the customer with drink in the hope of netting a contract and then ask Jane to drive them all home. He even tried to stop her working here. She refused, the marriage fell apart. There were no children.”
Reilly was busy making notes but stopped to ask, “Does Carrie Fletcher still stable her horse here?”
“Oh, aye, but she lives in Thirsk.” Atkinson gave them her address.
“You reckon she didn’t need to work,” Reilly said. “What did you mean by that?”
“She had a nice little nest egg in compensation from the accident, and her first husband left her well provided for when he died.”
Gardener’s curiosity was piqued. He wondered whether or not Robbie Carter knew anything about her financial status – he certainly didn’t appear to know much about her health.
Atkinson continued, “I don’t want to speak ill of her but she was a bit too old for the heavy tasks like mucking out. She’d spent her life around horses, just couldn’t keep away. She was always made welcome here. She knows horses inside out. Can spot a mile away when they’re off colour. She could diagnose problems as well as any vet and she knew all the treatment required...”
Atkinson had stopped talking, his eyes welling up. Gardener felt for him.
“Are you okay, Matthew?”
“Christ, I’m going to miss her.” He shook his head. “Don’t worry about me. Whoever did this to her wants catching, and I want to see him caught as much as you.”
He sipped more tea. “She’d even do all this stuff.” He pointed to the equipment on the walls. “Clean all the tack. She could turn her hand to anything and she did it because she loved being here.”
“Did you see much of her on Friday?”
“Only in the morning, we had a cuppa together.”
“How did she seem – anything bothering her?”
“Just the opposite, I’d say. She seemed full of life. Had a couple of lessons booked, were looking forward to them. I had to go to a meeting, down in Northampton. I took the wife, made a bit of a day of it and we stayed over.”
That had answered an awkward question for Gardener. Not that he had suspected Matthew Atkinson but there would have come a point when he’d need to ask. “Where did you stay?”
“Only a Travelodge, Junction 16 off the M1 as you’re going in. You’ll no doubt want to check, and don’t worry, you’re only doing your job. I watch all the murder mysteries on the telly.”
“I shouldn’t believe much of what you see on there,” said Reilly.
“Is it possible you can get me a list of all her clients’ names and addresses?” asked Gardener.
“Of course,” said Atkinson, rising from his chair. “Though I doubt any of them will know owt.”
“You’d be surprised,” said Reilly.
“They probably won’t, Matthew, but one of them might know something you don’t.”
“Aye, I’m with you.”
Atkinson walked over to the phone, lifted the receiver and jabbed three buttons. “Lizzie, love, it’s me. Can you get me a list of all Jane’s clients, names and addresses?” Atkinson liste
ned to his wife before saying: “I’ll tell you when you bring ’em over. We’re in the tack room.”
When Atkinson returned to the table, Gardener asked if Jane Carter had her own horse.
“No, there were plenty to choose from here. Most of the people who stable the horses can’t make it every day so apart from cleaning out their stables, the staff here exercise ’em as well.”
“Did she have any particular favourite?”
“No,” replied Atkinson. “She loved them all. Could ride them all equally, even the difficult ones.”