Page 24 of His Worst Crime

“How’s Estel?” Jaume asked.

“He’s much better, thanks,” Ramon said. “The vet said he should be ready to try riding again next week. Hopefully in a few weeks we’ll be back on the beat together.”

“I’m missing you, partner,” Jaume said, raising his glass. They clinked beers.

“Aw, are they going to kiss?” Marta quipped.

Everyone laughed. Ramon frowned as he felt himself flush, but he smiled and took it. Police banter could be rough, but at least these guys accepted him as a gay man working shoulder to shoulder with them. He’d take a bit of ribbing for the side.

“Speaking of kissing, I was wondering why you hadn’t brought Estel back to our stables,” Jaume asked. “Anything to do with that cute bit of stable lad you were stuck on?”

“Hardly!” Ramon scoffed. “I just didn’t want to move Estel too early, risk a relapse. Next week I’ll bring him back. Besides, that stable boy’s gone.”

“Yeah? How so?”

Ramon shrugged.

“No idea. He was only ever just passing through. Gone home maybe.”

Jaume said nothing, but his raised eyebrow as he went in for another pull on his beer told them he found something slightly strange. Ramon looked for some topic to change the conversation.

“So… the Police Games… Any takers?”

That got a snort from Jaume. Every year their unit fielded some horse-and-rider entrants in dressage and jumping events at the European Police and Fire Games held every two years. He and Jaume had gone in for it their first year working together. Their boss, Santi Gasol, had recommended it as a team-building exercise. It wasn’t the sort of riding that either Ramon or Jaume enjoyed, but they grudgingly signed up, finishing somewhere down the bottom of the competition table in their events. Rather than putting his horse through complicated jumping and dressage maneuvers, Ramon preferred a hard, sweaty gallop over the sands of the Delta de l’Ebre, close to where he had his farm. The experience had in fact worked in cementing their friendship, bonding through a shared hatred of dressage, so the question of whether or not they’d sign up each year had become a sort of codified running joke between them.

“We were thinking of doing it,” Pere offered, glancing at Dani. “I used to be pretty good at dressage events when I was a kid. You guys have done it, haven’t you? Any pointers?”

Ramon and Jaume looked at each other and then away, desperate to keep from bursting out laughing and spraying beer over the table.

“Yeah, we were…” Jaume tried, keeping a straight face.

“You guys should do it,” Marta cut in. “It’s a really good team-building experience. You’d like it.”

“Yeah? Cool,” Dani said. “There we go, Pere. Let’s sign up.”

Ramon and Jaume left to get more beers, so as not to break out laughing at the table.

fifteen

It was late, but not too late when Ramon flagged down a taxi on Balmes. Luckily he’d been able to convince the others to go for a burger without going too hard on the beers, and he thought he should be sober enough to drive safely if he waited for a while before getting behind the wheel. He’d check on Estel to kill some time, and then drive home. The next day, Saturday, he was planning to head down to his farm, so he wanted his car home tonight to be able to start off early the next morning. He hadn’t ridden Ferro in weeks, and the poor horse would be desperately out of condition. Spending the weekend down there would take his mind off Davey and the stables, and give him the chance to get in a couple of good gallops. He’d text Carme to get someone to walk Estel over the weekend.

The stables were dark when the taxi dropped him off, as well they should be—it was almost midnight. He used his phone to find the way to Estel’s box. The horse whickered when it heard him approaching, and he gave the gelding a couple of treats from his pocket. Then he stood in the dark, his head against Estel’s neck as the horse dozed off again. Was he sober enough to drive? He thought so. His third and last beer was before the hamburger more than a couple of hours ago, and he’d been drinking low-alcohol lager. Another half-hour and he should be fine. So he stayed there, feeling Estel’s heat against his face, and listening to the sounds of the night. He could faintly hear the nightingales down near the pond, and the rustling and swish of horses occasionally moving around in their boxes. But other than that it was quiet.

And then he heard a sound. One that stood out because it wasn’t a sound he should be hearing. Not on Friday night, not with all the grooms at home sleeping soundly or out partying. Someone was speaking softly, somewhere not too far away. He listened for a while. It went on, a low murmur. Was it a conversation? It didn’t sound like it, more like just one voice. Maybe someone on the phone? Gently he separated himself from Estel without waking him, and moved stealthily toward the quiet mumbling. Apparently it was coming from another of the boxes to the rear, and the tone sounded familiar. With the stables in absolute darkness, he used the dim light from his phone screen to see by, keeping it shielded from whomever was there. Before turning the last corner, he stopped and listened. The intruder seemed to be at Boira’s box. He could hear him more clearly now—it was definitely a him—though not the actual words. That gentle monologue was like someone having a conversation with themselves, but they must be talking to the horse. What to do, confront them? Why was he standing here in the middle of the night, talking to a horse? He killed the light from his phone and turned the corner. It was now pitch black, but he could just make out a shape in the dark, in front of Boira’s box, talking to her softly.

“David?”

Absolute silence. He turned his phone’s torch function on and shone it toward him. David was standing beside Boira’s box, the young filly with its head over the door, just as he’d been doing with Estel. David held up a hand to shield himself from the light.

“Can you turn that off?”

“What are you doing here?”

“Nothing… I… I came to say goodbye to Boira.”

“Are you leaving?”

Ramon stepped toward him, still shining the light on the two of them, horse and man, as if they were lovers he’d caught in flagranti.