Page 2 of His Worst Crime

David clipped it to Boira’s halter, and led her over to the hitching post.

“Where do you want her, here?” he asked, in his basic Catalan.

“Yes, that’s great. Thanks,” she replied, also switching to Catalan.

He tied her up, using the Stockman’s knot, which keeps your horse secure but lets you release it with one quick pull in case it’s in danger of hurting itself.

The woman nodded, smiling in approval.

“You know your knots.”

“Yeah, horses are… you know, I grew up with them.” Then, totally unlike himself, he had a thought and blurted it out: “I don’t suppose… you know, would you have… like work to do? I can do anything, mucking out, whatever’s going…”

She gave him a hard stare, along with a quick once over, taking in his “lived in” clothes, which he hadn’t had a chance to wash for several days. He was still looking borderline presentable, but would have to spend precious money on a laundromat before long.

“We could use you for a few days, just while Maria’s away. She’s our youngest stablehand, but she’s doing her exams right now. It’s just mucking out and feeding, mind you, sometimes a bit of grooming. Nothing flash. No real contact with the horses.”

“That’s brilliant! Thank you!” Relief washed over him.

“I’m Carme,” she said, pronouncing it like karma.

“David. Thank you so much! You will not be sorry. I promise you!”

“It is minimum wage, the bare minimum, you know?”

“No problem. That’s all good… And… how much is that exactly?”

When she told him, he agreed, it was pretty minimum. As in bare bones. But he didn’t care. It meant he could survive.

“Where are you staying?”

“I… ah, I was…”

Could he really give the hostel’s address? He’d left owing a few days’ rent. He planned to go in there and pay it, as soon as he had it. But…

Carme nodded toward the stable block. “There’s a space above the tack room if you want it. It’s just a mattress on a bed frame, but you can sleep there for a few days. There’s a toilet block down the end, with a shower too, to clean up.”

He took the hint. “Thanks. That would be brilliant.”

Then he remembered his pack.

“I have my stuff. I put it down when I went after Boira. Give me a minute.”

“OK, get your stuff and put it above the tack room. Then I’ll show you around.”

David nodded, and hurried off, jubilant inside. Not only a job, but a place to sleep for a few days, all in one fell swoop! He couldn’t be happier.

That had been two months ago, and here he was, still working at the stables, still sleeping above the tack room, still surviving, and even helping with some of the horses’ training, including breaking in Boira, whose name he now knew meant ‘mist’. It suited her silvery blue coat. Things couldn’t have gone better for him in Barcelona. But then he’d run into Ned.

two

Officer Ramon Rovira picked up each of Estel’s forelegs in turn to check that his girth wasn’t pinching, before quickly passing the four fingers on his left hand beneath the girth strap and tugging to recheck its tightness. Estel stamped irritably, annoyed at being tricked. But the young gelding had the knack of blowing his belly out when Ramon fastened the girth so as to make it feel firm. Then when he’d go to mount, the saddle would be too loose and slip. So Ramon had learned to check and recheck the girth when he saddled up the willful horse. He was a dark bay gelding with a single white star on his forehead, hence the name Estel. Slightly unimaginative maybe, but Ramon hadn’t chosen it. They’d been together a couple of years now, and were starting to get to know each other, perhaps even develop a grudging affection.

For all his pretty looks, Estel wasn’t an easy horse to get on with. He’d belonged to another mounted policeman, Carles, before the man had retired last year just, as luck would have it, Ramon’s previous mount, Ferro, had been reaching an age where he was too old for police work. The decision to retire him had been tough. Ferro still had plenty of good riding years in him, but being a police horse required a special sort of fitness and pluck. So Ramon had bought him off the force and kept him down at his place in the Delta de l’Ebre for leisure riding. And he’d taken over Estel as a work mount, partly against his better judgment, since he’d seen the way Carles had had to battle with the obstinate horse for years.

“OK, are we ready?” he asked Estel, stroking his face.

The horse pushed him off and snorted loudly, never happy at being forced to work.