perfectly possible,” agreed Graham. “In fact, it seems quite likely to me. After all, we already know he has a criminal record. And if Gabbie knew something incriminating about him, it would have put her in a very dangerous position indeed.”
fight club
The trouble was, we knew full well that Kyle Jacobs couldn’t have killed Gabbie. We’d both seen him go into the shrubbery. But then he must have turned around, because he’d come back past us
before
Jessie had run off and Gabbie had gone in pursuit. Kyle Jacobs had been in full view when Gabbie was being bashed over the head.
“It was weird, though, him turning round,” I said. “Why would he do that?”
“There could be a perfectly simple explanation. He could have changed his mind about where he wanted to walk.”
“Or there could have been a reason for him wanting to be in full view at the crucial moment…”
“What do you mean?”
“If he knew what was going to happen to her, he would have wanted to make sure no one suspected him,” I said.
“So why did he go into the bushes in the first place?” asked Graham.
“I’m not sure.” I considered the matter. “If he’s involved with dodgy dogfights … well, it wouldn’t be just him, would it? I mean, you couldn’t do something like that on your own. There must be a whole gang of them.”
“An accomplice,” mused Graham. “Yes, that seems reasonable.”
“And maybe Kyle was the only one who knew Gabbie by sight. Perhaps he pointed her out to the attacker. Someone who was already in the bushes, waiting for her.”
My theory was taking shape nicely, so I ignored the odd feeling I’d had that Kyle had been telling the truth when he’d said he hadn’t been in the shrubbery. I didn’t want to be distracted from my train of thought. “So we’re probably looking for a complete stranger…”
“The mysterious Mr X,” said Graham. “Find him and the murder is solved.”
We strolled on quietly while I thought back to the evening of Gabbie’s murder. It was strange that we hadn’t noticed anyone, but then no one seemed to have seen anyone unusual. The police wouldn’t have arrested Kathryn Hughes if there had been any other suspects, would they? And unfamiliar faces did get spotted: look at what had happened each time the film crew turned up. Poor Dermot O’Flannery had nearly been flattened by the crowd that had gathered to look at him.
Graham and I had slowly walked the three dogs all around the park and were coming back towards the side gate when we heard a peculiar noise coming from the shrubbery. It was halfway between a growl and a yelp, and for a moment I thought an animal was lurking in the undergrowth. Then I realized that whoever was making the sound was not only human, but suffering from some sort of Extreme Emotion. Sadness? Anger? It was difficult to tell. Graham and I looked at each other. As one we dropped to our hands and knees and crawled under the bushes so we could get closer. Intrigued, Bertie, Malcolm and Stanley followed.
From behind a large hydrangea we saw Grant Robinson kneeling on the ground exactly where his wife’s body had been found. His arm was around Jessie, his face turned into her neck, and he was muttering into her fur. He had his back to us, so we couldn’t see his expression. But we could hear what he was saying clearly enough.
“I don’t understand,” he was wailing miserably. “What went wrong?”
The dog licked him.
“It wasn’t supposed to end like this!” he said angrily. “That was the whole point, wasn’t it? No one else was supposed to get hurt! Nobody was supposed to get k—”
We would have heard a whole lot more if Bertie hadn’t chosen that moment to break cover. He trundled out from under the bushes, closely followed by Malcolm and Stanley, and Jessie leapt up, eager to play. Grant stopped talking, stood up and glared at the little dogs. It was only then that I saw he hadn’t been speaking to Jessie. He had a
fight club
The trouble was, we knew full well that Kyle Jacobs couldn’t have killed Gabbie. We’d both seen him go into the shrubbery. But then he must have turned around, because he’d come back past us
before
Jessie had run off and Gabbie had gone in pursuit. Kyle Jacobs had been in full view when Gabbie was being bashed over the head.
“It was weird, though, him turning round,” I said. “Why would he do that?”
“There could be a perfectly simple explanation. He could have changed his mind about where he wanted to walk.”
“Or there could have been a reason for him wanting to be in full view at the crucial moment…”
“What do you mean?”
“If he knew what was going to happen to her, he would have wanted to make sure no one suspected him,” I said.
“So why did he go into the bushes in the first place?” asked Graham.
“I’m not sure.” I considered the matter. “If he’s involved with dodgy dogfights … well, it wouldn’t be just him, would it? I mean, you couldn’t do something like that on your own. There must be a whole gang of them.”
“An accomplice,” mused Graham. “Yes, that seems reasonable.”
“And maybe Kyle was the only one who knew Gabbie by sight. Perhaps he pointed her out to the attacker. Someone who was already in the bushes, waiting for her.”
My theory was taking shape nicely, so I ignored the odd feeling I’d had that Kyle had been telling the truth when he’d said he hadn’t been in the shrubbery. I didn’t want to be distracted from my train of thought. “So we’re probably looking for a complete stranger…”
“The mysterious Mr X,” said Graham. “Find him and the murder is solved.”
We strolled on quietly while I thought back to the evening of Gabbie’s murder. It was strange that we hadn’t noticed anyone, but then no one seemed to have seen anyone unusual. The police wouldn’t have arrested Kathryn Hughes if there had been any other suspects, would they? And unfamiliar faces did get spotted: look at what had happened each time the film crew turned up. Poor Dermot O’Flannery had nearly been flattened by the crowd that had gathered to look at him.
Graham and I had slowly walked the three dogs all around the park and were coming back towards the side gate when we heard a peculiar noise coming from the shrubbery. It was halfway between a growl and a yelp, and for a moment I thought an animal was lurking in the undergrowth. Then I realized that whoever was making the sound was not only human, but suffering from some sort of Extreme Emotion. Sadness? Anger? It was difficult to tell. Graham and I looked at each other. As one we dropped to our hands and knees and crawled under the bushes so we could get closer. Intrigued, Bertie, Malcolm and Stanley followed.
From behind a large hydrangea we saw Grant Robinson kneeling on the ground exactly where his wife’s body had been found. His arm was around Jessie, his face turned into her neck, and he was muttering into her fur. He had his back to us, so we couldn’t see his expression. But we could hear what he was saying clearly enough.
“I don’t understand,” he was wailing miserably. “What went wrong?”
The dog licked him.
“It wasn’t supposed to end like this!” he said angrily. “That was the whole point, wasn’t it? No one else was supposed to get hurt! Nobody was supposed to get k—”
We would have heard a whole lot more if Bertie hadn’t chosen that moment to break cover. He trundled out from under the bushes, closely followed by Malcolm and Stanley, and Jessie leapt up, eager to play. Grant stopped talking, stood up and glared at the little dogs. It was only then that I saw he hadn’t been speaking to Jessie. He had a
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