Free Murder in Mind by Lyndon Stacey

start because one of them cast a shoe and the farrier had to be called to replace it and, after the race, when he emerged from the weighing room having showered and changed, the owner of his last ride collared him, wanting to discuss the animal's form.
    Free at last, Matt finally ran Jamie to ground in the Tattersalls Bar, alone and slouching on a barstool amongst a scattering of people who were lingering after the racing to celebrate bets won or dull the pain of money thrown away.
    He got to within six feet before Jamie looked up and saw him and, straight away, Matt could tell that he'd sunk more than a couple of beers. His body language was lacklustre and his eyes heavy lidded. When he saw Matt, he raised his half-empty glass.
    'Gonna join me?'
    'No, I'm not. One of us has to drive, remember?' Matt was annoyed. His ankle was aching and had swollen again, and they had agreed that morning that Jamie would drive home. No chance of that now. He reached out and removed the glass from Jamie's hand. 'You've had enough, too. Don't forget you've got a ride tomorrow.'
    ' Did have,' Jamie said, reclaiming his beer. ' Did have a ride. Not anymore.'
    'Why? What happened?'
    'Emmett says the ground's too firm for the filly.'
    'Oh. Well, it is pretty hard,' Matt temporised.
    'Bollocks!' Jamie said into his glass. 'Didn't want a rapist riding his horse, more like!'
    'Don't be ridiculous! And keep your voice down. Anyway, he wouldn't scratch the horse if that was the case – he'd get someone else to ride it.'
    Jamie shook his head. 'Emmett's not like that – he's too nice ,' he said, turning the last word into a sneer.
    Matt reluctantly had to acknowledge the truth of that, but he still didn't accept Jamie's interpretation of the matter.
    'She's a young filly; I expect he's just looking after her legs. You can't blame him, she cost him a fortune.'
    Jamie grunted and drained his glass.
    'What did Bartholomew want?' Matt asked, waving away an expectant barman. 'I saw you talking to him earlier.'
    'More bloody questions! Kept on and on about where I went when I left the party. I told him where I went. Not my fault no one saw me. If I'd known I was going to need a fuckin' alibi, I'd have taken someone with me!'
    'I hope you didn't say that to Bartholomew.'
    Jamie shook his head. 'No, I didn't. That bloke's had a sense of humour bypass.'
    'I don't suppose he thinks it's a laughing matter,' Matt pointed out. 'Did he have anything else to say? What about the rape story?'
    'Oh, that – no, that wasn't true. Shouldn't be surprised if Razor made that up himself.'
    'So they haven't found the lorry driver, then?'
    'No, they haven't. I think Bartholomew thinks I made that up, too.'
    'Well, how else does he think you got to Charlborough? You couldn't have walked it in that short time. Come on, let's get going. I want to get home and put my feet up.' Matt took the empty glass out of Jamie's fingers and stood back, but the younger man didn't move.
    'Bartholomew did say one other thing,' he said, his eyes fixed broodingly on the bar top. 'He told me that Sophie was pregnant.'
    'Pregnant? Oh God!'
    Jamie didn't seem to have heard. He looked up with eyes that were suspiciously bright. 'I could have been a father, Matt.'
    Could have been was about right, in Matt's opinion. He reflected that, in Jamie's position, he'd have wanted a paternity test before he shelled out maintenance for any child of Sophie's.
    'He asked me if I knew. Do you know – he actually asked me if I'd killed her because of the baby!' Jamie said bitterly. 'Christ! How sick is that?'
    'It's probably not unheard of,' Matt said. 'Don't forget, blokes like Bartholomew are mixing with the bum-end of society all the time – being cynical is the cornerstone of his job. As of a few days ago, he'd never even heard of you; you can't really blame him for thinking that way.'
    Shaking his head, Jamie got to his feet and walked past Matt towards the door, but he didn't say anything else until he slid