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'Did you tell the police？'
'Sure。 A detective sergeant came out。 He vomited too。 Then I called the knackers and put the colt down。 Bloody vandals！ I'd like to cut off their foot； see if they liked life with a stump。' He remembered suddenly about my own sliced off hand； and reddened； looking confused and embarrassed。 There had been a much publicised court case about my hand。 Everyone knew what had happened。 I had finally stopped wincing visibly when people referred to it。
'It's all right；' I said mildly。
'I'm sorry。 My big mouth 。。。'
'Do you think the colt's amputation was done by a vet？ By any sort of surgical expert？ Was it done with a scalpel？ Was the colt given a local anaesthetic？'
He said； disturbed； 'I don't know the answers。 I'd just say that whoever did it was used to handling horses。 That colt was loose in the field； though wearing a head…collar。'
I went to see the detective sergeant； who looked as if he might throw up again at the memory。
'I see a lot of injured people。 Dead bodies； too；' he said； 'but that was different。 Mindless。 Fair turned my stomach。'
The police had found no culprit。 It had been an isolated event； not part of a pattern。 The only report they'd had was of the presence of a blue Land…Rover driving away along the lane from the colt's field； and Land…Rovers were two a penny in the countryside。 Case not closed； but also not being actively investigated。 The colt and his hoof had long gone to the glue factory。
'Are there any photographs？' I asked。
The sergeant said that the photographs were a police matter； not open to the general public。
'I do know who you are；' he said； not abrasively； 'but to us you re the general public。 Sorry。'
The colt's owner； consulted； said she had been too upset to want photographs。
I drove onward s； northwards to Lancashire； into a gale of anger。 Big； blustery and impressively furious； a hard petent large…scale farmer let loose his roaring sense of injustice； yelling in my face； spraying me with spittle； jabbing the air with a rigid forefinger； pushing his chin forward in a classic animal gesture of aggression。
'Best colt I ever owned；' he bellowed。 'He cost me a packet； but he was a good 'un。 Breeding； conformation； the lot。 And he was fast； I'll tell you。 He was going to Newmarket the next week。' He mentioned a prestigious trainer who I knew wouldn't have accepted rubbish。 'A good 'un；' the farmer repeated。 'And then the sodding police asked if I'd killed him for the insurance。 I ask you！ He wasn't insured； I told them。 They said I couldn't prove he wasn't insured。 Did you know that？ Did you know you can prove something is insured； but you can't prove it isn't？ Did you know that？'
I said I'd heard it was so。
'I told them to bugger off。 They weren't interested in finding who took my colt's foot off； only in proving I did it myself。 They made me that angry 。。。' His words failed him。 I'd met many people unjustly accused of setting fires； battering children； stealing； and taking bribes； and by then I knew the vocal vibrations of truly outraged innocence。 The angry farmer； I would have staked all on it； had not taken the foot off his own colt； and I told him so。 Some of his anger abated into surprise。 'So you believe me？'
'I sure do；' I nodded。 'The point is； who knew you'd bought a fine fast colt that you had at your farm in a field？'
'Who knew？' He suddenly looked guilty； as if he'd already had to face an unpalatable fact。 'I'd blown my mouth off a bit。 Half the county knew。 And I'd been boasting about him at Aintree； the day before the Grand National。 I was at one of those sponsors' lunch things Topline Foods； it was and the colt was fine that night。 I saw him in the morning。 And it was the next night； after the National； that he was got at。'
He had taken his own colour photographs （out of distrust of the police） and he showed them to me readily。
'The off…fore；' he said； pointing to a close…up of the severed foot。 'He was cut just below the fetlock。 Almost through the joint。 You can see the white ends of the bones。'
The photographs jolted。 It didn't help that I'd seen my own left wrist in much the same condition。 I said； 'What was your vet's opinion？'
'Same as mine。'
I went to see the vet。 One chop； he said。 Only one。 No missed shots。 Straight through at the leg's most vulnerable point。
'What weapon？'
He didn't know。
I pressed onwards to Yorkshire where； barely a month earlier； at the time of the York Spring Meeting； a dark brown two…year…old colt had been deprived of his off…fore foot on a moonlit night。 One chop。 No insurance。 Sick and angry owners。 No clues。
These owners were a stiff…upper…lip couple with elderly manners and ancient immutable values who were as deeply bewildered as repelled by the level of evil that would for no clear reason destroy a thing of beauty； in this case； the fluid excellence of a fleet glossy equine princeling。
'Why？' they asked me insistently。 'Why would anyone do such a pointlessly wicked thing？'
I had no answer。 I prompted them only to talk； to let out their pain and deprivation。 I got them to talk； and I listened。
The wife said； 'We had such a lovely week。 Every year we have people to stay for the York Spring Meeting 。。。 because； as you can see； this is quite a large house 。。。 so we have six or eight friends staying； and we get in extra staff and have a party …such fun； you see…and this year the weather was perfect and we all had a great time。'
'Successful； don't you know；' said her husband； nodding。
'Dear Ellis Quint was one of our guests；' smiled the hostess； 'and he lifted everyone's spirits in that easy way of his so that it seemed we spent the whole week laughing。 He was filming for one of his television programmes at York races； so we were all invited behind the scenes and enjoyed it all so much。 And then 。。。 then 。。。 the very night after all our guests had left 。。。 well 。。。'
'Jenkins came and told us…Jenkins is our groom…he told us while we were sitting at breakfast； that our colt 。。。 our colt 。。。'
'We have three brood…mares；' his wife said。 'We love to see the foals and yearlings out in the fields； running free； you know 。。。 and usually we sell the yearlings； but that colt was so beautiful that we kept him； and he was going into training soon 。。。 All our guests had admired him。'
'Jenkins had made a splendid job of breaking him in。'
'Jenkins was in tears；' the wife said。 'Jenkins！ A tough leathery old man。 In tears。'
The husband said with difficulty； 'Jenkins found the foot by the gate； beside the water trough。'
His wife went on。 'Jenkins told us that Ellis had done a programme a few months ago about a pony's foot being cut off and the children being so devastated。 So we wrote to Ellis about our colt and Ellis telephoned at once to say how awful for us。 He couldn't have been nicer。 Dear Ellis。 But there wasn't anything he could do； of course； except sympathise。'
'No；' I agreed； and I felt only the faintest twitch of surprise that Ellis hadn't mentioned the York colt when I'd been talking to him less than a week earlier about Rachel Ferns。
CHAPTER 3
Back in London I met Ke