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The major approached them, hands in the air. “No further. This is a crime scene.”
The distraction allowed me the opportunity to inspect the body and the stall. Vernon Rigg-Lyon seemed to have fallen where he’d been struck. A spray of blood covered the straw approximately two feet from the body. Some of the blood may have ended up on the killer after such a violent attack. The victim still wore his playing uniform which meant he hadn’t gone to the changing rooms with the rest. He’d come here after the grooms left. Why?
I glanced behind me to check that no one was looking my way, then quickly inspected the body. I hazarded a very brief glance at his face, but that was quite enough. His features had frozen into an expression of surprise. A chill skittered down my spine.
I drew in a fortifying breath. Thankfully the smell of horse overrode the smell of death.
I looked again. The blow had struck Mr. Rigg-Lyon on the back of the head; he either hadn’t seen his assailant or he’d turned his back to them before he was struck. There was nothing in the stall except straw, so it was unlikely he was attending to anything. So why was he there? Was he meeting someone? His killer?
I was about to stand when a hint of color against his beige breeches caught my eye. It was the corner of a coral-colored ribbon, about the length of my hand.
“Miss Fox? Are you all right?”
I tucked the ribbon back into the victim’s pocket before standing and facing the major. His bushy brows were drawn together like tufts of gray wool, but it was from concern not irritation.
He held out his arm to me. “Allow me to escort you away. This must be very distressing for you.”
I accepted his assistance. “Thank you. That’s very kind, Major…?”
“Leavey, of the 12thLancers. I’m club manager.”
“Oh? So you’re in charge of the entire operation.”
“I’ve been the manager for four years.”
“I suspect you’ve been very busy today. There would have been staff meetings before and after the match.”
“Before, yes, but I’ve been in my office going over a few things since the presentation. I was just leaving the clubhouse when I heard Mr. Broadman’s shout.” From the way he eyed Mr. Broadman, I suspected he didn’t like him or didn’t trust him.
I had a lot of questions but didn’t have the opportunity to ask any of them. Flossy was waving at me from the door, trying to get my attention. She and the other onlookers were blocked from entering by two staff members. Suddenly Mr. Liddicoat burst through.
He rushed towards us. “Rufus, are you all right? What’s going on?”
“Someone bashed Rigg-Lyon’s head in with his mallet. I found the body.”
“Good God! That’s dreadful. You need a stiff drink. Come into the clubhouse.”
“He can’t leave,” the major bellowed.
Mr. Liddicoat jumped. He adjusted his glasses to get a better look at the major. “He’s not a suspect, surely.”
“He was the first to discover the body and was holding the murder weapon. He also had a very public disagreement with Rigg-Lyon before the match.” From the stern look the major gave Mr. Broadman, it was clear the public nature of the incident displeased him.
Mr. Broadman laughed off the accusation, but given the gravity of the situation, his attempt at levity fell flat. “That was nothing more than a healthy rivalry fueled by nervous energy. It provided atmosphere—a spectacle, if you will. The crowd lapped it up. Anyway, Miss Fox already declared me innocent. The blood is dry. He died some time ago, when I was in the shower.” He beckoned to one of the staff members. “Sid. Come in. Tell them I was in the changing room for at least thirty minutes or so before I left.”
An elderly attendant with a stoop shuffled towards us. He squinted up at the major. “That’s correct, sir. It was a great honor to assist Mr. Broadman today.”
The major brushed him off. “Very well, thank you, Sid. I’m sure the police will have more questions for you.”
“There you are, then,” Mr. Liddicoat said as the attendant shuffled away. “It can’t have been Rufus.”
“Nor was it one of my staff,” the major said.
From what I could see of the large group gathering outside the stables, he couldn’t possibly know every staff member personally, let alone know them well enough to make such a declaration.
“There were hundreds of people here today,” Mr. Broadman said. “It could have been any of them.”
I shook my head. “The grooms were in here immediately after the match and would have noticed someone who didn’t belong in the stables, or even if one of their own attacked Mr. Rigg-Lyon.”
