Chapter 2
Michael stood at the bathroom sink and looked in the mirror. “My God, old man,” he told his reflection, “you look bloody awful.” He gazed critically at his reflection and saw his brilliant blue eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep and alcohol, his thick, wavy black hair was sticking up all over the place, and a day’s growth of beard covered his square chin. Right now it was hard to imagine this was the same man that had been crowned “Britain’s Sexiest Man” in a magazine article published soon after the Games. Now, at thirty years of age, the reflection in the mirror frightened him more than a bit. He mentally shook himself out of his reverie. There was no time to waste contemplating his reflection. All he could do now was pull himself together and try to figure out how to get Ian out of this latest scrape. Heaven knew this one seemed much more serious than anything Ian had gotten into so far.
He turned toward the tub and started the water for a shower and slowly removed his clothes. As he stepped into the shower, and stood under the blessedly hot stream of water, he considered how much his life had changed in the past year, and how much he needed something positive in his life. He needed to get a hold of himself and get his life back on track. Ian needed him, and he had to be able to step up and support him. If only the stars would align, he could compete one of the horses he already had in training to a level that would attract the attention of a wealthy patron who could afford to buy him a horse to compete on the international stage once again. Only then could he afford to keep his farm and his dreams for a future career training and riding horses in dressage, the sport he loved.
Michael’s thoughts turned to his brother, Ian. Michael had to admit that Ian was a different man since his tour with the British Army in Afghanistan, but deep down, he was still the Ian he had grown up with and loved. There was nothing he wouldn’t do to help him now when he needed him most. All of those years as children, when Michael had taken care of Ian while his parents ran their restaurant in Brighton, came back to him in a rush. He had always been responsible for keeping Ian out of trouble, and those habits die hard. Even as adults, Michael felt responsible for keeping Ian safe. After his return from Afghanistan and subsequent honorable discharge, Ian had temporarily moved in with Michael until he was ready to find a place of his own. Now, Ian had gotten himself into some very serious trouble, and Michael, admittedly through his own recklessness and irresponsibility, didn’t have the financial wherewithal to help.
His shower finished, Michael toweled himself off and dressed. He went out to the barn to let his barn manager, Tiffany, know he was going into town. As he searched the stable for Tiffany, Michael slowed his pace and took some time to listen to the sounds of several horses pleasantly munching their hay, gently snorting and occasionally stamping at flies as they consumed their breakfast, and noticed the air was filled with the sweet, inviting smell of horses, fresh hay, wood shavings, and the more pungent odor of fresh manure.
Brilliant sunlight was streaming into the barn from skylights he had insisted be cut into the barn roof to allow as much natural light as possible into the horses’ stalls. At the time, it had seemed an unnecessary extravagance, but this being England, the land of clouds, fog and rain, Michael wanted his stable to be as light and airy as possible. Today, the effect of the bright sunlight on the fine mist of sawdust and hay dust kicked up as the barn workers swept the aisles clean created a halo effect that sparkled in the sunlight and gave the stable a magical feel. Michael’s breath caught. It had been ages since he had taken time to just wander through the aisles and absorb the atmosphere in the company of his horses. This few minutes taken in their presence calmed him like nothing else could. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and felt centered for the first time in weeks. After what must have been just a few seconds, but felt longer, Tiffany’s voice interrupted his reverie, and he located her, informed her he was leaving for a while but didn’t provide her any more details, then drove to the police station.
Michael had lived in Surrey for only a year, and in that time he had never had the need to visit the local police station. The particular station that was holding Ian was located in the town of Guildford, a twenty-minute drive from Michael’s farm in Cranleigh. The building was small, but Michael could see that despite the historical exterior, the inner workings of the station were very modern. He quickly located the reception desk, and purposefully approached the desk officer. “Excuse, me, Constable. I’m Michael Stafford. I’m here to see my brother, Ian.”
“Of course, Mr. Stafford, right this way.” The officer took a set of keys off of a hook behind the desk, opened a door to the left of the reception desk and indicated that Michael was to follow him.
The officer took Michael down a long corridor, through a door, and into a separate area with four ten-foot by ten-foot cells. Michael spotted Ian lying on his back on a cot in one of them, his fingers laced behind his head on the pillow, staring at the ceiling.
The constable spoke to Ian. “Your brother’s here, Stafford.”
Ian looked over at Michael from where he was laying, and slowly, gingerly swung his legs over the side of the bed and winced as he raised himself to stand beside the bed. “It’s about time you got here,” Ian growled. “What took you so long?”
“You should be grateful I’m here at all,” Michael responded. “You look like hell.”
Ian was normally a handsome but ruggedly built young man of twenty-seven, equal in height to Michael with an aristocratic nose very similar to Michael’s with the exception of a slight bump in the middle where it was broken when a viciously kicked football had hit him in the face as a youth of ten. He had the same blue eyes as Michael, but instead of their father’s raven black hair, Ian had their mother’s sandy blond locks. Ian had never had any problem attracting female attention, and his time in the service, with its demanding physical requirements, had only increased the attraction as he developed a muscular, body-builder-like physique. This day, however, Ian definitely looked like he had been in a barroom brawl. His left eye was black and blue and swollen nearly shut, his lip was split and had been bleeding, and his jaw had a bruise on it. Michael could also see that Ian’s knuckles were scraped and bruised. It was clear to Michael that it was difficult for Ian to stand up straight without grimacing in pain. He wouldn’t be surprised if some of Ian’s ribs were bruised, or even broken. Ian walked stiffly over to where Michael was standing.
“What happened, Ian?”
Ian looked over Michael’s shoulder at the constable, who nodded slightly and stepped away, moving closer to the door to allow the brothers some privacy. Ian sighed and beckoned Michael to come closer to the cell. He grabbed the bars of his cell with both hands and bowed his head, gritting his teeth in frustration. He spoke softly in case the constable had stayed within hearing distance of the brothers. “I didn’t go to the pub to make trouble, Michael, I swear it. I had gone to the pub to get something to eat, and had a beer, just one beer, mind you, with my meal. There was a group of four blokes about my age that started harassing a woman at the bar. She kept telling them to leave her alone, but they just kept after her, until one of them grabbed her arm, and started trying to drag her to the back of the pub. She got away from him, and slapped him. It looked like he was going to hit her back, and no one else seemed to care what was happening, so I decided to intervene and do something to help her.”
“They obviously didn’t appreciate my intervention, and remember there were four of them. One of them drew a knife and threatened me with it. I had my Army knife in my boot for protection, and I took it out to get them to back off, but one of them snuck up on me from behind and pinned my arms, another tried to take the knife. I struggled against the man holding me, managed to break loose, but his sudden release made it impossible to stop my right arm from moving forward. My knife caught the man in front of me in the belly, and he fell immediately. Two of his friends drove him to the hospital, but the fourth convinced others in the pub that I was dangerous, and that they should help him detain me. After they bound me, he and others knocked me around a bit. In the chaos that followed, I looked for the woman to make sure she was okay, but she was nowhere to be seen. I assume she was able to get away. Then the police arrived.
“Unfortunately, the blokes were locals and the pub owner thought them good enough customers to back up their story that I started the fight, and that I had threatened them with my knife. They even convinced the constables that I was drunk and dangerous, since I had so brutally stabbed their mate. I tried to tell them that I was only defending myself, but they didn’t believe me. They even roughed me up a bit before handcuffing me. The woman could have backed up my story, but she was gone.”
Michael realized immediately that Ian’s case was going to be difficult. “We’ll have to see what we can do to find her. She may be the only eye witness that isn’t biased against you. She’s the key witness to support the fact that you acted in self-defense. First, though, we have to get you out of here.”
“The sooner the better. I have a splitting headache, and I think one of my ribs is broken.”
“He’s being charged with manslaughter,” the constable intoned. “You’ll have to post bail to take him out of here.” Michael tensed. The constable had reappeared at Michael’s back without him noticing. Hopefully, Ian had noticed his presence and not revealed the woman’s existence for the constable to hear. If the men who had beaten Ian found out the woman might be available and willing to testify, they might try to find her and do something to convince her she should stay quiet.
“How much will bail be?” Michael recovered sufficiently to ask the constable without any strain in his voice.
“The magistrate has set bail at fifty thousand pounds, due to the seriousness of the charge. He will also have to appear here regularly to ensure he hasn’t left the jurisdiction, leave us his passport, and there’s a good possibility he will have to wear an electronic monitoring device on his ankle so we can make sure he doesn’t leave the jurisdiction until trial. He will most likely come up for trial in six or eight months.”
“Fifty thousand pounds!” Michael said. It might as well be a million. He quickly composed himself and responded to the constable with what he hoped was an attitude of confidence. “I don’t have that kind of money with me now, but I’ll be back as soon as I can with the funds. Is there any way in the meantime he can be seen by a doctor? I’m concerned about his condition.”
“We have a doctor on call in case we need him for emergencies. I don’t see this as an emergency, but I’ll see what I can do.” The constable led Michael back out to the desk area, and Michael waited while the constable made a phone call. When he was satisfied that the doctor would be out to the station soon, Michael left to see what he could do to get Ian out of there.
His first call was to his parents. His mother answered the phone after just two rings.
“Hi, Mum,” Michael said. “How are you?”
“I’m fine, and your father says hello. How are you, Michael, and more importantly, how is Ian doing?”
Michael sighed. “Actually, that’s why I’m calling. Ian has been arrested and charged with manslaughter. He got in a fight in a nearby pub, and killed a man with his knife. He swears it was self-defense, and I believe him, but the police aren’t convinced, so they’ve got him jailed until we can raise fifty thousand pounds for bail.”
“My God, Michael! My poor Ian. Is he all right?”
“He’s been better, I’m sure, but he’s okay for now, though he has some visible cuts and bruises, and he might have at least one or two broken ribs. What worries me most is that I don’t know how long he’ll be able to live in a cell the size of a large closet without losing his cool.” Both Michael and his mother knew that Ian had been diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder upon his return home from service with the Army in Afghanistan, and had been exhibiting symptoms that worried them both. As a result, Ian had moved in with Michael and was helping his barn staff clean stalls and turn out the horses as a form of therapy. He had also started seeing a National Health Service therapist in Guildford that specialized in treating military veterans with PTSD, for more intensive treatment.
“Don’t worry about the bail, Michael,” his mother replied. “Your father and I will think of something. It’s critical that you get him out of that cell as soon as possible.”
“Agreed,” Michael said. “Are you sure you have the money to do this? I wasn’t sure business was doing as well recently as it had in the past.”
“We have been contemplating taking out a loan for some improvements to the restaurant, so we have some of the loan documentation already filled out. We can use the money for bail instead. The improvements can wait. Besides, if Ian remains in the area for trial, we will get the funds back.”
“All right. Send me a text message when you’ve wired the funds and I’ll post bail and get him out as soon as I can. When I get Ian home, I’ll have him call you so you can speak with him in person and let him tell you himself that he’s all right.”
“Thank you, Michael. You’ve always been there for Ian, and your father and I are grateful. Ian is too, although he will probably chew nails before he tells you that.”
Michael chuckled into the phone. “You’re right about that. Taking care of Ian comes naturally after all these years. Now, I have to go. Remember to text me when you wire the money.”
“We will, Michael. Take care.”
“Bye, Mum. Talk to you soon.” Michael hung up and checked his phone for any messages from Tiffany, then dialed the number for the solicitor he had used in the past for business matters, Rodney Rogers. If Rogers didn’t have the expertise for the case, he would surely know someone who could.
Michael made an appointment for later that day, then, knowing there was nothing more he could do for Ian until he met with the solicitor and posted bail. Michael’s thoughts turned to his farm and his future. Lionel was right. It was time to stop mourning Emma’s betrayal and move on with his life. He had some good training clients, but neither of the two young dressage prospects he had purchased in an attempt to train his own competition horse had turned out to be capable of performing dressage at the international level.
A cursory conversation with the solicitor’s assistant as he had made his appointment indicated that to defend someone accused of murder, fifty thousand pounds was just the beginning. Adding to that the fact that the solicitor would have to hire an investigator to find the mysterious woman Ian identified as his only possibility for acquittal, and his expenses would be even higher. Without hope of further financial support from his parents, Michael had to find a way to make a large amount of money and soon.
The only way he had ever earned any money in his life was through dressage. He knew the probability of lightening striking him twice with the kind of luck that led him to find Romeo and his owners at just the right time to benefit them all, was slim to none. Nevertheless, he still had hoped he could compete internationally again. Without money or a sponsor, though, his hopes were equally slim. The longer he was without a competition horse, the harder it would be to get back in the game.
Michael called Lionel and asked him to meet him at a local restaurant and pub for lunch. After being seated and ordering some beef and potato pasties and only water to drink, though Michael could have done with something stronger, Lionel started to explain why he had initially tried to contact Michael. “I have good news. I’ve heard there’s a stallion available for sale that sounds a lot like your Romeo.”
“Unfortunately, he was never my Romeo, but you definitely have my attention,” Michael responded. “Tell me more.”
“Roberta called me earlier this morning after she tried your number and didn’t get an answer. She told me that she heard that the German rider, Hermann Wolfe, was getting disappointing results from the Mendelssohn stables’ premium stallion, Tempest. It appears that Mendelssohn himself has decided to take the stallion away from Wolfe, and is looking for a new rider. He has even made it known that the stallion may be for sale to the right buyer.”
“That is news.” Michael couldn’t help feeling hopeful, even excited, as he contemplated the possibility that he might have a shot at being the new rider for Tempest. He had heard great things about the horse, but also had heard rumors that Wolfe was not the right rider for him, and wasn’t succeeding on the show circuit as expected with the immensely talented young stallion. “How do I get in the door with Mendelssohn?”
“Actually, Roberta knows one of the trainers at Mendelssohn’s breeding and training facility near Hamburg. She told me she would be happy to put in a good word for you and help you arrange an appointment and test ride.” Seeing Michael’s stunned look, Lionel grinned. “You know we all want you to be successful, Michael. What Romeo’s owners did to you after the Olympics was unconscionable after all you did to make that horse a star.”
Michael secretly agreed with Lionel, but he couldn’t make that statement out loud. “Please tell Roberta how grateful I am for the opportunity she’s arranged for me. I can’t thank her–or you for that matter–enough.”
“Don’t mention it,” Lionel responded. “Roberta has a link to a YouTube video of Tempest, so let’s take a look.”
They went back to Michael’s home and watched the video on Michael’s television. Tempest was truly a remarkable horse, with great gaits and tons of personality, but it was clear that Wolfe wasn’t the rider for him. The stallion appeared tense at times and it was clear that Wolfe wasn’t riding him in a way that allowed the stallion to shine. “I’m sold, Lionel.” Michael was trying to rein in his excitement, but it was difficult not to show his enthusiasm now that he had seen the video. “Let’s set up an appointment for a test ride and plan a drive to Germany as soon as possible.”
“You’ve got it,” Lionel replied. “I want to be there when you ride this horse.”