‘Mr Radcliffe,’ the judge replied. ‘The defence have every right to call whomsoever they wish, provided that their evidence is relevant to the trial. As yet, I cannot tell if that is the case here because I haven’t yet heard any of the questions that Mr Mason wishes to ask. But rest assured,’ he went on, ‘if I consider that your presence is a waste of your time, or of the court’s time, then I shall say so. But that decision shall be mine, not yours. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, Your Honour,’ Radcliffe said.

‘Mr Mason,’ invited the judge.

‘Thank you, My Lord,’ I said.

I had been thinking of nothing else all weekend except how to conduct this examination of my witness and now, when I had to start, I felt completely at sea. I had intended opening by asking him how well he knew Scot Barlow, but that point seemed to have been covered already.

I took another sip of water. The silence in the courtroom was almost tangible and every eye was onme, waiting for me to begin.

‘Mr Radcliffe,’ I said. ‘Could you please tell the jury what it is your company does?’

It was not what he had expected and he seemed to relax a little, the stress-lines around his eyes loosened a fraction and his furrowed brow flattened slightly.

‘My main business,’ he said, ‘is the running of the Radcliffe Foaling Centre.’

‘And could you please explain to the jury what that involves?’ I asked him.

Roger Radcliffe looked imploringly at the bench.

‘Is this relevant?’ the judge asked me, getting the message.

‘Yes, My Lord,’ I said. ‘I will show the relevance as my examination proceeds.’

‘Very well,’ said the judge. He turned to the witness box. ‘Please answer the question, Mr Radcliffe.’

Roger Radcliffe blew down his nose with irritation. ‘It involves exactly what the name implies.’

I waited in silence.

He finally continued without further prompting. ‘We have about two hundred mares come to us each year. The foals are delivered in special conditions with proper veterinary care on hand and a team of specially trained grooms. The whole set-up has proved very popular with owners of mares as they feel more comfortable with the care their animals receive.’

Two hundred was about double the number of mares that Larry Clayton had claimed ten days previously while he had been resting his cowboy boots on his desk, but I was hardly going to accuse Roger Radcliffe of perjury over a minor exaggeration of the size of his business.

‘And how long has your business been in operation?’ I asked him.

‘About seven or eight years,’ he said. ‘But it has become much bigger recently, and it continues to expand.’

‘And are there specific reasons for that expansion?’ I asked.

‘We are doing well,’ he said. ‘And over the last twelve months I have been able to inject a substantial investment into the business.’

‘Would that investment have been possible due to the success of your horse Peninsula?’ I asked.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Exactly so.’

‘Mr Radcliffe,’ I said. ‘Some members of the jury may not be familiar with horse racing so perhaps you could tell them about Peninsula.’

I glanced at the judge. He was looking at me intently and raised his eyebrows so that they seemed to disappear under the horsehair of his wig.

‘Technically, Peninsula is no longer my horse,’ said Roger Radcliffe. ‘He was syndicated for stud at the end of last year and is now part owned by a number of individuals or organizations. I have retained only two shares in him out of sixty.’

‘But you did own him throughout his racing career?’ I asked.

‘Yes, I did.’ He smiled at the memory. ‘And I bred him. I owned his mare and he was foaled at my place. I decided to keep him rather than sending him to the sales, and now I am so glad I did.’

‘So he was a success on the racecourse?’ I asked.

‘Yes, indeed he was,’ said Radcliffe. ‘He was both the Champion two-year-old and he was named Horse of the Year in 2007. But that was nothing compared with last year.’ Radcliffe was enjoying himself now and was totally relaxed. ‘He won the Two Thousand Guineas at Newmarket in May, the Derby at Epsom in June and the Breeders’ Cup Classic in California last October. It was quite a year.’ He smiled at the jury and many of them smiled back at him.

Nikki came into the courtroom and sat down next to Eleanor.

‘All set,’ she said quietly to my back.

I turned around and leaned down to her.

‘Good,’ I said quietly. ‘Keep watch from the door, I’ll give you the signal. Go back out now.’

She stood up, bowed slightly to the bench, and departed.

‘Mr Mason,’ said the judge. ‘I am sure the jury and I have enjoyed our little lesson in Thoroughbred racing, but could you please show us the relevance of your questions, or else I shall release Mr Radcliffe back to his busy business schedule.’

‘Yes, My Lord,’ I said rather sheepishly.

Roger Radcliffe continued to stand ramrod stiff in the witness box. He was enjoying my discomfort. Now, I thought, it was time to rub that smirk off his face.

‘Mr Radcliffe,’ I said to him. ‘We have heard already that you hardly knew the victim of this murder, but how well do you know the defendant, Mr Mitchell?’

‘About the same as Barlow,’ he said. ‘Mitchell has been champion jockey over the jumps. I personally don’t have jump horses but I know him by reputation. We may have met a few times at events. I really can’t remember.’

‘And how about Miss Millie Barlow, Scot Barlow’s sister. Did you know her?’

I noticed a very slight tightening of the skin around his eyes. He was getting a little worried.

‘I don’t believe I did,’ he said calmly.

It was his first lie.

‘Are you sure?’ I asked him.

‘Quite sure,’ he said.

‘She was an equine veterinary surgeon,’ I said. ‘Sadly, she died last June. Does that jog your memory?’

‘I know that a vet died during a party last year,’ he said. ‘Was that her?’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘It was. An inquest jury in January concluded that she had taken her own life by injecting herself with a substantial dose of the barbiturate anaesthetic thiopental.’

‘Very sad,’ he said, rather condescendingly. ‘But I can’t see the relevance.’

‘Mr Radcliffe,’ I said, ignoring his comment. ‘Were you having an affair with Millie Barlow?’

‘No I was not,’ he almost shouted. ‘How dare you suggest such a thing?’

He glanced across at his wife, Deborah. She had come into the court with him when he had been called, and she was now sitting in the public seats behind Mr and Mrs Barlow. I turned to look at her but I couldn’t see the expression on her face.

‘Mr Radcliffe, did you attend the party where Millie Barlow died?’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘As a matter of fact, I did.’

‘And can you recall if there was a reason for the party?’

‘Yes, there was,’ he said. ‘It was a party given jointly by me and Simon Dacey, at Simon’s house, to celebrate Peninsula winning the Derby.’

‘Simon Dacey being the trainer of the horse?’ I said.

‘Yes,’ Radcliffe replied.

‘Can you recall why Millie Barlow was also a guest at this party?’ I asked him.

‘Mr Mason,’ said the judge. ‘Are these questions really relevant to the case before this court?’

‘My Lord,’ I said. ‘The prosecution has previously made it clear that the relationship that existed between the defendant and Miss Barlow was a major cause of the antagonism between the defendant and the victim, and hence, they claim, it ultimately provided the motive for murder. It is my intention to explore this relationship further by reference to Miss Barlow’s untimely death last June.’

‘Very well,’ he said. ‘You may continue.’

‘Thank you, My Lord.’ I turned back to the witness box. ‘Now, Mr Radcliffe,’ I said. ‘I was asking you if you knew why Millie Barlow was invited to the party.’

‘I have no idea,’ he said. ‘I told you I didn’t know her.’