Microsoft Word - John Francome - Inside Track.doc (22 page)

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As was her habit, Pippa found herself hopping up and down, her body a singing jangle of nerves as she willed her horse home. But though he'd left the rest of the field in his wake the Warrior had not yet beaten Black Knight. The two horses were level coming out of the bend with the long home straight in front of them.

Up on the gallops at home, Pippa knew that the Warrior would have burned off the other horse with ease. So it was with disbelief that she watched Richard put his foot down on Black Knight and ease smoothly to the front, taking the horse away from his erstwhile stable companion with each stride.

The victory margin was four lengths.

In bed at the Starlighter Hotel three miles down the road from Beaufort Holidays, Malcolm could tell that Beverley was becoming restless. She lay curled up in his arms, her back to him spoon-fashion, so he couldn't read her face as she murmured, Ì can't stay the night here, you know.'

`You women are all the same. You take what you want from a man, then leave him high and dry.'

Ì'm serious, Malcolm. The staff know me in here - we use their meeting rooms for conferences sometimes. I can't be seen checking out with you in the morning.'

He took her point. He also ought to be a bit circumspect. Shacking up with a woman twenty minutes from the marital home wasn't the smartest way to behave. However, it was still a bit early - Pippa wouldn't be back from Southwell till late.

He kissed the nape of her neck, then nuzzled lower, teasing the top vertebra of her spine. She arched back against him - so she was still in the mood.

Ì'm not letting you go just yet. Not after the grilling you gave me this afternoon.'

Ì was only doing my job.'

`You're not saying you were serious?'

She turned on to her back and looked him in the face. Ì certainly was.'

`So Barney really wants to choose the races and give Jamie the boot?'

`Too right.'

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Up close her milky blue eyes seemed bottomless. `You have the most beautiful eyes.'

`Don't try and change the subject. You've got to do something about that horse, Malcolm. If it doesn't win soon Barney's going to want his money back.'

`Beverley, you know it doesn't work like that. I can't make the horse win.'

`Well, at least get it to finish - preferably in the first three. And you can get rid of that jockey with a criminal record. It's not good for the company image. Anyway, he's not much cop - even your father says so.'

Malcolm wasn't going to argue the point. He had more pressing matters on his mind.

ÒK, Ms Harris. I agree on one condition.' Her mouth pursed in suspicion.

`What's that?' `You wear your glasses while I shag you rotten.'

Pippa didn't know how she would have survived the rest of the evening if it hadn't been for Dave. She wasn't the tearful sort but for a second, as he put a consoling arm around her shoulder, she felt like shedding a bucket-load.

Dave peered into her face, obviously gauging the extent of her distress. If, as others had done after a painful loss, he'd made sympathetic noises she'd have punched him. `Never mind,' Ìt's just one race', `Better luck next time,' and all other well-meaning banalities made her puke. It implied that this defeat didn't matter and that there were more important things in life.

Well, there weren't - not the way she felt right now.

Ì don't understand. How could Black Knight run like that?'

He propelled her through the crowd. `Let's save the postmortem till we've seen off Little and Large, OK?'

She nodded agreement and steeled herself for a conversation with the owners. Surely they'd be fed up too, having just seen their runner left for dead by a horse with an inferior ranking?

But if the owners felt that way they never said so, being jollied along by Dave once more as he congratulated them on coming second to a great performance by the winner.

Ì got skinned by Seb Coe in a fifteen hundred metres once,' he confided.

Ìt was just like that. We were stride for stride into the home straight and 143

then he turned on the after-burners. Beat me by about the same distance as Black Knight.'

Which neatly turned the conversation away from horse racing and on to athletics. Pippa scarcely had to say a word.

Later, nursing a glass of wine in the bar, she said, Ìs that true about Seb Coe?'

`Certainly is.'

`How did you feel when he beat you like that?'

Ì was pig sick for about half an hour. Then I realised that he was better than I was.'

`But I'm sure Black Knight is not better than May Day Warrior.' She drained her glass. `What were the times?'

He pulled an envelope from his pocket and showed her the figures he'd noted down. Black Knight: 3 minutes 50.2. May Day Warrior: 3 minutes 51.9.

`That's ridiculous,' she exclaimed. `Black Knight's not four lengths better.'

`Maybe the other one had an off day.'

She shook her head. `The Warrior's done pretty much what Id expect.

That's a good time for him around here. But Black Knight's improved again. Damn!' She slammed her hand on the table top, causing a few heads to turn.

Dave put a big hand on top of hers. `Steady, girl, you'll get us chucked out.'

Ìt just makes me mad to see Toby take my horses and turn them round like that. I've got to do something.'

`That's why I'm here, isn't it?' He drained his orange juice with a flourish.

`Just you wait till I've finished with my lot. Suppose I improve them by two seconds too?'

She knew from the way he looked at her that he was only trying to cheer her up but it wasn't going to work. If Dave, who knew nothing about racing, could make her horses run faster then it would only demonstrate what she feared above all - that she was no damn good as a trainer.

She sighed. It was heartfelt. `Would you like to drive my car, Dave?' `No problem.' He pointed to her glass. He was getting good at reading her mind.

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`Make it a large one,' she said.

Jane was kitted out for battle for her second visit to Elizabeth Jacobs'

family compound. She was armed with a Disney video, a bumper pack of animal-shaped sweets and - her big guns - a selection of Danish pastries from a fancy cake shop. Based on observations from her first visit, when she'd seen Elizabeth popping leftovers into her mouth as she cleared the kids' tea, she had a hunch her plump hostess possessed a sweet tooth.

Though these precautionary offerings were accepted with gratitude and some surprise, they turned out to be unnecessary. This time help was at hand to keep the children at bay. In the kitchen, supervising a boiling kettle, was a middle-aged woman whom Elizabeth introduced as her mother-in-law. The lady was smartly dressed and icily polite. Jane wouldn't mind betting that she was not overjoyed at the circumstances of this social occasion. But then, who would be?

Elizabeth's mother-in-law served them coffee on a tray in the front room.

She closed the door firmly behind her when she left, shutting out all possible interruption. What a relief.

Ì've been trying to build up a picture of Amanda's life,' said Jane as Elizabeth pored over the plate of Danish pastries. Ì'm interested to see what she was like before she got involved with Pete.'

`She was a healthy, hardworking, fun loving girl before she met that creep,' replied Elizabeth with venom and snapped her teeth into a gooey apricot slice.

Ì can see that.' To show willing, Jane cut a corner off her Danish and nibbled at it. `She was in full employment till a few months before her death, wasn't she?'

Elizabeth nodded, her jaw working.

Ànd I see from her building society records that she used to put aside a few pounds every month.'

Elizabeth's eating rhythm slowed and a furrow appeared on her smooth wide forehead. It was clear she wasn't sure where this was going.

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Jane nibbled some more. `Do you know if she ever came by more substantial amounts of money?'

`Stable girls don't earn substantial amounts. Mandy only did it because she loved horses.' Elizabeth had finished her pastry. She selected another, a currant whirl with icing. Ì think she earned tips though.'

`What for?'

Ìf one of the horses she looked after did well, the owners would tip her.

Or if it was the best turned-out horse in a race she might get something.'

`How much money would that be?'

Elizabeth paused mid-bite. `You're not working for the Inland Revenue on the side, are you?'

Jane shook her head. Perish the thought.

`She might get fifty pounds. A hundred maybe.' `How about a few thousand?'

Elizabeth laughed, spraying crumbs. `You're joking! My sister barely earned a thousand a month.'

Jane lifted her briefcase on to her lap and opened it. `How would you account, then, for the ten thousand pounds she paid into her building society in October 1999?'

The laughter froze on Elizabeth's face. `She never had that amount of money in her life.'

Jane passed her photocopied pages of the passbook and indicated the entry.

Elizabeth stared at it for a long time. At last she said, Ì didn't know about this.'

`Can you think of any way she could have come by such a sum? An inheritance, perhaps? Or a gift from someone in the family?' Elizabeth shook her head vigorously. `There's been nothing like that in our family.

I'd have known about it.'

`Maybe she won it on a horse?'

Ì doubt it. She used to give us tips but most of them were rotten. She thought every horse she worked with was going to win though they rarely did.'

`So she could have backed a winner?'

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`Not on that scale. She'd never bet more than a tenner.' Elizabeth attacked her currant whirl again. `God knows how she got that money. She never said a word to me about it. What do you want to know for anyway?'

That was a good question. Jane wasn't entirely sure herself. She decided to be honest.

Àt present we're not making much progress with this enquiry and so I'm trying to explore all avenues that are available. We believe the motive for the murders was robbery. It seems, as I'm sure DCI Jones told you, that there was a substantial amount of cash in the cottage before the fire, at least twenty or thirty thousand pounds. Since the money is missing, it is reasonable to assume that whoever killed Amanda and Pete and set the fire, also took the cash.'

Elizabeth had polished off her second pastry by now and was wiping icing from her fingers. She put down the paper serviette. Ì thought it was a rival drug gang. I went through all this with Mr. Jones - and with you last time.

I suppose you're going to start going on about old boyfriends again. I can't say I'm very impressed, Inspector Culpepper. It's obvious who did it but you don't have enough evidence so you're barking up any old tree. And all this about Mandy's building society is a complete red herring.'

Jane regretted trying to take Elizabeth into her confidence. And bringing those pastries wasn't such a bright idea either. The poor woman, obviously upset, was starting on her third. It was like bringing a bottle when you visited an alcoholic - it didn't do them any favours.

She ploughed on, however. Ì understand your concern, Mrs. Jacobs, and it may well be that you are right. My point is that a large sum of money was in their possession. I'd like to know how they got hold of it - even if only to complete our knowledge.'

`Not "they",' said Elizabeth vehemently. `Pete had the money, he got it through dealing drugs. It was nothing to do with Mandy.'

Jane thought of Filthy Barrable's story - of how Amanda had shouted at Pete for not putting the money in a safe place. So she knew about the cash and was anxious for it to be hidden. Even if Pete had acquired it, she had a stake in its ownership.

`We can't be sure about that. It's one of the reasons why I'd like to account for the ten thousand pounds your sister came by a couple of years ago.

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Maybe it's got nothing to do with the current circumstances but I'd like to be able to rule it out. Any light you can shed would be helpful.'

`Well, I can tell you one thing,' Elizabeth muttered begrudgingly. Òctober 1999 is when she left Yorkshire. She stopped working at Ridgemoor and found a job in Lancashire.'

At last, some kind of response to her plea for information.

The door opened and Mrs. Jacobs senior stepped in. `More coffee?' `Yes, please,' said Jane quickly. It had been hard work so far and she wasn't going anywhere in a hurry.

From the window of his small office at Ridgemoor Malcolm peered across the yard to the main building, an imposing old farmhouse where his father lived. These days it housed Toby's own luxurious suite of offices but it had once been the family home. After the departure of the third Mrs. Priest Toby had spent a fortune remodelling the interior to suit his new lifestyle as businessman bachelor. God knows, Malcolm reflected, how he'd managed to afford it. But Toby, often thanks to his well-connected owners, had always been able to lay his hands on money.

Ros Bradey's car was still in the drive, which was a nuisance as Malcolm needed an urgent private word with his father. If the old man was romancing La Bradey - and who could blame him? - then he could be left twiddling his thumbs for a long while. On the other hand, he knew his father had a lunch meeting at Doncaster, in which case his tete-a-tete with Ros would not be prolonged. She'd been in there for the best part of an hour already.

Malcolm headed across the yard, impatient to get his chore over and done with.

He met Ros emerging from the front door. She didn't look as if she'd just disentangled herself from the arms of a lover. Her hair was piled on her head in an elaborate arrangement and she wore jodhpurs and brightly polished riding boots. And her manner was curt. She managed a tight smile as he held the door open for her. `Good morning, Malcolm,' she said, adding, ànd good luck,' as she strode past.

What did she mean by that? he wondered as he admired her retreating rear view in an impersonal fashion. He'd often been intrigued by his father's 148