Microsoft Word - John Francome - Inside Track.doc (39 page)

She wondered if Simon would appreciate hearing the news.

Dave could never see the point in going for a run and finishing off the evening in a pub, flooding the system with alcohol. But he supposed it was 256

better a middle-aged man like Walter Clark indulged in both pastimes than in just one. It was obvious which he'd choose for preference.

Walter was on his third pint, and Dave on his second orange juice, when he judged it right to raise a tricky subject.

`Thanks for the tip on Beaufort Bonanza,' he said. Walter smiled expansively. Ì hope you made a few bob.' Ì certainly did. About fifteen quid.'

`Christ, is that all? What did you put on - a pound?' Èach way.'

Walter groaned loudly. `For crying out loud, mate, I told you I'd stake you.

Fifty quid would have been more like it.'

Ì never bet more than a pound.'

Walter rolled his eyes. `Look, Dave, I'll give you another chance.' He pulled his wallet from his pocket and counted out five £20 notes. `He's running again at Carlisle in a few days. Put this on the nose - you know what that means, don't you? A hundred pounds to win. The odds won't be so good after last time but you'll do all right, I guarantee.'

Dave fingered the notes. `How can you be so sure he'll win?'

Ìt's not a cast-iron certainty, of course.' Walter took a long pull on his pint and set it down carefully. `Let's just say he might have an advantage over his competitors.'

`You mean the kind of advantage you used to have over me ten years ago?'

The smile faltered on Walter's face. Èh?'

`Come off it, Walter. I guessed at the time that you were running on more than adrenaline. There was no other way to account for the improvement in your times.'

Walter's mouth flapped like a landed fish. `Dave, I am shocked that you should say that.'

`No need to be. I'm not exactly whiter than white myself' Though I've never cheated to win a race - but he kept that sentiment to himself. This wasn't about recrimination. He needed Walter's cooperation. Ì've done time for drug abuse, remember?'

Walter was still spluttering protests and Dave allowed him to let off steam for a moment.

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`Look, Walter, I'm not interested in what you get up to or how you pay your bills - though I imagine you've got plenty of those. But I am concerned about Beaufort Bonanza running at Carlisle.'

That focused the vet's attention. `What do you mean?' he said. `My boss has got an entry in the same race and I don't want her up against a horse that's on rocket fuel, or whatever you give them.' Walter said nothing, just went back to his pint.

Dave continued, `For the avoidance of doubt, as my solicitor used to say, I don't mind if our horse is beaten fair and square by yours. That's OK by me.'

Walter's eyebrows rose in surprise. `Just supposing that things are as you imagine, how on earth will you know?'

,I won't. But I'm going to trust you, Walter. For old time's sake and all that.'

The vet turned the matter over in his mind. `You're assuming that this is in my control?’

'It had better be. You ought to realise that I'm not quite so naive as you think. I know one or two journalists who've got a bit of clout. If I see Adolf flying in the last half-mile like he did at Newbury then I shall be renewing my acquaintance sharpish.'

`You've got no proof.'

Dave laughed. `What's proof got to do with it? A juicy rumour usually does the trick. And I don't suppose Toby Priest would appreciate the Racing Beacon turning up at Ridgemoor to check it out.'

Walter stared sullenly at him. `Can I have my hundred pounds back?'

Dave was still holding the notes in his hand. He peeled off the top one and passed the rest across the table. Ì'll just get you another drink, Walter. It looks like you need it.'

After she'd finished her early-morning chores at Ros's yard, Marie usually got a chance to ride out. The morning after she'd called him, Jamie turned up and gave her a few riding tips as she took Spring Fever over the practice jumps. That had been fun.

She'd had to dash to work so they'd not had time to talk, but that was OK

by her. It made sense to get to know one another a bit better. This morning 258

she'd kept an eye open for him but he'd not showed up until she was on the point of leaving.

Ì'll walk with you for a bit,' he said and took charge of her bicycle, wheeling it along the lane to the gate.

Ì've been thinking about what you told me,' she said. Ì can't speak for my family, but as far as I'm concerned we all ought to put Alan's death behind us. We've got to live in the future, after all.'

`That's good to hear. Thanks, Marie.'

Ì also think you've got to ease up on yourself. It seems to me it wasn't all your fault.'

He stopped. `What do you mean?'

Ìf you were that drunk when you left the pub, why didn't your friends stop you driving?'

He thought about it for a moment. Ì don't know.' `Couldn't one of them have driven?'

`Richard didn't have a licence. I don't think he even knew how to drive in those days.'

`What about the other one?'

'Malcolm? He wanted to but I wouldn't let him. I said I was all right.'

Marie wasn't convinced, but what was the point of grilling Jamie about it?

Hadn't she just said they ought to put it behind them?

They were now at the junction with the main road. Time for her to get on her bike.

Walter was slow in dragging himself out of bed and forcing a bowl of branflakes into his hung-over system. He'd hit the brandy bottle when he'd returned last night from the pub. But despite anaesthetising himself to the point where he couldn't manage to squeeze the toothpaste tube, the bony features of Dave Prescott had grinned at him throughout his dreams. And now he was running late, which was a big mistake as it gave Adriana a chance to buttonhole him on her return from the school run.

Ì am so bored,' she cried as she strode into the kitchen and threw her car keys onto the silver Alessi coffee tray with a clang that rattled Walter's skull. `When are you going to take me away from this tedious place? You promised me, Walter.'

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Had he? Disenchantment with domesticity was her latest bug-bear. She'd been happy enough when they'd been doing up the house, spending money on architects and builders and interior decorators. Then he'd turned her loose on the garden and she'd spent a fortune out there too, landscaping and remodelling and replanting. Now it was all perfect, she was itching to start again somewhere else.

The problem was, she had no friends. The svelte, stylish Italian didn't exactly fit in with the local housewives. And she didn't much care for horses, which was a drawback, all things considered. In fact, according to the latest bulletin she hated the wretched creatures almost as much as she loathed Yorkshire and its beastly cold wet climate.

Ì want to go home,' she announced, dragging a straight-backed kitchen chair across the stone floor with a noise like fingernails on a blackboard.

She dropped onto the seat, crossing her long legs in sprayed on denim jeans and jiggling a foot just in Walter's eye-line. Those trainers cost over E120, thought Walter irrelevantly.

`Take me back to Roma,' Adriana demanded with a pout of her oyster-pink lips.

`No,' he said shortly. Ìt's too damned hot.' He wasn't in the mood for soft-pedalling. They'd had this argument before. He knew what was coming next.

`Let's go to the south, then,' she said. `You can get another job where they have all those nice race courses like Ascot.'

Adriana knew about Ascot. She liked to bitch about the women's clothes on Ladies Day at the Royal meeting.

`No,' he said, getting to his feet. `Listen to me, darling. We're doing all right here at the moment. The kids are in good schools and money goes a lot further up here than it does down south. Look, I'm late, I've got to rush.'

He beat it out of there before she could carry on whining. As it happened, he wouldn't mind a move. The right job at the right yard could work out well for all of them. But first he needed the right connections. It was a long-term proposition. In the meantime he had to deal with a short-term problem.

260

It had been stupid of him to start giving Dave Prescott racing tips. It just showed what happened when you tried to do a mate a favour. Then you found out he wasn't a real mate at all.

Whatever happened, Dave must not be allowed to carry out his threat of blowing the whistle on him to the press. Even if nothing could be proved, he'd be scuppered and the present job - let alone future ones - would evaporate quicker than a journalist could type EPO. At present there was no definitive test for the drug, whatever the papers might say. But at the back of his mind was the thought that one day there would be. And if there were too many rumours about its use the Jockey Club might start storing blood samples for future testing. Then the game really would be up.

He'd had his orders from Toby about Beaufort Bonanza. The horse had to put in another big performance at Carlisle. The owners - Beaufort Holidays - were in mourning for the death of the director who'd championed the acquisition of the horse and the occasion was to be dedicated to her memory. In other words, Adolf had to win.

But ... any number of things could go wrong with horses. So far EPO had proved a very successful means of enhancing performance, but there had to be a failure sometime. It sounded as if the time had come.

Walter drove to Ridgemoor in a happier frame of mind. He'd simply omit to administer the drug and, when challenged, claim it hadn't had any effect. By the law of averages there had to be a cock-up soon - and this was going to be it.

One of Jane's regrets about the Bonfire Night Murders being shifted to the bottom of the in tray was that she no longer saw much of Simon. She knew he was up to his eyes in an assortment of cases and he always popped into her office on his infrequent visits from Deacon Parade.

However, the call she'd been expecting to repeat their evening out had not arrived and she couldn't keep engineering cosy drives to Yorkshire. The ball was now in his court and, she had to face it, he did not seem inclined to kick it in her direction.

Nevertheless, she entertained hopes, as a single woman with healthy appetites still does whenever an attractive man of partnership potential shows up on her radar. And the last person she wanted Simon to see her with was Superintendent Keith Wright.

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Jane's office door was flung open just as the Super was launching into a waffly preamble about manpower restrictions. Jane saw Simon's face fall at Wright's presence.

`Good afternoon, sir,' he said, adding; Ì'll catch you another time, Jane,' as he retreated.

Wright scarcely registered the interruption but Jane cursed under her breath. Apart from anything else, she wanted to tell Simon what she'd learned from Elizabeth about Malcolm Priest. Instead she was doomed to be bored by Keith Wright while he doubtless worked round to asking her out (again).

To her astonishment she heard him mention a familiar name. Ì thought you'd be interested to hear the latest on the Priest family over in Yorkshire.'

That got her attention all right.

Keith grinned at her smugly. `You didn't think I knew about your visit to Toby Priest, did you? Not much gets by me, Jane. He had a moan to an old pal of mine who advises him on security at his yard.'

Ìt was a long-shot, sir, but I'll follow up anything to get a handle on that double-murder.'

`Quite right too,' he said pompously. `Bit of a waste of time, though, I expect.'

`Yes.' She didn't want to go into details. `What's your news on him?' He smiled at her in a self-satisfied fashion. She wondered how she was going to wiggle out of the inevitable invitation that would follow whatever information he was about to favour her with. Às a matter of fact, my dear, it's not about Toby. It's one of his sons - not the jockey, the other one.'

'Malcolm?' There was surprise in her voice and eagerness too. It wouldn't have escaped him.

`That's right. I understand there's an anonymous female ringing Harrogate CID alleging that he's just killed someone.'

What?

Wright had all of her attention now and he was obviously enjoying it. À

woman called Beverley Harris was found dead in her bath a couple of days ago. She worked for a holiday company with whom Malcolm Priest has a business association.'

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`So he's a murder suspect?'

`Not exactly. It looks like an accidental death. Harrogate would like to interview the anonymous caller though. They're trying to track her down.'

`Who's in charge of this, sir? I'd like a word.'

Ì'm sure I can discover that little detail for you, Jane. Why don't we get together out of the office - tomorrow evening, say? It'll give me time to make a few calls.'

Damn. She knew the oily sod would have something up his sleeve. `Do you mind awfully, sir, if you just give me a buzz?'

His moist little mouth turned down at the edges. `Don't want to be seen with me in public, is that it?'

`No, of course not. It's just that -' the idea came out of the bluè- I'm seeing someone and he might get the wrong end of the stick.' Òh.' He was not happy to hear that. Good. And the beauty of it was that she was permanently off the hook.

Ì'm sorry, Keith.' She smiled. Best to let them down easy, that's what her mother had always said.

Òh well, in that case, I shall retire gracefully.' He got to his feet. At the door he turned to face her. Ì'd like to meet this lucky fellow of yours.

Perhaps the three of us could get together.'

Jesus. Now she'd have to make excuses for herself and someone who didn't even exist. What the hell was she supposed to say now?

`You already know him, sir. It's Simon Bennett.'

Even as she spoke the words she knew she shouldn't have said that. Clem made his mind up when he saw the declarations in the paper for the following day. He told Joyce in a tone of voice that brooked no argument and, to his surprise, he got none.

Ì'm going to Carlisle Races tomorrow,' he said, ànd don't try to stop me.'