Microsoft Word - John Francome - Inside Track.doc (43 page)

`Me?' Malcolm was startled. Was the Beaufort rumour mill linking him with Beverley? It would only take a whisper or two from that flat-chested piece of poison, Karen.

`You were right about Bonanza last time,' said Greaves. Ì want to know if he's going to do it again.'

Malcolm was relieved. This was a topic which he could discuss with some certainty. Ì'd stick your money on quick, Guy. Before the price gets any shorter.'

Simon put his foot down on the motorway. It was ninety miles to Carlisle and he'd promised Jane he'd make it in close to an hour. He'd made it clear he thought the whole expedition was a bit of a joke, but he'd hardly stopped grinning from the moment she'd suggested it.

`This is a damn sight more fun than trailing round the shops with Tanya,'

he said, ànd nowhere near as expensive.'

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Nevertheless he listened closely as Jane first told him about the death of Beverley Harris, and then about the Jamie Hutchison case. `So, basically, we're haring up to Carlisle to confront this poor sod based on your knowledge of a Golden Oldie serial-killer and one of young Robbie's way-out theories.'

Ìt's not that way out.' She was immediately on the defensive. Ìf you examine the photograph closely it really does look like a bruise on Malcolm's shoulder. And it's on the wrong side if he was a front-seat passenger, as he claims.'

She could see he was not impressed.

`Never mind, Jane. I like a day at the races. I can show you how to place a bet.'

She realised she hadn't told him about Elizabeth's latest revelation - that Toby and Malcolm were having an affair with Amanda at the same time.

That made him think a bit.

`So your theory is what, exactly?' he said at last. Good question.

`Suppose Malcolm and his brother allowed everyone to think that Jamie was responsible for the accident. Then suppose Amanda found out that Malcolm was the driver.'

`How?'

Ì don't know. She was sleeping with him - maybe she was suspicious of that bruise, too, and that's why she ordered four copies of the photograph.'

`You've lost me, Jane.'

Ì'm saying -'and suddenly it appeared in her mind as an inevitable sequence of events `- I'm saying that she was blackmailing him. He paid her off in the first place and she hopped off to Lancashire with ten grand in her building society. Then she fell for the ghastly Pete and two years later found herself out of work with a habit to feed. Pete would have jumped at the possibility of going back to Malcolm and milking him for more money. So the pair of them threatened him with exposure, using that photo as leverage, and he paid them the money that Pete showed to Filthy Barrable. Then, after Barrable had left, Malcolm turned up at the cottage, killed the pair of them and took his money back.'

There was silence in the car apart from the drone of the engine. `What do you think then?' she said at last.

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Simon shook his head. `How long did it take you to dream that up?'

'No time at all. It just occurred to me.' She was pleased with herself. It felt right.

`God, you're a stubborn woman, Jane. The lengths you'll go to avoid the obvious. Which is that some evil little drug-dealer did the murders.' Jane didn't bother to argue. Robbie would be proud of her theory. What was more, Simon didn't have a suspect and she did. She was looking forward to asking Malcolm Priest what he was doing on the night of 5 November.

Òh no,' he groaned suddenly.

`What's up?' But the question was redundant. She could see the traffic clogging up the lanes ahead and the dreaded red-and-white signs.

Roadworks for ten miles.

`Let's hope he's there for the rest of the afternoon,' Simon muttered as he slowed the car to a crawl. Ìt might take us that long to get there.'

For once Joyce parked in the disabled car park with a clear conscience. In the years she'd been driving Clem's car, with the disabled sticker on the windscreen, she'd often been challenged when taking advantage of it. But this time she was fully justified.

They'd not spoken much on the journey. She'd asked him once or twice if he was all right but he'd told her to shut up and stop pestering him so she'd concentrated on the road ahead.

Now, as they prepared to get out, she turned to him. His face was grim.

Àre you sure you're up to this, Clem?'

`No, I'm not,' he said, pushing his door open. `But we've not come all this ruddy way for nothing.'

She kept her thoughts to herself as she helped him on with his big old waterproof coat. It was heavier on the right-hand side and she noticed the way his hand nervously patted the bulge in his pocket. `Why don't you give it to me?' she said. `What?'

`The thing in your pocket. Let me shoot the little bastard.'

He looked at her, a swirl of emotion in his pale grey eyes. Ì can't, Joyce.

They'd lock you away. It doesn't matter what happens to me.' She began to protest but he stopped her. Ì've got to do it,' he said. `He was my son and it's my job.'

She nodded her head. She'd tried.

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`Which way?' she asked. This was her first time ever at a racecourse. He pointed across Durdar Road to the entrance. `Come on, lass,' he said with a sudden smile, `just you follow me.'

It was quite like the old days.

Jamie put everything out of his head for the race. He was a professional and the dramas of his personal life had to be banished from the saddle.

After all, this race, humble as it was in the great scheme of things, was more important than the Gold Cup to some people. The owner, Joanna Price, for one. He'd met her again in the saddling box and she could hardly contain her excitement. And Pippa, who'd gamely taken on the responsibility of saddling a jump horse and who was still gloomy about her prospects as a trainer. Then there was Dave, a complete novice in the world of racing, who'd been allowed to have a crack at getting this horse fit.

But Jamie preferred not to think about the human beings involved. His focus, for the moment, was on the horse beneath him as they mingled with the other runners before the start. Gates of Eden had made the same career move as himself, from Flat to jumps, from big money to small beer, from pacy performer to long-distance plodder. It's welcome to the real world for both of us, he thought.

Gates of Eden didn't seem perturbed by his change in status. His ears were pricked and he was alert. He probably recognised the situation he was in.

Though it had been a couple of years since he'd last raced, Jamie knew that horses, like elephants, forgot very little.

He lined up beside Carlo on Adolf.

`Sorry, Jamie, he's mine now,' cried the Ridgemoor lad. Ì ain't swopping.'

Ànd you're welcome to him,' said Jamie, though he did feel some regrets.

For one thing, he doubted if he'd be this close to his former mount at the finish if Adolf showed his Newbury form.

He wasn't sure how to ride this race and Pippa hadn't been much help. Ì'm leaving it to you,' she'd said. `You know him as well as anybody' - which had pretty much summed up Ros's feelings when he'd canvassed her opinion earlier.

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Dave was the only one who'd said anything useful. `He loves being at the front. He doesn't like anything to go past him when he's ahead of the others.'

Adolf, by contrast, couldn't be allowed to hit the front too soon. Jamie knew Carlo would try to hide him in the pack before unleashing him over the last half-mile.

Jamie decided to keep Gates of Eden up with the leading runners but to hang back from pole position for as long as possible. He was well aware what a strength-sapping ordeal the undulating Carlisle track could be, especially when slogging uphill. Let some other horse do the front-running donkey work, if possible.

Fortunately, a local favourite called Climbing Party was happy to take on the pace-setting duties and sped to the front of the field of fourteen. Gates of Eden followed on keenly and would have headed them all if Jamie had let him.

`No, you don't,' he muttered to the big grey head beneath him, `you've got a long way to go.'

It was an undeniable thrill to be riding this horse in a real race once more.

The rhythm and athleticism were there just like before, but this time Jamie knew the horse would not be left behind for speed. The question was how he would handle the jumps and the distance. Two and a half miles was a long way on a testing track in soft ground.

The field was strung out as they completed a full circuit of the tight right-handed course. Gates of Eden was handily placed in second, leaping the hurdles smoothly and eating up the ground with his powerful stride. Even if the horse blew up now, the outing would have been well worth it.

But the grey showed no signs of flagging yet, unlike Climbing Party who had led from the start and was now beginning to pay the price. Jamie noticed him jinking at the last hurdle before they rounded the bend into the home straight.

Now was the time to give Gates of Eden his head. `Let's see if you've got anything left,' Jamie muttered as he kicked on. To his delight the grey lengthened his stride and overtook the leader as he sailed over the first hurdle in the straight.

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Dave's done a hell of a job, thought Jamie. Gates of Eden was galloping with complete freedom now he was in front, seemingly in his element.

Surely he wasn't going to win? But when he glanced to his left, away from the rail, he realised that they had a fight on their hands. Adolf was on his shoulder and Carlo was working him for all he was worth.

The two horses jumped the next hurdle neck-and-neck and charged towards the last.

As they took the final obstacle Jamie realised that Gates of Eden was the stronger horse. He was not going to let Adolf past. Suddenly the black horse's challenge was over. He could hear Carlo behind him urging Adolf on but his race was finished.

Gates of Eden won by six lengths.

Clem knew how he was going to shoot Jamie Hutchison. He had an image in his mind, one he'd carried for forty years, of how it should be done.

Even though Hutchison might be surrounded by other people it should be possible to get up close and fire straight into his chest. Just the way Jack Ruby had killed Lee Harvey Oswald in the crowded basement of Dallas police headquarters all those years ago.

But the spectators around the winner's enclosure were closely packed and not keen to yield to pressure from behind. Eventually Clem found himself wedged between two burly punters in anoraks on the perimeter of the ring.

A few yards ahead the winner was led to his station and welcomed with polite claps and some enthusiastic pats from his connections. The jockey slid from the horse's back and was embraced by a woman Clem recognised as Hutchison's sister.

For a moment he toyed with the idea of pulling out the gun and shooting from where he was. Surely he couldn't miss from ten feet? His hand was in his pocket, holding the weapon, but he kept it there. He'd only ever fired it once, years ago, up on the moors. He remembered the deafening roar and the kick of the recoil - and the fact that he couldn't hit a soft drink can from a similar distance to that which separated him from his target now.

His only hope was to get right in close. One shot in the centre of the chest, that would do it.

Clem waited a few moments while the jockey talked to the beaming owner and a photograph was taken. Then the crowd began to disperse. The 289

pressure on either side of him eased and he could move his arm more freely. The jockey, holding his saddle, was walking towards him.

Suddenly he was a yard away, no more. This was Clem's opportunity.

But his hand wouldn't move. The weapon was caught in the folds of his coat. And his breath was short in his chest, paralysing his whole body.

Hutchison had passed him now, walking briskly back towards the weighing room.

Clem's chance to avenge his son had gone.

Jamie had just finished changing when he got word that some bald fellow was looking for him. He found Dave outside the weighing room standing next to an enormous rucksack from which protruded rolled-up camping paraphernalia.

`Congratulations,' Jamie cried, seizing the big man's hand. `Your first winner with four legs.'

Dave shook his head. `Not much to do with me. It's down to you and the horse.'

`Call it teamwork, then. What are you doing with all this gear? You off to climb Everest?'

It was a joke, naturally, but Dave didn't smile.

Ì'm going back down south. I've just come to say cheerio and give you these.'

Jamie took the keys he was offering. They belonged to Pippa's Land Rover. He wondered if he'd heard correctly.

Ìt's a bit sudden, isn't it? When are you coming back?'

`Well ... I can't say really. I'll keep in touch. It's been great, mate. Good to end on a winning note.'

The penny was slowly dropping. Dave was going for good. Jamie was thrown.

`Hang on, what does Pippa say about this?'

Dave looked away. Ì was hoping you might tell her for me. Say I'm really grateful for everything.'

`Tell her yourself. You can't just walk out like this.'

But Dave was already hoisting his pack onto his shoulders. `She's going to be upset, Dave. What shall I say?'

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Dave held out his hand. Jamie took it with reluctance. Ì've had a fantastic time. Been a real education.' `Where are you going now?'

`Cab into town, train to London.'

`Don't go like this, Dave. Stay and talk to Pippa. Let us give you a proper send-off.'

But the tall man was already walking away.

Malcolm was seething. He couldn't get Walter on his mobile so he called his father instead.

`He ran out of steam. The race was his and he just stopped running.'

Ì know,' said Toby.

`But that's not meant to happen.' `That's horses for you.'

Òh come off it, Dad. You know what I'm on about. He didn't perform like last time and somebody's arse needs a good kicking.' Ì've just kicked it, Malcolm. He says there's no guarantees.'

`But I thought that's what we were paying for - a guaranteed winner. I'm going to do some kicking as well as you.'