Dick Francis - Crossfire

"But-" Ian started.

"But nothing," I replied, cutting him off. "If you choose to leave here now, then I will have to insist that you do not take any of my mother's property with you, and that includes that bridle." I held out my hand towards him with the palm uppermost and curled my fingers back and forth. Reluctantly, he passed the bridle over to me.

"Good," I said. "Now let us understand each other. My mother's horses are always doing their best to win, and the stable is committed to winning on every occasion the horses run. My mother will not tolerate any of her employees who might suggest otherwise. She expects complete loyalty from her staff, and if you are not able to guarantee such loyalty, then indeed, you had better leave here this evening. Do I make myself clear?"

He looked at me in mild surprise.

"I suppose so," he said. "But you have to promise me that the horses will always be doing their best to win, and that there will be no more of this." He pointed to the bridle.

"I do promise," I said. There was no way I would be trying this cutting-the-reins malarkey again, I thought, and the horses would be doing their best even if they might be somewhat hampered by feeling ill. "Does that mean you're staying?"

"Maybe," he said slowly. "I'll decide in the morning."

"OK," I said. "We'll see you in the morning, then." I said it by way of dismissal, and he reluctantly turned away.

"I'll put the bridle back in the tack room for repair," he said, turning back and reaching out for it.

"No," I said, keeping a tight hold of the leather. "Leave it here."

He looked at me with displeasure, but there was absolutely no way I was going to let Ian leave the kitchen with the sabotaged bridle. Without it, he had nothing to show the authorities, even though, to my eyes, the ends of the stitches that I had cut with the scalpel looked identical to the few I had left intact, and which had then broken on the way to the start.

Ian must have seen the determination with which I was holding on to the bridle, and short of fighting me for it, he had to realize he wasn't going anywhere with it. But still he didn't leave.

"Thank you, Ian," my mother said firmly. "That will be all."

"Right, then," he said. "I'll see you both in the morning."

He slammed the door in frustration on his way out. I went over to the kitchen window and watched as he crunched across the gravel in the direction of his flat.

"How good a head lad is he?" I asked, without turning around.

"What do you mean?" my mother said.

"Can you afford to lose him?"

"No one is indispensable," she said, rather arrogantly.

I turned to face her. "Not even you?"

"Don't be ridiculous," she said again.

"I'm not," I said.

Dinner on Saturday night was a grim affair. Had it really been only one week since my arrival at Kauri House? It felt more like a month.

As before, the three of us sat at the kitchen table, eating a casserole that had been slow-cooking in the Aga while we had been at the races. I think on this occasion it was beef, but I didn't really care, and the conversation was equally unappetizing.

"So what do we do now?" I asked into the silence.

"What do you mean?" my stepfather said.

"Do we just sit and wait for the blackmailer to come a-calling?"

"What else do you suggest?" my mother asked.

"Oh, I don't know," I said in frustration. "I just feel it's time for us to start controlling him, not the other way round."

We sat there in silence for a while.

"Have you paid him this week?" I asked.

"Yes, of course," my stepfather replied.

"So how did you pay?"

"In cash," he said.

"Yes, but how did you give him the cash?"

"The same way as always."

"And that is?" I asked. Why was extracting answers from him always such hard work?

"By post."

"But to what address?" I asked patiently.

"Somewhere in Newbury," he said.

"And how did you get the address in the first place?"

"It was included with the first blackmail note."

"And when did that arrive?"

"In July last year."

When Roderick Ward had his accident.

"And the address has been the same since the beginning?" I asked him.

"Yes," he said. "I have to place two thousand pounds in fifty-pound notes in a padded envelope and post it by first-class mail each Thursday."

I thought back to the blackmail note that I had found on my mother's desk. "What happened that time to make you late with the payment?"

"I got stuck in traffic, and I didn't get to the bank in time to draw out the money before they shut."

"Couldn't you use a debit card in a cash machine?"

"It would only give me two hundred and fifty."

"Can you get me the address?" I asked.

As he stood up to fetch it, the telephone rang. As one, we all looked at the kitchen clock. It was exactly nine o'clock.

"Oh God," my mother said.

"Let me answer it," I said, standing up and striding across the kitchen.

"No," my mother shouted, jumping up. But I ignored her.

"Hello," I said into the phone.

There was silence from the other end.

"Hello," I said again. "Who is this?"

Again nothing.

"Who is this?" I repeated.

There was a click on the line and then a single tone. The person at the other end had hung up.

I replaced the receiver back on its cradle.

"Talkative, isn't he?" I said, smiling at my mother.

She was cross. "Why did you do that?" she demanded.

"Because he has to learn that we aren't going to just roll over and do everything he says."

"But it's not you that would go to prison," my stepfather said angrily.

"No," I said. "But I thought we'd agreed that we can't go on paying the blackmailer forever. Something has to be done to resolve the VAT situation, and the first thing I need to know is who the blackmailer is. I need to force him into a mistake. I want him to put his head up above the parapet, just for a second, so I can see him."

Or better still, I thought, so I can shoot him.

The phone rang again.

My mother stepped forward, but I beat her to it.

"Hello," I said. "Kauri House Stables."

There was silence again.

"Kauri House Stables," I repeated. "Can I help you?"

"Mrs. Kauri, please," said a whispered voice.

"Sorry?" I said. "Can you please speak up? I can't hear you."

"Mrs. Kauri," the voice repeated, still in the same quiet whisper.

"I'm sorry," I said extra-loudly. "She can't speak to you just now. Can I give her a message?"

"Give me Mrs. Kauri," the person whispered again.

"No," I said. "You will have to talk to me."

The line went click again as he hung up.

My mother was crosser than ever. "Thomas," she said, "please do not do that again." She was almost crying. "We must do as he says."

"Why?" I asked.

"Why!" she almost screamed. "Because he'll send the stuff to the tax man if we don't."

"No, he won't," I said confidently.

"How can you know?" she shouted. "He might."

"I think it most unlikely that he'll do anything," I said.

"I hope you're right," my stepfather said gloomily.

"What has he to gain?" I said. "In fact, he has everything to lose."

"I'm the one with everything to lose," my mother said.

"Yes," I agreed. "But you are paying the blackmailer two thousand a week, and he won't get that if he tips off the tax man. He's not going to give up that lucrative arrangement just because I won't let him speak to you on the telephone."

"But why are you antagonizing him?" my stepfather said.

More than two thousand years ago Sun Tzu, a mysterious Chinese soldier and philosopher, wrote what has since become the textbook of war, a volume that is still studied in military academies today. In The Art of War he stated that one should "beat the grass to startle the snake." What he meant was to do something unexpected to make the enemy give away their position.