Dick Francis - Crossfire

I decided that if two or more turned up, then I would just watch from my hiding place, and I'd keep away.

At three in the afternoon, while still maintaining a close watch of the stable yard, I called Mr. Hoogland. I was careful to withhold my phone number, as I didn't want him inadvertently passing it on to the wrong person.

"Ah, hello," he said. "I've been waiting for you to call."

"Why?" I asked.

"I got some answers to your questions."

"And?" I prompted.

"The deceased definitely was Roderick Ward," he said.

"Oh."

"You sound disappointed."

"No, not really," I said. "Just a bit surprised. I'd convinced myself that Roderick Ward had staged his own apparent death, while he was actually still alive."

"So who did you think was found in the car?" he asked.

"I don't know. I was just doubtful that it was Ward. How come you're so sure it was him?"

"I asked the pathologist."

"So he had done the DNA test, then?"

"Well, no, he hadn't. Not until after I asked him." He laughed. "I think I gave the poor man a bit of a fright. He went pale and rushed off to his lab. But he called me this morning to confirm that he has now tested some of the samples he kept, and the profile matches the one for Ward in the database. There's absolutely no doubt that the body in the river was who we thought it was."

Well, at least that ruled out Roderick as the blackmailer.

"Did the pathologist confirm if the water in Ward's lungs matched that from the river?"

"Oh, sorry. I forgot to ask him."

"And how about Ward's sister?" I asked. "Did you find out anything about her?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I did. It seems her car broke down on the morning of the inquest, and she couldn't get to the court in time. The Coroner's Office told her they would have to proceed without her, and she agreed."

"But she only lives in Oxford," I said. "Couldn't she had taken a bus? Or walked?"

"Apparently, she's moved," he said. "They did give me her address, but I can't remember it exactly. But it was in Andover."

"Oh," I said. "Well, thanks for asking. Seems I may have been barking up the wrong tree."

"Yeah," he said wistfully. "Shame. It would have made for a good story."

"Yeah," I echoed.

"Who are you anyway?" he said.

"Never you mind," I replied.

"A journalist, maybe?" he said, fishing.

"I'm just a born skeptic," I said with a laugh. "'Bye, now."

I hung up, smiling, and turned off my phone.

And still no one came.

I ate the cold remains of the previous evening's Chinese food, and drank some more of the milk.

Why would anyone want me dead? And there was now no doubt that my death was what they had intended. I couldn't imagine what state I would have been in if I'd had to stand on one leg for four whole days and three nights. I would surely have been close to death by then, if not already gone.

So who wanted me dead? And why?

It seemed a massive overreaction to being told on the telephone that Mrs. Kauri's horses would, henceforth, be running on their merits and not to the order of a blackmailer.

Deliberate cold-blooded murder was a pretty drastic course of action, and there was no doubt that my abduction and imprisonment had been premeditated as well as cold-blooded. No one carries an ether-soaked towel around on the off chance that it might be useful to render someone unconscious, or have some plastic ties, a handy length of galvanized chain and a padlock lying about just in case someone needs to be hung on a wall. My kidnap had been well planned and executed, and I didn't expect there would be much forensic evidence available that would point to the perpetrators, if any.

So would they even bother to come back and check on their handiwork? Returning here would greatly increase their chances of leaving something incriminating, or of being seen. Wouldn't they just assume that I was dead?

But didn't they know? Never assume anything; always check.

The sun went down soon after five o'clock, and the temperature went down with it.

Still I waited, and still no one came.

Was I wasting my time?

Probably, I thought, but what else did I have to do with it? At least being out in the fresh air was better for me than lying on my bed, staring at the molded ceiling of my room.

I stamped around a bit to get some warmth into my left toes. Meanwhile, my phantom right toes were baking hot. It was all very boring.

When my telephone told me it was nine o'clock in the evening, I decided that enough was enough, and it was time to go back to Ian's flat before he went to bed and locked me out. I had never intended to stay at Greystone Stables all night. Twenty-four-hour stag duty was too much for one person. I had already found myself nodding off during the evening, and a sleeping sentry was worse than no sentry at all.

I put my sword back in its scabbard, and then I put that back in the cardboard tube, which I swung over my shoulder.

Halfway down the driveway I checked that the stick was still resting on the stone. It was. I set up another on the other side of the drive a few yards farther down, just in case the strengthening breeze blew one of them over.

Apart from the slight chill of the wind, it was a beautiful evening with a full canopy of bright stars in the jet-black sky. But it was going to be a cold night. The warm blanket of cloud of the previous few days had been blown away, and there was already a frost in the air that caused my breath to form a white mist in front of my face as I walked down towards the gates.

I was climbing through the post-and-rail fence when I saw the headlights of a car coming along the Wantage Road from the direction of Lambourn village. I thought nothing of it. The road could hardly be described as busy, but three or four cars had passed by the gates in the time it had taken for me to walk down the driveway.

I decided, however, that it would not be such a clever idea to be spotted actually climbing through the fence, so I lay down in the long grass and waited for the car to pass by.

But it didn't pass by.

It pulled off the road and stopped close to the gates. The headlights went out, and I heard rather than saw the driver get out of the car and close the door.

I lay silently, facedown in the grass, about ten yards away. I had the tube with my sword in it close to my side, but there would be no chance of extracting it here without giving away my position.

I lifted my head just a fraction, but I couldn't see anything. The glare of the headlights had destroyed my night vision, and in any case, the person would have been out of my sight behind the stone gatepost.

I closed my eyes tight shut and listened.

I could hear the chain jingling as it was pulled through the metal posts of the gates. Whoever had just arrived in the car had brought with them the key to the padlock. This was indeed my enemy.

I heard the gates squeak a little as they were opened wide.

I again lifted my head a fraction and stole a look as the driver returned to the car, but my view was obstructed by the open car door. I was lying in a shallow ditch beneath the post-and-rail fence, and my eye line was consequently below the level of the driveway. From that angle it had been impossible to see who it was.

I heard the engine start, and the headlights came back on.

I was sure the car would go up the driveway, but I was wrong.

It reversed out onto the road and drove away, back towards the village. I rose quickly to my knees. If I'd only had my SA80 at hand I could easily have put a few rounds through the back window and taken out the driver, as I had once done when a Toyota truck had crashed through a vehicle checkpoint in Helmand. As it was, I simply knelt in the grass with my heart thumping loudly in my chest.