Dick Francis - Under Orders

However, the Raceform software did throw up a pattern of sorts.

I was so used to getting negative results that I nearly missed it. According to the data, Enstone’s horses tended to run fractionally above their form at the northern tracks, say north of Haydock Park or Doncaster.

I brought Huw Walker into the equation. I thought that Huw might not have ridden them in the north, but the machine told me that that wasn’t the case. There was no north/south divide by jockey. Every time in the past year that an Enstone horse had run north of Haydock Park, it had been ridden by Huw Walker.

Which is more than could be said for races run further south. Huw had been sidelined with injury for five weeks the previous September and eight of Lord Enstone’s horses had run in the south during that time. They didn’t appear to have run appreciably better for having had a different pilot.

What made running in the north so special? And was the improvement in their running really significant?

My eyes were growing tired from staring at on-screen figures. I looked at my watch. It was past midnight. Time for bed.

Early on Sunday morning, I called Neil Pedder, another trainer in Lambourn. His yard was down the road from Bill’s.

‘What’s special about the racecourses north of Doncaster or Haydock?’ I asked him.

‘I wouldn’t know,’ he said unhelpfully. ‘I hardly ever send runners up there.’

‘Why not?’ I asked. There are eighteen racecourses north of Haydock and Doncaster out of a total of fifty-nine in Great Britain. That was nearly a third of tracks that Neil didn’t send runners to.

‘Because it means the horses having to be away overnight,’ he said. ‘Haydock or Doncaster is as far from Lambourn as you can realistically send a horse on the morning of the race and still expect it to perform. So I won’t send my horses north of there unless the owner will pay for the extra costs of an overnight stay, and most of them won’t.’

Why, I wondered, did Jonny Enstone’s horses run slightly better whenever they had to stay away overnight?

‘Who goes away with the horses when they have to stay away?’ I asked.

‘It varies,’ said Neil. ‘If I absolutely have to send a horse away overnight, I will usually send at least two, sometimes three of my staff with it. Especially if it goes in my horsebox. There will be the lad who does the horse, then a travelling head lad and my box driver, though the driver often doubles up as the travelling head lad.’

‘Don’t you go as well, on the race day?’ I asked.

‘That depends.’

‘On what?’ I asked

‘On whether the owner will be there, or if the race is televised, or if I have other runners somewhere else. I won’t go if I can help it. It’s a bloody long way up there, you know.’

‘How about your assistant trainer, would he go?’

‘Maybe, but it’s doubtful.’

‘But there doesn’t seem to be any standard practice?’ I said.

‘No, everyone does things differently. I know one trainer, who will remain nameless, who enters lots of horses up north. And he always goes. He doesn’t like what he calls “interfering owners” coming to the races so he sends their horses where he thinks they won’t be able to come and watch them, and also it gets him away from his wife for a night or two each week.’

And into the arms of his mistress. I had investigated the same nameless trainer for one of his owners who had thought that his trainer was up to no good because he could never get to see his horses run. He’d been convinced that the trainer had been swapping the animals around and running them as ringers. The truth had proved to be less exciting, at least for the horses. The owner in question had subsequently switched stables.

‘Thanks, Neil.’

‘Any time.’ He didn’t ask me why I wanted to know. He knew I might tell him in due course, or maybe not at all. Asking didn’t make any difference and Neil knew it.

Next I called Kate Burton.

‘Oh, Sid,’ she said, ‘how lovely of you to call.’

‘How are things?’ I asked.

‘Pretty bloody,’ she said. ‘I can’t even organise Bill’s funeral because the police won’t release his body.’

That was interesting, I thought. Perhaps after all the police are taking more notice of my murder theory than they were letting on.

‘And Mummy is being absolutely horrid.’

‘Why?’

‘She keeps going on and on about Bill being arrested for race fixing, and the disgrace he’s brought on the family. I tell you, I’m fed up with it. The stupid woman doesn’t understand that race fixing is the least of my worries.’ She paused. ‘Why is suicide so shameful?’

‘Kate,’ I said, ‘listen to me. I am absolutely certain that Bill didn’t kill himself. He was murdered. And I’m becoming equally convinced that he was not involved with any race fixing.’ Raceform didn’t show it.

‘Oh God,’ she was crying, ‘I do so hope you’re right.’

‘Believe it,’ I said. ‘It’s true.’

We talked for a while longer about the children and the future of the house. I managed to steer the conversation around to the stable staff.

‘What has happened to them all?’ I asked her.

‘Gone off to other jobs. Mostly in Lambourn,’ she said.

‘What about Juliet?’ I said.

‘She’s with Andrew Woodward now,’ said Kate. ‘It’s a good job, and she’s done really well to get it. I’m so pleased for her. I like Juliet Burns.’

Jesus had liked Judas Iscariot. They had kissed.

‘How about Fred Manley?’ I asked. Fred had been Bill’s head lad.

‘I’m not sure. He may have retired.’

‘I doubt it,’ I said. ‘Fred is actually a lot younger than he looks. He’s not yet fifty.’

‘I don’t believe it!’ said Kate. ‘I always felt so sorry for him having to carry such heavy loads at his age.’ She laughed. It was a start.

‘Do you know where he lives?’ I asked.

‘In one of those cottages on the Baydon road. Next door to Juliet, I think.’

Wow!

‘Do you have his phone number?’

‘Yes.’ There was a pause. ‘But it’s in the den.’

‘Ah.’

‘Well,’ she said, taking a deep breath, ‘I have to go in there sometime. I suppose it had better be now.’

I heard her lay the phone down and I could hear her foot-falls on the wooden floor as she walked away. And again as she came back. She picked up the phone. There was a breathlessness in her voice as she gave me the number.

‘Well done, Kate,’ I said. ‘Be strong and believe what I told you.’

‘I’ll try.’

‘Good,’ I said. ‘Oh, and one more thing, Kate. Could you do me a favour?’

‘Of course,’ she said. ‘What do you want?’

I explained at some length what I needed without giving away the whole truth.

‘It sounds a bit strange,’ she said after I told her, ‘but if that’s what you want, I suppose it’s no problem.’

‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘It will probably be tomorrow afternoon. I’ll call you.’

I tried Fred Manley’s number but got his wife.

‘Sorry, Mr Halley,’ she said. ‘Fred’s not here just now.’

‘When will he be back?’ I asked.

‘He’ll be back for his dinner, at one.’

‘I’ll call again then.’

‘Right you are,’ she said and disconnected.

It was a quarter to ten.

Provided Marina received the ‘all clear’ from Mr Pandita during his round this morning, she would be free to come home around midday.

I spent an hour cleaning the flat and washing up the dishes that were stacked in the kitchen sink. I was genuinely excited by the prospect of Marina’s homecoming. I was about to leave for the hospital when the phone rang. It was Charles.