Dick Francis - Dead Heat

“I never realized you were so close to it,” said Toby. “Mum had said something about you being at the races, but nothing about…” He petered out. I decided that I must have successfully created the mental image I was after.

“It’s horrible,” said Sally, shivering. “I don’t want to hear any more.”

“And I don’t want to wake up in a cold sweat having had another nightmare about it either,” I said quite forcibly. “But I know I will. And I will because it was real, it happened and it happened before my eyes to people I knew.” Sally looked quite shocked.

“The papers have all been saying that the bomb was aimed at an Arab prince,” said Bernard, bringing us all back from the brink. “So what has it got to do with the dinner?” He was one step ahead of the others.

“What if the bomb was not aimed at the prince but at those people it really hit?” I said. “And suppose the poisoning of the dinner was done to stop someone being at the races the following day so they wouldn’t get blown up.”

“But if someone knew there was going to be a bomb, then surely they could just have not turned up to the lunch,” said Bernard. “Why would they have to poison everyone the night before?”

“I don’t know,” I said almost angrily. I wasn’t angry with him, I was angry with myself for not knowing. I couldn’t be angry with Bernard. After all, that’s why I had asked him to come. I knew he would be skeptical and would argue. It’s what I wanted.

“But,” I said, “I do know that when I started saying this out loud and asking around about who was meant to be at the lunch but didn’t actually show up, someone tried to kill me.”

“How?” asked Bernard in the sudden silence.

“They caused the brakes to fail in my car and I hit a bus.”

“It’s a bit hit-and-miss, if you’ll excuse the pun,” he said. “Not the best way to kill someone.”

“It was designed to look like an accident,” I said.

“Are you absolutely sure it wasn’t?” he asked.

“No, I’m not,” I confessed. “For a while, I thought I was just being paranoid. I couldn’t think why anyone would want to do me harm. But then someone burned my house down with me in it. And I am certain that was another attempt on my life.”

“Have the fire brigade confirmed that it was arson?” Bernard asked.

“Not that I’m aware of,” I said, “but I know it was.”

“How?” he asked again.

“Because someone went into my house and removed the battery from my smoke alarm before they set the house on fire and I know for sure that there had been a battery in there. And I’m also sure that the fire was started at the bottom of the old wooden stairs to prevent me getting out.” In my mind, I could still see the flames roaring up the stairwell, cutting off my escape route. “It is only due to luck, and a few hefty blows on my bedroom window frame with a bedside table, that I am here now. And I wasn’t sure how much longer my luck would last, so I ran away to America.”

“Unlike you to run away,” said Toby. I was surprised, and pleased. It was indeed unlike me to run away, but I hadn’t expected him to know it, let alone to say it.

“No,” I said, “but I was frightened. I still am. And with good reason, if what happened in America is anything to go by.”

“What did happen?” asked Sally.

“Someone broke my arm with a polo mallet,” I said.

“What, surely not on purpose?” said Sally.

“I think you could say that,” I said. I told them about the maniac with the mallet and about the damage he did to the rental car.

“But why?” said Bernard.

Instead of answering, I removed the shiny metal ball from my pocket and tossed it to Toby.

“What is that?” asked Sally.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I was hoping one of you might be able to tell me. I know it’s significant. Having one probably contributed to my broken arm, and it might have cost me a lot more if I hadn’t managed to escape.”

Bernard looked me in the face.

“Life and death,” he said slowly, half under his breath.

They passed the ball back and forth between them, and I gave them a couple of minutes to examine it in silence.

“OK,” said Toby. “I give up. What is it?”

“Hey,” exclaimed Sally, “it unscrews. It comes apart.” She triumphantly held up the two pieces. She leaned over and showed Toby what she had done…She then put the ball back together and tossed it to Bernard. He struggled with his pudgy fingers, but finally he too was able to open the ball.

“But what is it for?” asked Toby again.

“I really don’t know,” I said. “But I feel it must be part of the key to all this.”

“Max and I think it must have been made to hold something,” Caroline said. “It fits so tightly together that we wondered if the contents mustn’t leak out.”

“And it might have something to do with polo ponies,” I added, as if another clue might help solve the riddle.

“Polo ponies?” said Bernard.

“Yes,” I said. “It may be to do with the importation of polo ponies.”

“From where?” asked Toby.

“South America, mostly,” I said, remembering what Dorothy Schumann had said. “Argentina, Uruguay and Colombia.”

“Drugs?” said Sally. “There’s an awful lot of cocaine in Colombia. Could this be used to hold drugs?”

They all examined the ball again, as if it would give up the answer.

“Like condoms,” I said.

“What?” said Bernard.

“Condoms,” I said again. “You must have heard of people who are paid to carry drugs in condoms through customs. They tie the end up and swallow condoms with drugs inside them. Then they fly to England, or somewhere, wait for nature to take its course and-hey, presto-you have condoms full of drugs.”

“Mules,” said Caroline. “They’re called mules. Lots of women do it from Jamaica or Nigeria. For the money.”

“Sounds rather dangerous to me,” said Toby. “Don’t the condoms burst?”

“Apparently not,” Caroline said. “I saw a television program about it. Some of them get caught by customs, using X-rays, but most of them don’t. And they’re desperate for money.”

“Are you suggesting,” said Bernard, “that metal balls like this could be somehow filled with drugs and swallowed to smuggle the stuff here from South America?” He held the ball up to his open mouth. It might have just about gone in, but his expression said that swallowing the ball would be another matter altogether.

“Not in humans, you fool,” I said, laughing at him. “In horses.”

“Could a horse really swallow something this big?” he asked, serious again.

“Easily,” said Toby. “They can swallow an apple whole. I’ve seen it. You twitch the top lip, hold the head up and throw the apple down the throat. It used to be done quite often to give pills. You hollow out an apple, fill it with the medicine and chuck it down. No problem.”

“What do you mean you twitch the top lip?” asked Caroline.

“A twitch is a stick with a loop of strong twine on the end,” he explained. “You put the loop round the animal’s top lip and twist the stick until the loop gets tight.”

“It sounds dreadful,” said Caroline, holding her own top lip.

“Well, it is,” said Toby. “But it works, I can tell you. It will control even the wildest of horses. They usually just stand very still. We sometimes have to use a twitch on one of ours for shoeing. Otherwise, the farrier gets kicked to hell.”

“So you could get a horse to swallow one of those,” I said to him, pointing at the ball.

“Oh yes, no problem. But I don’t think it would ever come out the other end.”