Дик Фрэнсис - Banker

His first expression of surprise turned immediately to grim assessment, his gaze travelling from the medicine bottle of tonic mixture on the workbench to the veterinary case lying open. Shock, disbelief and fury rose in an instantly violent reaction, and he acted with such speed that even if I’d guessed what he would do I could hardly have dodged.

His right arm swung in an arc, coming down against the wall beside the door and pulling from the bracket which held it a slim scarlet fire extinguisher. The swing seemed to me continuous. The red bulbous end of the fire extinguisher in a split second filled my vision and connected with a crash against my forehead, and consciousness ceased within a blink.

The world came back with the same sort of on — off switch: one second I was unaware, the next, awake. No grey area of daze, no shooting stars, simply on — off, off — on.

I was lying on my back on some smelly straw in an electrically lit horse box with a brown horse peering at me suspiciously from six feet above.

I couldn’t remember for a minute how I’d got there; it seemed such an improbable position to be in. Then I had a recollection of a red ball crashing above my eyes, and then, in a snap, total recall of the evening.

Calder.

I was in a box in Calder’s yard. I was there because, presumably, Calder had put me there.

Pending? I wondered.

Pending what?

With no reassuring thoughts I made the moves to stand up, but found that though consciousness was total, recovery was not. A whirling dizziness set the walls tilting, the grey concrete blocks seeming to want to lean in and fall on me. Cursing slightly I tried again more slowly and made it to one elbow with eyes balancing precariously in their sockets.

The top half of the stable door abruptly opened with the sound of an unlatching bolt. Calder’s head appeared in the doorway, his face showing shock and dismay as he saw me awake.

‘I thought,’ he said, ‘that you’d be unconscious... that you wouldn’t know. I hit you so hard... you’re suppose to be out.’ His voice saying these bizarre words sounded nothing but normal.

‘Calder...’ I said.

He was looking at me no longer with anger but almost with apology. ‘I’m sorry, Tim,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry you came.’

The walls seemed to be slowing down.

‘Ian Pargetter...’ I said. ‘Did you ... kill him? Not you?’

Calder produced an apple and fed it almost absentmindedly to the horse. ‘I’m sorry, Tim. He was so stubborn. He refused...’ He patted the horse’s neck. ‘He wouldn’t do what I wanted. Said it was over, he’d had enough. Said he’d stop me, you know.’ He looked for a moment at the horse and then down to me. ‘Why did you come? I’ve liked you. I wish you hadn’t.’

I tried again to stand up and the whirling returned as before. Calder took a step backwards, but only one, stopping when he saw my inability to arise and charge.

‘Ginnie,’ I said. ‘Not Ginnie... Say it wasn’t you who hit Ginnie...’

He simply looked at me, and didn’t say it. In the end he said merely, and with clear regret, ‘I wish I’d hit you harder... but it seemed... enough.’ He moved another step backwards so that I could see only the helmet of curls under the light and dark shadows where his eyes were; and then while I was still struggling to my knees he closed the half door and bolted it, and from outside switched off the light.

Night-blindness made it even harder to stand up but at least I couldn’t see the walls whirl, only feel they were spinning. I found myself leaning against one of them and ended more or less upright, spine supported, brain at last settling into equilibrium.

The grey oblong of window gradually detached itself from the blackness, and when my equine companion moved his head I saw the liquid reflection of an eye.

Window... way out.

I slithered round the walls to the window and found it barred on the inside, not so much to keep horses in, I supposed, but to prevent them breaking the glass. Five strong bars, in any case, were set in concrete top and bottom, as secure as any prison cell, and I shook them impotently with two hands in proving them immovable.

Through the dusty window panes I had a sideways view across the yard towards the surgery, and while I stood there and held onto the bars and watched, Calder went busily in and out of the open lighted doorway, carrying things from the surgery to his car. I saw what I was sure was Ian Pargetter’s case go into the boot, and remembered with discomfiture that I’d left the bunch of picks in one of its locks. I saw him carry also an armful of the jars which contained unlabeled capsules and several boxes of unguessable contents, stowing them in the boot carefully and closing them in.

Calder was busy obliterating his tracks.

I yelled at him, calling his name, but he didn’t even hear or turn his head. The only result was startled movement in the horse behind me, a stamping of hooves and a restless swinging round the box.

‘All right,’ I said soothingly. ‘Steady down. All right. Don’t be frightened.’

The big animal’s alarm abated, and through the window I watched Calder switch off the surgery light, lock the door, get into his car and drive away.

He drove away out of his driveway, towards the main road, not towards his house. The lights of his car passed briefly over the trees as he turned out through the gates, and then were gone: and I seemed suddenly very alone, imprisoned in that dingy place for heaven knew how long.

Vision slowly expanded so that from the dim light of the sky I could see again the outlines within the box: walls, manger... horse. The big dark creature didn’t like me being there and wouldn’t settle, but I could think of no way to relieve him of my presence.

The ceiling was solid, not as in some stables open through the rafters to the roof. In many it would have been possible for an agile man to climb the partition from one box to the next, but not here; and in any case there was no promise of being better off next door. One would be in a different box but probably just as simply and securely bolted in.

There was nothing in my trousers pockets but a handkerchief. Penknife, money and house keys were all in my jacket in the boot of my own unlocked car out on the road. The dark jersey which had seemed good for speed, quiet and concealment had left me without even a coin for a screwdriver.

I thought concentratedly of what a man could do with his fingers that a horse couldn’t do with superior strength, but found nothing in the darkness of the door to unwind or unhinge; nothing anywhere to pick loose. It looked most annoyingly as if that was where I was going to stay until Calder came back.

And then... what?

If he’d intended to kill me, why hadn’t he already made sure of it? Another swipe or two with the fire extinguisher would have done... and I would have known nothing about it.

I thought of Ginnie, positive now that that was how it had been for her, that in one instant she had been thinking, and in the next... not.

Thought of Ian Pargetter, dead from one blow of his own brass lamp. Thought of Calder’s shock and grief at the event, probably none the less real despite his having killed the man he mourned. Calder shattered over the loss of a business friend... the friend he had himself struck down.

He must have killed him, I thought, on a moment’s ungovernable impulse, for not... what had he said?... for not wanting to go on, for wanting to stop Calder doing... what Calder planned.

Calder had struck at me with the same sort of speed: without pause for consideration, without time to think of consequences. And he had lashed at me as a friend too, without hesitation, while saying shortly after that he liked me.