Dick Francis - Enquiry

The tape ran on for nearly a minute. When Gowery finally answered his voice was quite different. Low, broken up, distressed to the soul.

‘It had... to be true. I said at first... I couldn’t warn them off if they weren’t guilty... and then the package came... and it was such a relief... they really were guilty... I could warn them off... and everything would be all right.’

My mouth opened. Ferth watched me steadily, his eyes narrowed with the pity of it.

Gowery went on compulsively. Once started, he needed to confess.

‘If I tell you... from the beginning... perhaps you will understand. It began the day after I was appointed to substitute for the Disciplinary Steward at the Cranfield-Hughes Enquiry. It’s ironic to think of it now, but I was quite pleased to be going to do it... and then... and then...’ He paused and took an effortful control of his voice. ‘Then, I had a telephone call.’ Another pause. ‘This man said... said... I must warn Cranfield off.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I told him I would do no such thing, unless Cranfield was guilty. Then he said... then he said... that he knew things about me... and he would tell everyone... if I didn’t warn Cranfield off. I told him I couldn’t warn him off if he wasn’t guilty... and you see I didn’t think he was guilty. I mean, race-horses are so unpredictable, and I saw the Lemonfizz myself and although after that crowd demonstration it was obvious the Stewards would have Cranfield and Hughes in, I was surprised when they referred it to the Disciplinary Committee... I thought that there must have been circumstances that I didn’t know of...and then I was asked to take the Enquiry... and I had an open mind... I told the man on the telephone that no threats could move me from giving Cranfield a fair judgement.’

Less jelly in his voice while he remembered that first strength. It didn’t last.

‘He said... in that case... I could expect... after the Enquiry... if Cranfield got off... that my life wouldn’t be worth living... I would have to resign from the Jockey Club... and everyone would know... And I said again that I would not warn Cranfield off unless I was convinced of his guilt, and that I would not be blackmailed, and I put down the receiver and cut him off.’

‘And then,’ Ferth suggested, ‘You began to worry?’

‘Yes.’ Little more than a whisper.

‘What exactly did he threaten to publish?’

‘I can’t... can’t tell you. Not criminal... not a matter for the police... but...’

‘But enough to ruin you socially?’

‘Yes... I’m afraid so... yes, completely.’

‘But you stuck to your guns?’

‘I was desperately worried... I couldn’t... how could I...? take away Cranfield’s livelihood just to save myself... It would have been dishonourable... and I couldn’t see myself living with it... and in any case I couldn’t just warn him off, just like that, if there was no proof he was guilty... So I did worry... couldn’t sleep... or eat...’

‘Why didn’t you ask to be relieved of the Enquiry?’

‘Because he told me... if I backed out... it would count the same with him as letting Cranfield off... so I had to go on, just in case some proof turned up.’

‘Which it did,’ Ferth said dryly. ‘Conveniently.’

‘Oh...’ Again the anguish. ‘I didn’t realise... I didn’t indeed... that it might have been the blackmailer who had sent the package. I didn’t wonder very much who had sent it. It was release... that’s all I could see... it was a heavensent release from the most unbearable... I didn’t question...I just believed it... believed it absolutely... and I was so grateful... so grateful...’

Four days before the Enquiry, that package had come. He must have been sweating for a whole week, taking a long bleak look at the wilderness. Send a St Bernard to a dying mountaineer and he’s unlikely to ask for the dog licence.

‘When did you begin to doubt?’ Ferth said calmly.

‘Not until afterwards. Not for days. It was Hughes... at the dance. You told me he was insisting he’d been framed and was going to find out who... and then he asked me directly who had sent Oakley to his flat... and it... Wykeham it was terrible . I realised... what I’d done. Inside, I did know... but I couldn’t admit to it myself... I shut it away... they had to be guilty...’

There was another long silence. Then Gowery said, “You’ll see to it... that they get their licences back?’

‘Yes,’ Ferth said.

‘I’ll resign...’ He sounded desolate.

‘From the Disciplinary Committee, I agree,’ Ferth said reasonably. ‘As to the rest... we will see.’

‘Do you think the... the blackmailer... will tell... everyone... anyway, when Cranfield has his licence back?’

‘He would have nothing to gain.’

‘No, but...’

‘There are laws to protect you.’

‘They couldn’t.’

‘What does he in fact have over you?’

‘I... I... oh God.’ The tape stopped abruptly, cutting off words that were disintegrating into gulps.

Ferth said, ‘I switched it off. He was breaking down. One couldn’t record that.’

‘No.’

‘He told me what it was he was being blackmailed about. I think I am prepared to tell you also, although he would hate it if he knew. But you only.’

‘Only,’ I said. ‘I won’t repeat it.’

‘He told me...’ His nose wrinkled in distaste. ‘He told me that he has... he suffers from... unacceptable sexual appetites. Not homosexual. Perhaps that would have been better... simpler... he wouldn’t nowadays have been much reviled for that. No. He says he belongs to a sort of club where people like him can gratify themselves fairly harmlessly, as they are all there because they enjoy... in varying forms... the same thing.’ He stopped. He was embarrassed.

‘Which is what?’ I said matter-of-factly.

He said, as if putting a good yard of clean air between himself and the world, ‘Flagellation.’

‘That old thing!’ I said.

‘What?’

‘The English disease. Shades of Fanny Hill. Sex tangled up with self-inflicted pain, like nuns with their little disciplines and sober citizens paying a pound a lash to be whipped.’

‘Kelly!’

‘You must have read their coy little advertisements? “Correction given.” That’s what it’s all about. More widespread than most people imagine. Starts with husbands spanking their wives regularly before they bed them, and carries right on up to the parties where they all dress up in leather and have a right old orgy. I don’t actually understand why anyone should get fixated on leather or rubber or hair, or on those instead of anything else. Why not coal, for instance... or silk? But they do, apparently.’

‘In this case... leather.’

‘Boots and whips and naked bosoms?’

Ferth shook his head in disbelief. ‘You take it so coolly.’

‘Live and let live,’ I said. ‘If that’s what they feel compelled to do... why stop them? As he said, they’re not harming anyone, if they’re in a club where everyone else is the same.’

‘But for a Steward,’ he protested. ‘A member of the Disciplinary Committee!’

‘Gives you pause,’ I agreed.

He looked horrified. ‘But there would be nothing sexual in his judgement on racing matters.’

‘Of course not. Nothing on earth as unsexual as racing.’

‘But one can see... he would be finished in the racing world, if this got out. Even I... I cannot think of him now without this... this perversion... coming into my mind. It would be the same with everyone. One can’t respect him any more. One can’t like him.’

‘Difficult,’ I agreed.

‘It’s... horrible.’ In his voice, all the revulsion of the normal for the deviation. Most racing men were normal. The deviation would be cast out. Ferth felt it. Gowery knew it. And so did someone else...