Peter Lovesey - Wobble to Death

Herriott replaced the coin-bags in the safe, turned his ample frame and faced the sergeant. On the wall behind him were oleographs of Smithfield prize fatstock.

‘Yes, all things considered,’ he cautiously replied.

‘Good crowd in there tonight. Best yet.’

‘So I believe.’

‘Funny really, you know. Got a killer loose in there some-where but it don’t keep the crowd away.’

‘Evidently not,’ said Herriott. ‘Do you smoke?’

Cribb did not, except as a tactical gesture.

‘Thanks. I wanted to get my mind clear about last Monday,’ he said. ‘Thought if I came to see you I’d get a good account of what people were doing the evening before Darrell was killed.’

‘I’ll try to help.’

‘Fine. Chadwick first. I suppose he was on the track all the time.’

‘Oh yes,’ Herriott remembered. ‘And he was running, to everyone’s surprise. He has always walked every yard of the way before.’

‘He kept going till one o’clock?’

‘Yes. I’m sure of that. Darrell went to his tent at the same time.’

‘Good. Now Harvey, the trainer. What was he doing?’

‘Ah. He would have been attending Chadwick. He doesn’t often leave his side. He’s probably under orders to be constantly in attendance. A soldier has to take his orders seriously.’

‘He wasn’t in the tent, then?’

‘I don’t think so. He followed the race closely from the trackside.’

Cribb tapped his cigar on the silver ash-tray on Herriott’s desk.

‘Now what about Mr Jacobson, sir? Where was he?’

Herriott reflected. His waistcoat front started quivering over his belly at some amusing recollection.

‘Poor old Walter! Yes, he was here, Sergeant.’

‘What’s amusing you?’

‘Well, I dined out earlier in the evening, and left Jacobson in charge. He’s not exactly a man who welcomes responsibil-ity, you know. Before I left I jokingly told him what to do if a fire started. Damned if we didn’t get one in the kitchen! Small affair, but it ruined his evening-and his suit, I may say.’

‘What time was this?’

‘Ten o’clock, approximately.’

‘And you returned…?’

‘A few minutes after midnight.’

‘Where did you have your dinner, sir? Pardon the ques-tion. I must know everyone’s whereabouts.’

‘At my club-the London Sporting.’

‘And you dined alone?’

‘Yes.’

Cribb turned to another matter.

‘I’d like to ask you about the way this race was first arranged, sir.’

‘Certainly,’ beamed Herriott. ‘What do you want to know?’

‘Well, sir.’ Cribb drew deeply on the cigar, and extin-guished it with great thoroughness before going on. ‘What interests me is that you are not known as a promoter of foot-races. You’re more of a turf man, I believe.’

‘That’s so.’

‘It must have meant quite a gamble, organising this affair.’

‘In a way, yes,’ Herriott agreed. ‘But I’m a gambling man, too, you know. And, of course, this isn’t the first six-day race. It has been done very successfully before.’

‘What puzzles me, Mr Herriott, is why you employed a man like Jacobson as your manager. I hear that he knows no more about pedestrianism than you do. Why didn’t you take on a man who knows the game?’

‘Aren’t you impressed with my manager?’ Herriott asked, with a smile. ‘Now, Sergeant, you mustn’t take my earlier remarks about him too seriously. Walter’s a competent fel-low. Just a little reserved.’

‘You’ve employed him before, have you?’

‘Oh yes, in a similar capacity, a long while back. But really, you know, the job’s a sinecure. I do most of the man-aging myself, as you may have observed.’

‘Why take on Jacobson at all, then?’

Herriott shrugged.

‘I need to get away occasionally, Sergeant, and there must be somebody in attendance throughout. It’s the kind of post that one gives to an old friend.’

‘-who’s fallen on hard times?’

‘Did I imply that?’ asked Herriott. ‘Well, one likes to offer help where one can.’

‘You know Mr Jacobson is in debt, then?’

Herriott sighed.

‘I had a shrewd suspicion that he was in financial trouble. I didn’t inquire about it. One doesn’t, unless the information is volunteered.’

‘Quite so.’

‘I ought to say,’ Herriott added, ‘that both Jacobson and I made a close study of six-day events before we embarked on this enterprise. And I think you’ll agree that the race has been a success, a well-matched affair, in spite of Darrell’s unfortunate death.’

‘How did you persuade Captain Chadwick to enter?’ Cribb asked, ignoring the last remark. ‘He’s not one of the Hackney Wick fraternity.’

‘Ah!’ Herriott was smiling proudly. ‘Privileged informa-tion, Sergeant. A friend of mine happened to know that he wanted to test himself over six days but couldn’t face the prospect of mingling with a batch of peds. The separate tracks were my inspiration.’

‘You didn’t know him before this, then?’

‘No, Sergeant. Fellow’s not really my type.’

‘Mine neither. As a matter of interest, sir, d’you know anything about this man, Harvey?’

‘Harvey? Oh, the trainer! He was his batman, wasn’t he? No, I know very little of him. He seems very capable.’

‘Yes.’ Cribb smiled at an undisclosed thought. ‘Well, sir. Thank you for your time. You’ve been helpful.’

‘I like to be, if I can,’ Herriott gushed.

‘The race finishes at ten-thirty Saturday night, I believe.’ ‘That’s so.’

‘You’ll make some kind of presentation to the winners?’

Herriott leaned back and tapped the safe.

‘I’ve over a thousand pounds in here, Sergeant, and a magnificent belt. Oh yes, I’ll have a presentation ceremony on Saturday night-if the winner can walk up for his prize, of course!’ He was convulsed with laughter at the prospect of a champion too exhausted to cover another step. ‘I hope you’ll be there to see it, Sergeant.’

‘Looks as though I shall, sir,’ Cribb confirmed, without much enthusiasm.

Thackeray was waiting in some perturbation for Cribb to leave Herriott’s office.

‘I’ve looked everywhere I know, Sarge. Harvey just ain’t to be found.’

‘You’ve asked Chadwick?’

‘He don’t seem interested.’

‘Don’t suppose he will be before one o’clock. Harvey should be here by then. Strict on their duties, these military men. Now how about the strychnine hunt? Any reports come in?’

If they had, Thackeray had been too preoccupied to collect them from the police office. The two detectives walked in that direction, past the arena, which had filled almost to capacity. Mostyn-Smith, rather redder in the face now, was still a yard in front of Chadwick, with O’Flaherty almost at his side. The strain was telling on all three. They clung to the pace more in desperation than determination. Whoever succumbed now would be men-tally accepting defeat.

The constable on duty had a sheaf of papers ready for Cribb. He thumbed them through rapidly, rejecting many, and then examined the rest more carefully.

‘No help here,’ he finally told Thackeray. ‘We’ll get some more in tomorrow. I’m not too confident though. Seems another dead end.’

‘Should we see Mrs Darrell again, and face her with the false statement about where she was last Monday evening?’ ‘Not much point. I don’t think she’d tell us much that we don’t know. Now what’s this? Ah!’

He picked up a report that he had at first rejected.

‘Our chemist, Sarge?’

‘No. The report on Monk’s note. I wanted the handwrit-ing analysed, compared with his signature in the poison-book.’