Peter Lovesey: Wobble to Death

‘What’s their view, then?’ asked Thackeray.

‘As I thought, unfortunately. Monk definitely wrote the letter. No shadow of doubt.’

Thackeray was mystified.

‘I don’t follow, Sarge. That was a suicide note-must have been cooked up by the killer.’

Cribb shook his head. His constable had disappointed him again.

‘Not so, not so! Got a note of the wording of that note, have you?’

Thackeray embarrassedly delved for his notebook. He read out Monk’s message. ‘ “This is to show how sorry I am. I did not mean him to die. Samuel Monk.”-Was he forced to write it, do you think, Sarge?’

‘Not very likely. Poor fellow was too drunk to write any-thing, by Jacobson’s account. No. What we’ve got to work out is when he wrote it, Thackeray. That’s the key.’

Thackeray remained bewildered.

‘It don’t make any sort of sense, to me, Sarge. If Monk didn’t kill Darrell-and we know that he couldn’t have- why should he take the blame on himself? He was so sure of himself that night when we saw him in the tent. He knew his bracer had been mixed right.’

‘Of course he did!’ said Cribb. ‘So he couldn’t have taken the blame. You’re right. But give a thought to the timing, man. There was a time when Monk would have had a guilty conscience.’

‘I still don’t-’

‘Before he knew it was strychnine that killed Darrell! What did they think it was at first?’

‘Tetanus, Sarge.’

‘Right. And how do you contract tetanus?’

‘Through getting something into a wound-like the cow-dung this place stinks of.’

‘Exactly. Well, there’s the point. Darrell ran barefoot on blistered feet that Monday night, and Monk didn’t stop him. Wouldn’t he feel responsible and write a note like this?’

‘You mean he planned to kill himself then, Sarge?’

‘I didn’t say that. But that’s when he wrote it.’

‘Who to?’

‘Ain’t that obvious?’

Thackeray was not sure that it was, but prudently nodded agreement.

Harvey re-entered the Hall carrying a paper parcel soon after eleven that evening. He was instantly recognised by the constable on duty at the Islington Green gate and hus-tled to the police office where Cribb and Thackeray were waiting.

‘Thought you’d walked out on us, Mr Harvey,’ Cribb began. ‘Couldn’t find you anywhere. Not like you to leave Captain Chadwick to his own devices.’

‘I had good reason,’ answered Harvey.

‘No doubt of that, no doubt at all. You know why we want to talk with you?’

‘I’m not sure.’

‘I’ll not wrap it in fancy words then. You were seen leav-ing O’Flaherty’s hut this morning. Later on he pulled out of the race with sore feet. Crushed nut-shells. Do you admit putting them in his boots?’

Harvey was admirably calm.

‘I did it, yes.’

‘Why then?’

‘Ain’t you worked that out, Sergeant? I’m on Captain Chadwick’s side, in case you don’t remember.’

‘Don’t you play smart with me,’ warned Cribb. ‘You might be in a lot of trouble.’

‘What’s the charge, then?’ asked Harvey confidently. ‘Trespassing-or assault?’

‘Could be a double charge of murder,’ Cribb answered, and Harvey’s manner changed at once.

‘You think that I-because I got at O’Flaherty’s boots- oh no, Sergeant! That ain’t true!’

‘You’ve got a clearer motive for killing Darrell than any-one in this Hall,’ said Cribb. ‘Your actions confirm you’ll take big chances to see Chadwick win. You care nothing for O’Flaherty. You’d cripple him for Chadwick’s sake. Why shouldn’t you have poisoned Darrell? Could have slipped in more strychnine than you meant, of course. Murder is deliberate, with malice aforethought. Might make it manslaughter on the first charge, if you’ll cough the full story-’

‘Look, I’m no murderer!’ protested Harvey. ‘I know nothing about Darrell’s death, or Monk’s. I’ve admitted fix-ing the Irishman’s boots, but that don’t make me a killer.’

Cribb pressed his advantage.

‘You’d better talk pretty quick, then, Mr Harvey. I want to know all about you and your gaffer, and I want to know your movements last Monday night. You’d better remember it right too. I’ve been given several accounts of that night, and I know what happened most of the time.’

Harvey collected his thoughts. Last Monday seemed an age ago. Thackeray took out his notebook.

‘Far as I can recall,’ Harvey began, ‘I was by the track all evening, following the race. The Captain was behaving strange-like-he was running, you see. He has always walked his races, even when the articles allow mixing. But he fell badly behind Darrell that first day. Even some of the slow mob were ahead of him and by two in the afternoon he’d taken to running. Now I knew this running would give him no end of trouble-’

‘Why didn’t you stop it, then?’

‘Stop it? I can’t stop the Captain. He don’t take orders from me, or anyone, come to that. No, I just had to be around in case he went down with cramp. There was some bad collapses that first day. Once a man’s gone down it’s a sure bet that others will follow.’

‘So you waited for the collapse.’

‘Well, I kept near, in case. As it happened, he suffered a bit, but he didn’t go down. And he won back a lot of the ground. Darrell was in some kind of trouble with his feet, and that gave a fillip to the Captain. He kept going until Darrell came off at one, and then we both went into the tent.’

‘What sort of mental state was he in?’

‘Mental?’

‘His state of mind, man. Was he happy?’

‘Oh no. Far from it. He was suffering. Very sore, he was, and right low in spirits. Not like the Captain at all. He’s always enjoyed his walking, you know. But this time he was talking of giving up. After one day!’

‘Did he eat anything?’ asked Cribb.

Harvey tried to remember.

‘I don’t think so. He took his usual glass of claret, though, and then I left him.’

‘Where did you go?’

‘To the restaurant. I needed a drink, and there’s benches in there where a man can stretch out for a couple of hours.’ ‘And that’s what you did?’

‘Well,’ answered Harvey. ‘I didn’t get the drink. They’d had some kind of trouble in the kitchen-a fire, I think- and nobody was around to serve. So I found myself a corner and kipped for a bit. I finally got some coffee about three-thirty. Oh yes, and Monk came in.’

‘Monk? You’re sure of the time?’

‘Yes, about three-thirty. He sat with me. He must have just come in from outside because he was darned cold. Funny thing, he wanted to fix something up with me. He thought the pace was too warm. If I would hold the Captain back he’d tell Darrell to take things easy. I wouldn’t have it though. I can’t give orders to the Captain like some of them trainers do with their guv’nors. So it was no deal. And blow me, when they got back on track bloody Darrell set off like a hare before hounds.’

‘Full of strychnine,’ commented Cribb. ‘Did Monk say anything else?’

‘No. That was the lot,’ answered Harvey.

‘Right. Tell us about the Captain now. How long have you been with him?’

‘Must be ten years, at least. I served in India with him, you know. He wasn’t walking professional then, of course. Only started that when we got back home, about five years back. Then it was strictly private matches, on the road. Pretty soon he was taking on the best in England and show-ing them clean heels. He wanted to meet Darrell, of course, and that’s how he came to enlist in this tail-chasing squad. Darrell wouldn’t face him on the open road. Said he was prepared to take him on at Islington though. Then it was up to Herriott to arrange the twin tracks. My guv’nor wouldn’t risk his feet among that hob-nailed mob-not until he was forced to join ’em of course. He had no choice after Darrell was out.’