Felix Francis - Dick Francis's Gamble

“Why do you think Mr. Searle needed such a large sum so quickly?” the other policeman had asked.

“He told me he owed some guy a hundred thousand and he needed to pay it back by Wednesday night at the very latest, or else.”

“Or else what?” they’d both asked in unison.

“Billy seemed frightened, and when I told him that his money wouldn’t be in his bank until Friday, he said he hoped he would still be alive by Friday.”

“Those were his exact words?”

“Pretty much,” I’d said.

“Did he give you any indication who this guy was?”

“None, but he was clearly terrified of him. Why don’t you ask Billy?”

“Mr. Searle is in a critical condition,” one of them had replied.

“He has severe head injuries, and it is far from certain yet whether he will ever recover consciousness.”

How dreadful, I thought. Billy had survived all those racing falls over all those years only to have head injuries due to someone knocking him off his bike. It didn’t seem fair.

“I wouldn’t have thought that knocking someone off their bicycle was a very sure way of killing them,” I’d said. “How would someone know he would be riding his bike at that time?”

“Mr. Searle rode his bicycle to Lambourn every day at the same time. Apparently, it was part of his fitness regime, and well known. And the car seems to have struck him with considerable force.”

“Yes, but, even so, it is not as certain as a shooting.” I had been thinking of Herb the previous Saturday. “Are you sure it was attempted murder?”

“We are treating the attack as attempted murder,” one of them had replied rather unhelpfully.

Yes, I’d thought, but that didn’t necessarily make it so.

“Can we go back to this man to whom Mr. Searle owed money? Are you sure that Mr. Searle gave you no indication who it was?”

“Positive,” I’d said. “All Billy told me was that he owed the money to some guy.”

But why would you try to kill someone because they owed you money? Then there would be no chance of getting it back. Maybe the attack had meant to be a warning, or a reminder to pay up, and had simply gone too far. Or had it been a message to others: Pay up or else-just as Billy had been afraid of.

“The Racing Post seems to have implied it was a bookmaker.”

“I think that was probably speculation on their part,” I’d said. “Billy never mentioned anything like that to me. In fact, he said that he couldn’t tell me why he owed the money.”

“So why did he claim that it was you who was murdering him?”

“I now realize that he must have believed he might be murdered because I couldn’t get his money together by Wednesday night and it would therefore be my fault if he was killed. But obviously I didn’t think that at the time.”

The two policemen had then effectively asked me the same questions over and over again in slightly different ways, and I had answered them each time identically, with patience and good grace.

Eventually, after more than an hour, they had been satisfied that I had nothing else to tell them and had gone away, but not before they’d had a close inspection of my car to see if there were any dents or scratches caused by Billy Searle’s bicycle. So much for my alibi.

As soon as they had gone, I had rushed away from home, just making it to Sandown in time for the first race. I’d had to endure a few stares on my way into the racetrack, together with a few indelicate and abusive comments, but, even so, it felt good to be in a familiar environment, as well as free in the fresh air.

It would have been better still if I’d been riding.

“Do you have any runners today?” I asked Jan. At least I could be certain that, this time, she hadn’t come to the races just to see me.

“One in the big chase,” she said. “Ed’s Charger. Not much chance but the owner insisted.” She rolled her eyes up into her head, and I laughed. “Still got your sense of humor, then?”

“Why shouldn’t I have?” I asked.

“Seems everyone you talk to gets themselves murdered or attacked. I hope it doesn’t happen to me.”

So did I. She might have indeed been just about old enough to be my mother, but she was still a very attractive woman. Had I been a tad too hasty, I wondered, in turning down her offer?

Jan went into the Weighing Room to find the jockey who was riding her horse while I leaned on the rail of the paddock and looked up Ed’s Charger in the race program. I noticed it was to be ridden by Mark Vickers, my client and, now with Billy Searle out of the running, the champion jockey-in-waiting.

Billy’s attempted murder had certainly been convenient for Mark’s championship ambitions, but I didn’t really believe that the attack in Baydon had been arranged for that purpose. True, there had been the infamous incident when one Olympic ice skater had allegedly arranged for the leg of her rival to be broken so as to better her own chances, but attempted murder was surely a step too far, if indeed that was what it had been. And there was the unanswered question of the hundred thousand pounds and, in particular, to whom it had been owed by Billy, and why.

“Hi, Foxy. Penny for your thoughts?” said a voice behind me and I groaned inwardly. Martin Gifford was the last person I wanted to see.

I turned around and forced a smile at him. “Just working on my next murder,” I said. “Do you fancy being the victim?”

Martin looked really worried for a fraction of a second before he realized I was joking.

“Very funny,” he said, regaining his composure. “Tell me, what was it like being arrested?”

“A laugh a minute,” I said. “And you didn’t bloody help by telling the Post you thought I knew more about the Aintree killing than I was letting on. And why did you tell them that Herb Kovak was my best friend when I specifically told you he was only a work colleague?”

“I only told them what I believed to be true,” he said selfrighteously.

“Bastard,” I said. “You made it all up and you know it.”

“Now, come on, Foxy,” he said. “You weren’t being completely honest with me. The truth, remember, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.”

“Bollocks,” I said forcefully. “We were not in court, and what makes you think you have a divine right to know everything about everybody anyway? You’re the most indiscreet man on a racetrack. You couldn’t keep a secret if your life depended in it.”

I knew as soon as I’d said it that it had been a mistake. Martin Gifford was all I’d said he was, but he was also the sort of person one needed to keep on one’s side and I’d probably just lost him as an ally forever. But I didn’t care. I’d had my fill of him over the years, and I looked forward to him not coming up every time he saw me and offering me a penny for my thoughts.

“Well, if that’s what you think,” he said haughtily, “you can bugger off.” And with that he turned and walked away with his nose held high. It had been a fairly weak riposte but no less accurate for that.

Jan came back out of the Weighing Room and over the grass to where I was standing. I watched her walk towards me with slightly renewed interest. She saw me looking at her and wiggled her hips.

“Changed your mind then, lover boy?” she said quietly as she came up close to me.

“No,” I said. But had I?

“Pity,” she replied. “Are you sure you won’t come over to my place for a ride?”

“I told you I couldn’t. I can’t take the chance with my neck.”

“Not that sort of ride, silly.” She smiled. “I’d give you a ride where it wouldn’t be your neck that would have to take its chances.” She leaned forward suggestively over the paddock rail, rubbing her bottom up against my leg.