Felix Francis - Dick Francis's Gamble

How, I wondered, should I explain to him that the cards themselves hadn’t actually been present when any of the charges on the statements had been made?

“There are some regular payments,” I said. “Where the card is not actually present for the transaction. Online payments. Can you stop those?”

“You will have to contact the payee,” he said unhelpfully.

All five hundred and twelve of them, I thought.

Next I tried impersonating Herb to cancel one card, but this didn’t work either as I didn’t have the card-it was in Hendon-and I had no idea of the expiration date or the pin number. Anyway, I was firmly told, I couldn’t cancel a card until I had paid off the outstanding balance.

Dead end.

I just had to find that cash.

Claudia came downstairs in her blue dressing gown.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Oh, nothing,” I said, closing the lid of my laptop onto the credit card statements. “Nothing for you to worry about anyway.”

“Look here,” she said, putting on a stern face, “I told you my troubles, so now you have to tell me yours.”

“It’s just something to do with Herb Kovak,” I said. “In his will he appointed me as his executor.”

“And what does that mean, exactly?” she asked.

“It means,” I said, “that I have to sort out all his bloody affairs when I should be looking after you.”

“Quite right,” she said, coming over and sitting on my lap. She put her arms around my neck. “Naughty boy.”

I smiled.

Life was back to normal-or almost.

During the afternoon, I called Detective Chief Inspector Tomlinson on the mobile number he had given me.

“Hello,” a voice said, sounding sleepy.

“Chief Inspector Tomlinson?” I asked.

“Hello, yes?” he said, this time more alert.

“Sorry to wake you,” I said. “This is Nicholas Foxton.”

“Just resting my eyes,” he said. “How can I help you?”

“I think it’s me who’s going to help you,” I said. “Herb Kovak’s sister has turned up.”

“Really,” he said. “When?”

“Well, actually, on Thursday morning, not long after you’d left his flat. But so much has been happening since then, I forgot to tell you.”

“Yes,” he said. “I did hear that you’ve been kept rather busy.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “Thank you for giving me an alibi.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” he said. “I simply told them there was no way, short of using a helicopter, that anyone could travel the seventy miles from Baydon to Hendon in fifty-five minutes at that time of day. Especially someone who’d just had an ingrown toenail removed. I could hardly walk with mine for weeks.”

I stifled a laugh. Good old Mrs. McDowd and her fertile imagination.

“Well, thank you nevertheless,” I said. “Now, I have some other information for you.”

“Yes?” he said.

“I think I may have solved the riddle of the credit cards.”

“Go on,” he said.

“I think that Herb Kovak was allowing other people to use his credit card accounts to gamble on the Internet, probably fellow Americans because it’s illegal to gamble in most states over there.”

“What evidence do you have?” he asked.

“Not much,” I said. “But I think I’m right. There are five hundred and twelve different entries on those statements. But there aren’t five hundred and twelve different individuals because many of them bet or play on more than one Internet site.”

“Do you have any idea who these people are?”

“No,” I said. “But we do have ninety-seven different sets of initials. They’re on those sheets you showed me. I think they refer to ninety-seven different people.”

“So you’re saying that you think ninety-seven different people, who all live somewhere in the United States, were using Herb Kovak’s credit card accounts to bet on the Internet.”

“Yes,” I said. “And to play in online casinos. I found some MoneyHome receipts that show Herb collected large amounts of cash during the week before he died. I believe that cash was to pay off some of the credit card debts.”

“And are you telling me this has something to do with why he was killed?”

“Not necessarily,” I said. “I have no idea why he was killed. I thought that was your job.”

He didn’t rise to my bait. There was just silence from his end.

“I’ve been trying to cancel the credit cards,” I said finally, “but they all need an original death certificate. Can you get me some? I’ll need at least twenty-two.”

“No death certificate has been issued as yet,” he said. “All unnatural deaths are subject to an inquest, and that would usually follow any criminal trial. The death certificate would be issued only after the inquest was complete.”

“But that will be months, if not years, away,” I said with a degree of exasperation. “There must be some official piece of paper that shows that he’s dead. I need something to show the damn credit card companies.”

“As his executor, you can apply for probate before the death certificate is issued.”

“How?” I said. “I’ve got nothing to show he’s even dead.”

“The inquest was opened and adjourned last Tuesday,” he said. “The Liverpool Coroner will issue you with a letter. I’ll arrange it.”

“Thank you.”

“So where can I find Mr. Kovak’s sister?” the chief inspector asked.

“At his flat, I think. She was there on Friday afternoon.”

“Right,” he said. “Does she know her brother was murdered?”

“Yes,” I said. “I told her.”

“Good. I’ll be in touch so she can make an official identification.” Poor girl, I thought. “Anything else?”

“Yes,” I said. “Have you any idea who killed him?”

“Not as yet,” he said.

“Any leads at all?”

“No. None. The gunman seems to have disappeared completely.”

At least he was honest.

“How about the note I found in Herb’s coat pocket?” I asked.

“Nothing to go on,” he said. “The paper was just common copy paper available from any stationer or office supply store, and the only discernible fingerprints were either yours or Mr. Kovak’s.”

“How could you tell?” I asked.

“We checked yours against the sample set you gave me, and I arranged for Mr. Kovak’s to be taken from his body.”

I wished I hadn’t asked.

“So where do you go from here?”

“I think I had better take another look at those lists,” he said. “And I want to see those MoneyHome receipts. I’ll arrange to have them collected from your office.”

“I may not be in the office this week,” I said. “Can you collect them from my home?” I thought for a moment. “In fact, I have two receipts here but the three from last week are still at Herb’s flat.”

“I may need to go and see Mr. Kovak’s sister. I’ll call you back later when I know my movements.”

“Sherri,” I said.

“What?”

“Sherri,” I repeated. “Sherri Kovak. Herb’s sister. They were twins.”

“Oh,” he said.

Somehow, being twins made it worse.

Claudia and I went out to dinner at Luigi’s, a local Italian restaurant, and managed to spend the whole meal talking without once mentioning the “C” word.

We both skirted around it on purpose, like a game, but it did mean we discussed all sorts of other things, many of which we had bottled up over the past couple of weeks.

“My mother sends her love,” I said.

“Oh thanks,” Claudia replied. “How is she?”

I wanted to say she was in need of grandchildren, but I didn’t. My mother would have to take her chances on Tuesday with the surgeon’s knife, like the rest of us.