Felix Francis - Dick Francis's Front Runner

‘But who was that accomplice?’

‘One of the jockeys told me that Morris has a son, and that he’s a nasty piece of work. And there’s also Darryl Lawrence and Gary Banks to consider.’

‘Are those the men who attacked you at your flat?’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘It seems they met a man at Esher station who pointed me out to them as their target. Maybe that was Leslie Morris, although I’m not sure how it could have been. But, if it was, then together they would easily be strong enough to lift Dave Swinton into the boot. Lawrence is now dead, and Banks is in custody for killing him. You had better speak to Detective Inspector Galvin.’

‘I will,’ he said. ‘Thank you, Mr Hinkley, for your assistance.’

He stood up.

‘Is that it?’ I said.

‘Is there anything else you have to add?’ he asked.

‘No. But... you don’t seem to be very interested.’

‘I will have discussions with my colleagues,’ he said. ‘I will also speak with DI Galvin and other officers from the Met. We will act on your information, be assured of that, but we can’t just go in and arrest someone, with all our guns blazing, until we have considered the matter further. We have to be pretty sure before we detain anyone in these circumstances, not least because we would have only twenty-four hours to question him and complete our investigation, before we would be required to either charge or release him. We like to line up all the ducks before we start shooting at them.’

‘And in the meantime,’ I said, ‘I have to go on watching my back?’

‘That would seem to be a wise course of action. My constable will type up what you have just told us into a formal statement. Can you wait here while he does that, so you can sign it?’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘No problem.’

‘Good.’ He started to leave but then turned back to face me. ‘Oh, yes, one more thing, Mr Hinkley. I will need the names of those other two jockeys. They’ll both have to be interviewed. And you don’t want to be the one arrested today, now do you, for obstructing the police?’

There was absolutely no humour in his voice whatsoever.

‘What the bloody hell have you been telling the filth?’

Willy Mitchell wasn’t happy with me. He called me early the following morning, as I was packing my suitcase for the Cayman Islands.

‘You promised me you’d keep what I told you confidential.’

Actually, I hadn’t, but I decided now was not the time to say so.

‘All I told the police was that you were being blackmailed. I absolutely did not tell them why.’

‘Well, they bloody know,’ he shouted down the line. ‘I had some copper on my doorstep here at seven o’clock this morning, and all he talked about was the effing sex offenders register.’

DS Jagger had assured me that he would act on my information, but I hadn’t expected his approach to be quite so insensitive.

I had discovered for myself the previous morning that Detective Sergeant Jagger was neither the most tactful nor the most considerate of men. He was only interested in securing an arrest. He didn’t care what collateral damage was done to people’s lives in the process, and he made no allowance to mitigate it.

He had obviously looked up Mitchell’s conviction on the police computer and favoured the bull-in-the-china-shop approach, just like Paul Maldini. I didn’t think it was likely to encourage Willy to cooperate.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I had no choice. I was threatened with arrest for obstructing the police unless I gave him your name.’

‘I wish I’d never told you anything.’

‘But you did,’ I said. ‘And surely that makes you safer. Now if the blackmailer gets some girl to go to the police and complain about you having sex with her, they will know it’s a lie.’

‘Will they?’ He didn’t sound like he believed it. ‘Why, then, has this bloody copper been going on about how I’m a danger to society? He says I should have been chucked in jail and the key thrown away. He kept calling me a paedophile. Poor Amy is still in floods of tears over it.’

It was, as they would say in American football, unnecessary roughness.

‘He was just trying to frighten you into revealing something that you didn’t want him to know.’

He grunted.

‘So what did you tell him?’ I asked.

‘Same as I told you,’ he said, ‘but I don’t think he took much notice. He treated me all the while like something that he’d picked up on his shoe. But I’m not the bloody villain here. I’m the victim.’

The BHA might disagree.

After all, he had failed to win a race on purpose.

I thought it was prudent to call Bill McKenzie and warn him that he might, too, be getting an unwelcome visit from DS Jagger. It had the potential to be far more damaging for his marriage than it would have been for Willy’s.

I was too late.

Jagger had already been there. He had obviously gone straight on from Mitchell’s place.

‘Oh, thank you very much,’ Bill said sarcastically. ‘You may well have destroyed my marriage.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I said.

But it had been him who had been with another woman, not me.

‘Has your wife found out about the photos?’ I asked.

‘No, thank God, but she insists on knowing why that policeman was here. She claims she has a right to know if I’ve been accused of something. I told her that I hadn’t — I was just helping them with their inquiries. But now she wants to know what those inquiries are about.’

‘What did you tell her?’ I asked.

‘Nothing,’ Bill said. ‘Hence we’re not talking to each other at all at the moment. It’s dreadful.’

‘Tell me, Bill,’ I said. ‘Did you speak to Leslie Morris after riding Wisden Wonder at Sandown?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘Of course not.’

‘Did you speak to him at all during the Tingle Creek meeting?’

‘I’ve only ever spoken to him in France. Not before and not since. And I never want to speak to him again.’

I had been invited to spend Tuesday evening with Faye and Quentin, to join them for a sort of Christmas dinner, before I went away.

I spent some of the afternoon wrapping up presents for them — Jo Malone perfume for her and a silk bow tie and coordinating handkerchief for him. It made me think about some other presents I should be taking with me to the Cayman Islands.

I wondered how many of us there would be. Uncle Richard and Aunt Mary for sure, plus Martin Reynard and his wife, Theresa. How many others?

I left early for Richmond and occupied a constructive hour in a department store in the centre buying a selection of ties for the men and silk scarves for the ladies — three of each, so I’d have some spares. They would be easy to pack and nice and lightweight for my luggage allowance.

In addition, I looked for something for Henri, and that was far more difficult.

What did you buy for someone on the Sunday Times Rich List?

Any sort of jewellery would definitely be out. There was nothing I could afford that would even come close to what she had probably inherited from her mother.

I searched around in vain for quite a while, finally deciding in desperation on some Chanel № 5 Parfum. Lydia used to wear it all the time, and I liked it.

I arrived at Faye and Quentin’s house at seven o’clock sharp, as instructed.

The place looked wonderful with a tall twinkling Christmas tree in the hallway. Faye had gone to town with the decorations and the sitting room and dining room were adorned with scented candles, festive swags and row upon row of Christmas cards hung on strings between the ceiling beams.

‘It’s lovely,’ I said to her, giving her a kiss on the cheek.