Kickback (19 page)

‘Who’ll be with him?’

‘His wife, probably. Mary Mayhew. And possibly also Simon and Jean Somerville.’

‘Who are they?’ asked Pearce.

‘Friends and co-owners,’ replied Dixon. ‘Right, everyone clear what’s going to happen?’

‘Yes, Sir.’ In unison.

‘Keep in touch by radio and sing out if you see him. Keep a low profile, though. I don’t want to draw attention to ourselves unnecessarily. The idea is to get him out of there nice and calm. Ok?’

‘Yes, Sir.’

They sped south on the M5 to Taunton, getting off at Junction 25 and then cut around the back of the Blackbrook Business Park, before turning south east out of Taunton on the B3170 towards the racecourse. They passed a patrol car parked in a farm gateway, ready and waiting to block the road. Just inside the entrance to the car park, directly opposite the racecourse, was another patrol car.

Dixon and Jane, with Louise, Dave Harding and Mark Pearce following, turned into the car park. They were greeted by a marshal wearing a fluorescent jacket. He directed them to the furthest field, at least two hundred yards away. Dixon produced his warrant card.

‘We need to be near the entrance.’

‘There isn’t room, I’m afraid.’

‘Make room.’

‘Park behind those two cars over there. They’re ours. I’ll move the cones.’

‘Thank you,’ said Dixon.

He parked in a small section just inside the entrance and off to the right. Dave Harding parked next to him.

Dixon looked around. Every other car seemed to be a four wheel drive, and several of them were black. He spotted a large BMW.

‘Wait here.’

He jogged over to a gap in the hedge, jumped the large puddle in the middle, and then ran along the hedge towards two cars parked side by side in the next field. A silver Land Rover Discovery and a black BMW X5. He walked back.

‘They’re here. That’s the Somervilles’ Discovery too.’

Dixon looked at his watch. It was 1.30pm. He could hear the on course commentator announcing the runners and riders for the 1.35pm.

‘We’ll wait here until the next race starts and then go in quietly. Dave, you and Mark head for the far end. Hang around the Betting Ring.’

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘We’ll try the restaurant first in the Paddock Stand, Louise, and then work our way along.’

Dixon reached into the glove box of his Land Rover and put his binoculars in his pocket. Jane rolled her eyes.

‘Not for the horses, Constable. I’ll need them to spot Mayhew.’

‘Yes, Sir,’ replied Jane, smiling.

Dixon tapped on the window of the patrol car and showed his warrant card to the officer in the driver’s seat.

‘Wait until you get the signal and then just park across the gateway so no one can get out.’

‘Yes, Sir.’

Dixon listened to the on course commentary coming over the tannoy system. The 1.35pm was under starters order. He reached into his inside jacket pocket and checked Noel’s phone one last time. It had thirty one per cent battery left. That would do.

‘C’mon everyone, let’s get it over with.’

They followed Dixon across the road, past the ticket window, and waited while he spoke briefly to the elderly gentlemen on the turnstile. They could see Dixon showing the men his warrant card before being waved through. Once inside, Harding and Pearce walked straight across the concourse in front of the grandstands to the far end.

Dixon looked to his right. He could see the white rails stretching away into the distance and spotted a group of horses on the far side of the course. Brightly coloured silks moving in a clockwise direction. According to the on course commentator, All But Grey was ten lengths clear coming to the final bend before the home straight.

The terraces of the Paddock Stand to his left were raised up and enclosed by glass at the front offering protection from the weather for the owners, trainers and members. Dixon, Jane and Louise walked along the front of the stand, hidden from view. They stopped near the entrance.

‘In you go, Louise. See if you can see him.’

Dixon watched the 1.35pm finish directly in front of them, the finishing line marked by a small white painted wooden tower opposite the Portman Stand. As predicted, All But Grey crossed the line well clear of the rest of the field.

Louise reappeared in the doorway. She was out of breath.

‘He’s not in there. I checked the restaurant and the stand.’

‘You’re sure?’ asked Dixon.

‘Yes.’

They continued along the front of the Paddock Stand to the corner. Dixon noticed the First Aid Room off to his left, in between the end of the Paddock Stand and the Portman Stand, which was now directly in front of them. It was now almost deserted, the spectators having made for the Betting Ring in readiness for the next race. Dixon took out his binoculars and scanned the on course bookmakers for any sign of Mayhew. He could see Dave Harding and Mark Pearce wandering around. He could also see J Clapham Racing at the far end. No sign of Mayhew.

The Winner’s Enclosure to their right was now a hive of activity. Grooms were holding the winning horse and the owners were being presented with a trophy by the chairman of Barton Building Services, according to the tannoy system. Dixon looked back in the direction of the Parade Ring. He could see Westbrook Warrior, Hesp and Tanner but no sign of Mayhew, or the Somervilles for that matter.

‘Where the hell are they?’ asked Jane.

‘Get up there and have a look in the bar behind the viewing area there, Louise,’ said Dixon, gesturing towards the Portman Stand.

Louise ran up the concrete terraces of the Portman Stand, along the front and in the door to the bar. Dixon listened to the commentator giving the starting prices for the 2.05pm.

‘Westbrook Warrior’s the favourite,’ said Jane.

Dixon looked at the odds on the big screen opposite the grandstands, in the centre of the course. Westbrook Warrior at the top of the list. Three to two. Noel would have been proud.

He looked at his watch. Ten minutes to go to the start of the race. A small crowd had gathered on the rails just behind the finishing line. There was a crossing point there at the end of the Betting Ring where it was possible to walk across the course to the central area. The rail had been slid back allowing access and a few people had done so. Dixon looked at them through his binoculars. No sign of Mayhew or the Somervilles.

Louise came running down the terraces of the Portman Stand.

‘He’s not in there either.’

‘Ring Dave and get him to check the Orchard Stand. There’s a restaurant in the back too, I think.’

Jane rang Dave and passed on the instructions.

Dixon watched the horses in the Parade Ring to his right. They were getting ready for the start of the 2.05pm. Westbrook Warrior was the biggest by some margin. His jockey wore green and gold stripes and certainly looked the part. Dixon missed the announcement of Best Turned Out but thought it could well have been the Warrior.

He could see the others that ran in the 1.35pm in the Unsaddling Enclosure being washed down and rugged up.

‘They look bloody tired,’ he said.

‘So would you if you’d just run two miles,’ said Jane.

‘True.’

Dixon waited for a call from Dave Harding. The on course commentator announced that the horses were making their way out to the start on the far side of the course. The Betting Ring began to clear as the spectators started to make their way back to the terraces to watch the race. Dixon could see a marshal sliding the rail back into place, blocking off the crossing point. He passed the binoculars to Jane.

‘Keep an eye out for Mayhew.’

Jane began scanning the spectators standing along the rail. Her phone rang.

‘That was Dave. No sign.’

‘Shit.’

‘
They’re under starters orders
...’

‘For fuck’s sake.’

‘There they are,’ shouted Jane.

‘
They’re off
.’

‘Where?’ asked Dixon.

The commentator was in full flow, following the race. ‘
Westbrook Warrior’s on the rail, two lengths clear as they come to the first flight
...’

‘They’ve come out of the hospitality suites and are walking across to the rail over there,’ said Jane, pointing.

Dixon looked through the binoculars. He saw Mayhew walking with his wife, Mary, towards the crossing point. He was carrying a glass of champagne and she a glass tumbler, probably a gin and tonic. Both were wearing tweed. They were arm in arm and presented a picture of marital bliss, which struck Dixon as odd. Appearances can be deceptive, he thought. Or was it something else?

‘Jane, let Dave and Mark know, will you? Tell them to stand clear off to the left at the end of Betting Ring.’

Jane took out her mobile phone.

‘Louise, tell uniform to block the road and the car park.’

‘...
and as they come past the grandstands for the first time, Westbrook Warrior is five lengths clear from Daytime Blues and Gladbig in third
...’

Dixon heard the pounding of the horses’ hooves and looked across to see them go past. He could hear the spectators along the rail, the Mayhews included, shouting encouragement.

‘Dave and Mark are moving in,’ said Jane.

‘And the road’s blocked,’ said Louise.

‘Right, you two over by the finishing post there. That tower thing. And make sure they don’t see you, Jane.’

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘Let’s do it then.’

Dixon walked quickly across the concourse towards Brian and Mary Mayhew. They were leaning on the outer rail, drinks in hand. Dixon could see Dave and Mark on the rail to their left. Jane and Louise were by the finishing post to the right.

‘...
with one circuit still to go, Westbrook Warrior is now ten lengths clear of Gladbig in second
...’

Dixon stood five paces directly behind Mayhew. He waited.

‘...
as they come past the grandstand for the final time, Westbrook Warrior is twenty lengths clear of the field and looking comfortable
...’

He could hear the Mayhews cheering as Westbrook Warrior went past. What had struck Dixon as odd before now hit him square in the face. Mary Mayhew was no more drunk now than she had been when they met her at Ferndale House. Half a bottle of wine on the kitchen table. It had been a convincing act. He wondered who the driving force of the marriage was as he reached for Noel’s phone and rang the unregistered pay as you go number.

Dixon could hear the phone ringing in Mayhew’s pocket only a few paces in front of him. The ringtone was different. No bell this time. Instead Dixon recognised the default Nokia ringtone.

Brian Mayhew was leaning over the rail and looking to his right, waiting for Westbrook Warrior to come off the bend in the distance and onto the home straight for the final time. The blood drained from his face. Mary Mayhew stared at his jacket pocket as he took the phone out and looked at the screen. Dixon could see Brian Mayhew’s hand shaking as he placed the phone to his ear. Mayhew looked at his wife. He opened his mouth to speak but said nothing. He shook his head. Mary Mayhew appeared frozen to the spot.

Dixon rang off. Mayhew turned to his right and looked straight at Dixon. Mary Mayhew turned to her left and saw Dixon. Her face contorted into a picture of pure hatred. She turned back to her husband, who was still staring at Dixon. In one movement, she smashed her glass on the rail to her right and thrust the broken piece into the left side of her husband’s neck. Then she twisted it.

Blood began pumping from Brian Mayhew’s neck. He dropped his glass and clutched his throat with both hands. Mary Mayhew stepped back as Brian Mayhew dropped to his knees and fell backwards. Blood began pouring from his mouth as he coughed and spluttered. Dixon took his jacket off and ran forward. He shouted across to Jane.

‘Get an ambulance. And the first aider.’

‘...
as they come off the final bend Westbrook Warrior is sixty lengths clear with two flights to go
...’

He wrapped his jacket around Mayhew’s neck in an attempt to stem the flow of blood. Mayhew was gurgling and crying at the same time. Air bubbles formed in the blood in his mouth. Each time he coughed Dixon was sprayed with blood as he held his jacket around Mayhew’s neck.

Dave Harding arrived.

‘It’s got the carotid artery, Dave. Hold this and see if you can stem the flow.’

‘...
Westbrook Warrior lands the final hurdle still sixty lengths clear
...’

Dixon looked over his shoulder. Mary Mayhew had disappeared. He saw movement to his right. She had gone under the rails and was standing on the course directly in Westbrook Warrior’s path as he came up on the stand side. Her arms were outstretched, tears streaming down her face.

Dixon looked back down the course. Westbrook Warrior was no more than a hundred yards away and going full pelt for the finish line. Dixon ducked under the rail, ran forward and threw himself on Mary Mayhew. Both of them crashed to the ground. Mary Mayhew was lying face down. Dixon was lying on top of her. He could hear the thunder of Westbrook Warrior’s hooves as the horse approached.