Microsoft Word - John Francome - Inside Track.doc (20 page)

`There we are,' he said, pointing to a dark object at the back of the wide fireplace, behind the coal scuttle. Half of it was bent and twisted but the portion farthest from the hearth had retained its square shape. The remains of a biscuit tin.

`So it wasn't in the sideboard,' said Jane, digesting this information. `They must have had the photos out and they got burnt when the place was torched.'

`There's mention of photo remnants in the fire-investigator's report.' Jane nodded. So that was that. At least she could tell Elizabeth what had happened to the photos - that they'd not been put away and had perished in the flames.

She wondered when she'd be able to tell the poor woman some good news.

She sincerely hoped it would be soon.

Marie looked up from her desk in the poky room at the back of the surgery. Most of the space was taken up by filing cabinets and the floor on either side of her desk was piled high with olive-green folders. The work of transferring patient details onto the new computer was a slow grind.

Lionel Gooding peered at her from the doorway. `May I interrupt for a moment?'

It wasn't really a request. As the senior member of the medical practice he made the rules. Nevertheless he stepped into the room hesitantly and Marie was on her guard. As a rule - when he wanted her to sort out his computer messes, for example - he strode in and out as if he owned the place which, in a manner of speaking, he did.

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Ìs everything all right, Dr Gooding? I know I'm a bit behind with the records but they're all over the place. Well, some of them. . .'

He cut off her flow with a flap of his hands. `Your work is excellent, Marie, and much appreciated by us all. I'd just like a word of a more personal nature. May I ... ?'

He indicated the spare chair and she swept a bundle of folders off the seat to make space. He'd closed the door behind him - it was ominous. Ì ran into Ros Bradey this morning.'

So that was it. Everything fell into place. He wanted to know why she'd stopped going to the stables.

Ì suppose Ros is a bit disappointed in me.'

Ì think she's as much puzzled as disappointed. As am I. You've been telling me how much you enjoy being around horses once more, and Ros is full of praise for your riding ability.'

She took a deep breath. Ì owe you an explanation.'

He stopped her. `No, you don't, Marie. And you don't owe Ros Bradey one either - she says she's used to young girls changing their minds without letting anyone know what they are up to.'

She could just picture Ros saying the words.

`However,' Dr Gooding had got to his feet, `she says there's someone else you should explain yourself to. A horse called Spring Fever who's wondering where you've got to.'

Ouch!

Malcolm didn't like being given the runaround. He'd spent the morning trying to get hold of Beverley but her phone was being answered by a gormless minion who could only tell him she was ìn a meeting'. The girl would not elaborate on how long this meeting was likely to last but when he got the same response at one-thirty he felt sure he was being deliberately snubbed.

It wasn't that he was particularly keen to discuss Adolf's latest cockup straight away, but Beverley had barely spoken a civil word to him after the race. And when he'd tried to detain her at the end of the meeting - to float the Coniston Water idea in seductive detail - she'd simply brushed him off.

`Call me tomorrow. Barney's waiting,' she'd muttered as she strode off to the car park without a backward glance.

129

Frankly he was getting a little tired of her moody behaviour but it made her more interesting than the majority of women he'd been involved with.

Most of the females in his life had fallen into the doormat category and, by the time he'd wiped his feet a few times, he'd been ready to move on.

Pippa had been one of the exceptions and so, too, was Beverley. He had to admit she was intriguing. He'd been through her handbag once and come across some pills called Fluoxetine. Prozac by another brand-name - he'd checked it out. This secret piece of knowledge tickled him. So the super-smart executive was really a doped-up bag of nerves. She was certainly a challenge. And he wasn't prepared to give her up until he was sure he was on top.

At last he managed to get through to her assistant, a snippy type called Karen who had also, he was sure, been ducking his calls. Karen was Beverley's creature. Malcolm could reliably calculate his current standing in Beverley's affections by Karen's tone.

Right now she was all business. Ì'm afraid Ms Harris is still in conference with the chairman, Mr. Priest. Is this a matter of urgency?'

`She asked me to call and arrange a meeting. Can you tell her I could manage drinks this evening?'

Karen's reply was encouraging. `Let me just see if she can squeeze you in.'

Malcolm had no doubt the double-entendre was intentional. Things were looking up.

When Karen came back on the line, the wind had changed and her tone was distant. `She says she can spare ten minutes in her office at five this afternoon. Or else it'll have to be next week.'

Malcolm agreed, trying to keep the fury out of his voice. Just wait till he got Beverley on her own.

Marie cycled up to Ros's yard after the surgery closed for lunch. There was no point in putting it off. The sun was out and she found herself pedalling faster as she caught sight of the indoor school across the sparkling green fields. Shed missed this short journey and didn't want her connection to end. But how in all conscience could she allow it to continue?

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There was plenty of activity. She could see horses being led across to the barn and tackling jumps in the paddock. She looked for Ros amongst the figures in the field and couldn't spot her.

She rode round to the stables and parked her bike. The boxes seemed empty apart from one. A familiar white-nosed face regarded her with a luminous eye and a whicker in the throat.

`How are you?' she said happily as she reached up to pat Spring Fever's neck. `Have you missed me?'

`What do you think?' said a voice from behind her.

To Marie's relief Ros was smiling. She was expecting a telling-off and maybe that would follow but, for the moment, it seemed Ros had other things on her mind.

`You've turned up just in time. I haven't got anyone to ride him.' Òh.'

Marie was not prepared for that. She was dressed for an office not the stable.

Ros read her mind and was not to be thwarted. `There's spare clothes in the tack room. Let's get you kitted out.'

Within five minutes Marie found herself on top of Spring Fever, gently warming him up round the paddock preparatory to tackling a series of jumps that Ros was arranging. As the pair of them soared over the first one, Marie felt happier than she'd been in days. Since she'd last sat on Spring Fever, in fact.

Ìt must be love,' said Ros afterwards as they rubbed Spring Fever down and settled him back in his box. `He'll jump for you but he won't get off the ground for anyone else. Would you like to put him through his paces for his owner? Just to demonstrate that I've not been taking money under false pretences.'

Ì'd love to, Ros, but . . .'

She ground to a halt. This was the point she knew must come - the point she was dreading. And she began to explain about her brother and the accident that had taken his life. And how, now she'd heard that Jamie Hutchison - the man responsible - also rode Ros's horses, she could no longer do so.

131

Ros took her into the scruffy room that served as an office-cum-kitchen and made them tea. When Caroline and a couple of other girls appeared at the door she shooed them away.

`Suppose,' she said at length, Ì could guarantee that you would not run into Jamie on these premises?'

Marie was surprised. Was Ros proposing to rearrange her schedule just for her? She didn't expect her to do that.

Òr,' Ros continued, ìs it the fact that I associate with him that causes you a problem?'

Òh no! I don't feel like that. My dad and my aunt might, but I'm not like them. I don't think Jamie Hutchison's my enemy or anything. It's just - I hate the thought of bumping into him. You know, like him arriving and asking me to saddle up one of the horses for him. It wouldn't be right, would it? I can't come here if I think he might suddenly turn up.'

Ros put down her mug. `He won't. There's other places we can work. And if he's going to be here I shall make sure you are not.'

Relief washed over her. Of course, she could have found other stables and ridden out elsewhere but it suited her here. She liked Ros and the other girls and the horses. And now she could carry on as before. Her face broke into a smile. `That's brilliant.'

`So you'll come tomorrow?,

'Oh yes. Thanks ever so much, Ros. I can't believe you'll go to this trouble just for me.'

Ros dumped her mug in the sink and turned for the door. `Don't kid yourself, Marie. I'm only thinking of my horses.'

All the same, Marie thought as she pedalled back down the lane, it felt as if she'd just been paid the most enormous compliment. Beverley kept Malcolm waiting in reception, as he'd anticipated she would. By now he'd recovered his composure. He reminded himself that he and Beverley were playing a game that was mutually beneficial. Beverley had been sluttishly selfish in bed and he'd swear she was dying for more. And this - the official cold shoulder, the summons to the office - was her next move in the game, like intellectual foreplay. He'd go along with it. He was sure the consummation would be worth it.

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He was put out, though, to find that Beverley was not intending to grant him exclusive access to her presence. When Karen finally ushered him into Beverley's office she took a seat on a straight-backed chair next to the desk and produced a notebook, obviously acting on instructions.

Beverley was at her most forbidding. She offered a cursory formal handshake and indicated the squashy sofa which Malcolm had squirmed around on during his first visit. This time she stayed firmly put behind her desk and launched into business without preamble. Ì've asked Karen to take minutes of our conversation, just for the record.'

Ì didn't know there was a record,' he said.

`Surely you don't object to an official note of our discussion? It's more businesslike. Ultimately it's for the benefit of both parties.'

A few smart retorts sprang to Malcolm's mind but he kept quiet. His curiosity almost outweighed his suspicion.

Às you can imagine,' she continued, Ì have taken the opportunity to review with Mr. Beaufort the progress of Beaufort Bonanza in the light of yesterday's disappointing performance.'

Malcolm couldn't contain himself. `Now come on, you can't call it disappointing. That run was a great improvement on Haydock.'

Ìt could hardly have been worse.'

`We all know he got it wrong at Haydock, but yesterday he showed some real form.'

`He fell over, Malcolm, and failed to finish for the second time in a row.

Now. . .' Karen was scribbling energetically on her pad, taking down every word. The sight was infuriating. `.. . Considering the amount of money the company has expended on the horse and the assurances we were given as to its potential, we feel we must take closer control over its management.'

`What are you on about?’ Malcolm was close to losing his temper. Ì made no assurances about Adolf.'

Ì can distinctly recall you saying that an outlay of eighty thousand pounds would provide a horse capable of competing in the Grand National within two years.'

Ì didn't say that!'

Beverley gave him a wintry smile. `Now you can see why we need an official record.'

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Malcolm charged on. Ànyway, what do you mean by closer control over his management? Are you and Barney proposing to come down to the stables and muck him out?'

She appeared to take his suggestion seriously - she wasn't much of a one for jokes. `No, that's not what we had in mind. To be specific, we want to select the date and nature of all Beaufort Bonanza's future races without obstruction from the trainer. Naturally we will take his opinion into account but only insofar as it relates to the horse's physical condition.'

`My father won't like that,' said Malcolm.

Beverley ignored the remark. `We also require complete control over the selection of a jockey. And I can tell you that from now on, Jamie Hutchison won't be riding.'

Malcolm opened his mouth to protest then thought the better of it. He was being stitched up in here. Ànything else?' he said.

`Not at present.' Beverley glanced at her watch and stood up. Ì'm so sorry, Malcolm, I'm afraid I'm out of time.'

Karen stood up too, a smile lurking in the corner of her mean little mouth.

What a pair of bitches.

Jane was well aware from her frequent conversations with Superintendent Keith Wright that her honeymoon period was over. The Bonfire Night investigation was stuck and her `fresh thinking' had not produced results -

yet. As if Wright's evident impatience wasn't plain enough, the whittling down of her team made it clear she was no longer flavour of the month.

She'd already lost two DCs to more urgent matters and there was talk of closing down the incident room. Double murder or not, there was a limit to how many resources a moribund investigation could tie up.

In some respects Jane didn't mind the depletion of her forces. There was no point in having an army if you marched it in the wrong direction. And, for all Leighton Jones's flair, she wasn't convinced that he'd deployed his troops correctly.

Where had Pete got that money from?

The question nagged at her. It was fundamental to most investigations that the truth was entangled in the money trail. Arson was a case in point - a crime that boomed in times of economic depression when failing businesses went up in smoke in the hope of salvation from an insurance 134

cheque. And though in this case the reason for the arson seemed plain - to obscure the murders - the mystery of Pete's carrier bag of cash wouldn't go away.

Leighton's team had investigated Pete pretty thoroughly. He came from an Anglo-Ulster brewing family living on past glories. He'd been educated at English boarding schools and dropped out of university halfway through a History degree. He drifted into teaching and, when full-time jobs became insupportable, private tutoring arrangements. For the past few years he'd been technically unemployed, though the investigation had unearthed a couple of local families whose children he had helped with their studies.