Tip Off (28 page)

I watched from my office window as Emma drove her BMW from the car-park. I had a premonition that in the very near future major elements in our lives were going to change irrevocably. In the four weeks since I'd fallen off Better By Far on a soggy Monday at Fontwell Park, it seemed that my life had already moved further than it had in the previous three years.

When I managed to drag my attention back, I contacted Matt to tell him about the photo, and that Tresidder had done a bunk to Spain.

‘Shit!' he hissed. ‘Another lead dried up.'

‘'Fraid so. After what happened on Saturday he must have clocked he was being watched and decided to go, especially as he already knew he had that Jockey Club man on to him.'

‘Well, we've got the kit, and we've got the photographs of him using it.'

‘We still need him too,' I pointed out.

‘I know that,' Matt said curtly. ‘We're working on it. And we've had a bit of a result at Lincoln's address.'

‘What's that?'

‘A man turned up there and rang the bell for his flat. No one answered him, but he's been hanging around looking annoyed – as if Lincoln had arranged to be there and let him down.'

‘And . . .?' I asked.

‘That's it for the moment. The chap hasn't gone yet.'

‘I'd better come and join you.'

‘Don't bother. There's nothing you can do here. I'll let you know if the position changes and we need any back up.'

Feeling truculent at being left out, I put the phone down and leaned back in my chair for a moment until, decisively, I picked it up again and arranged to have another lesson with Julia de Morlay.

‘I'll see you in twenty minutes,' I said as I put the phone down.

Convincing myself that I was getting my priorities right, I left Jason and Monica in charge and drove over the downs to the de Morlays'.

What followed was my best schooling session yet. I jumped Nester over eighteen fences, including three open ditches, and never missed a stride. Instead of sitting up as I approached the take off, I crouched down, keeping my shoulders and hands low, and really felt as if I were helping for a change. It seemed paradoxical that the less I moved, the easier it was, but it worked, and Julia's grin as I trotted back to her after jumping the last fence was almost as big as mine.

I jumped down thinking that, just maybe, riding in the Champion Chase myself wasn't such a crazy idea.

 

As I left the yard, feeling very pleased with myself, my phone bleeped. It was Jane, wanting to know if Matt and I had found out anything more about Toby.

At once, the guilt that had lurked at the back of my mind as I'd driven to Derek's came back into the forefront. I'd promised Jane I wouldn't let up until we knew for certain what had happened to her son, and here I was, swanning about having riding lessons and schooling horses, which only encouraged fantasies of winning impossible races.

I went straight round to Wetherdown and found her as distraught as she'd been the day Matt and I had told her of Toby's death.

‘I'm sorry, Simon,' she said, opening the front door to me. ‘Frank's gone to London for a couple of days and I hadn't realised quite how much I'd been leaning on him. The trouble with having a reputation for being a bit of a dragon is that people simply don't believe you when you tell them you can't cope.'

‘You don't want to undermine the reign of terror that you wield here,' I joked.

She smiled back tearfully. ‘It took a long time to create,' she agreed, leading me into her office where she poured me an early drink to keep her company. ‘You said you had some news for me?'

‘Yes. We saw the detective who was running the investigation on Sunday evening. I'm not sure if it wasn't just bullshit designed to draw out what we knew, but taking it at face value, he was fairly disgruntled about the fact he'd been pulled off the case before he'd seen the forensic report to establish whether or not Toby had been killed before he . . .' I was finding it hard to continue.

‘Before he was hanged,' Jane finished for me.

‘Yes.' I nodded. ‘And we also know that at least two, maybe three other people came round to his flat before we got there that morning. Any one of these people could have done it.'

‘My God!' Jane said, putting her glass back on the table. ‘Who else was there?'

‘The last was a man we found when we went to see Connor McDonagh on Sunday morning.'

‘Was Connor murdered too, then?' Jane gasped. ‘It said on the news that he died of a diabetic attack.'

‘That's right, he did, but the man we found had been round to harass him, and we've only got his version of what happened.'

‘But who was behind it, Simon? Who would want to kill Toby?'

‘I promise I'll tell you, Jane, as soon as we know for sure. Then we'll pass it on to the police, I give you my word.'

She took a deep breath. ‘All right. I'm trying very hard not to get hysterical about it but it's getting to be almost more than I can bear, not knowing for certain how my only child was killed.'

‘Frank's been helping, hasn't he?'

‘Yes, he's been wonderful. Though he was never very keen on Toby, he knows what he meant to me.'

‘I understand too, you know,' I said, truthfully.

Jane sighed. ‘You're a good friend, Simon, and Frank likes you as well.'

This was a surprise given that he hardly knew me. ‘Really?' I asked.

‘Yes, and considering you're spending a lot of time with his daughter, that's important,' Jane said with a grin that evidently anticipated a stronger reaction than I gave her.

‘You know about that?' I asked.

‘I've known for years. Why do you think I've always been so close to Emma? But I didn't think Frank knew, or Emma for that matter, and I didn't want to rock the boat. But for various reasons – physical similarity for a start – Emma worked it out for herself, and when she checked out all the dates, which I'd done too, that confirmed it for her. She told me she'd told you . . .'

‘She did, sort of. I didn't realise she'd checked it so thoroughly, though.'

‘She's done everything bar having a DNA test, but I'd say it's ten to one she's Frank's daughter.'

‘I can't say I'm sorry to hear that.'

‘You don't fancy Gerald Tintern as a father-in-law?'

‘Who said anything about fathers-in-law?' I said indignantly. ‘But since you ask – no.'

‘I sense there may be something of a showdown about to take place.'

‘You mean, at this meeting of the shareholders of the King George Group?'

‘Yes, of course. Gerald doesn't have a controlling interest.'

I nodded. ‘And he's a man who likes to get his own way.'

‘To put it rather mildly.'

‘He certainly won't get his way at this meeting – I wonder how he'll react?'

‘Frank will keep him in order, I don't doubt,' Jane said proudly.

As I was nodding my agreement, I remembered my other reason for coming to see her. ‘By the way, your late husband was in the same regiment as Gerald, wasn't he?'

‘Yes. I thought you knew that?'

‘I did, but what I was wondering was if he'd left any records of his time in the army – regimental reports or magazines, anything like that?'

Jane laughed. ‘I should say so! There are two trunks full of dreary old publications of one sort or another up in the attic. What on earth do you want to know? I very much doubt you'll find anything detrimental about Gerald.'

‘No, it's nothing to do with him.'

‘Go up and help yourself by all means,' she offered, and told me where to find the trunks.

Twenty minutes later, sitting in the musty silence of the roof of Wetherdown, I was reading the results of the regiment's annual rifle competition, held thirty years before: winner, for the second year running, Sgt. F.W. Tresidder.

 

After lunch, I drove out between the impressive gate piers at the end of Jane's drive. As I hadn't had a chance to talk to Derek after my session with Julia that morning, I wanted to know his current view of my plan to ride Nester in the Champion Chase in fifteen days' time. I knew he had no runners that day, but rang to make sure he hadn't decided to go racing anyway. He answered himself and said he was watching it all on television.

When I joined him, we watched a couple of races together, talking in between them about Nester's chances in the Queen Mother Chase, with or without me.

Derek, evidently on the basis of feedback from Julia, seemed less pessimistic about the idea of my riding than he had been. This was a big boost to my confidence because in order to keep his strike rate as high as possible, Derek only sent out horses with the very best possible chance. He never sent anything out ‘just for a run' – especially not in a major race at the premier National Hunt meeting.

However, he was still expressing slight doubts and I heard myself practically pleading. I thought he was about to capitulate when the head lad walked in. He looked almost embarrassed to see me. ‘Evening, Mr Jeffries.' He nodded and turned to Derek. ‘Guv'nor, could you come and have a look at Better By Far?'

Derek was on his feet at once and walking from the room. ‘What's wrong?'

‘He seems to have a bit of heat in his off fore.'

Derek turned to me as I followed close behind. ‘Was that the damaged one?'

‘Yes,' I gasped, with a sudden rush of anguish.

We walked briskly across the yard in Indian file to Nester's box and went in. Derek went to the horse's head and stroked him gently down his long dark nose before bending down to feel his lower leg.

He took his time, then looked up to me, with a resigned expression. ‘There's definitely heat there. Of course, it may not be the old damage playing up; he may just have bruised his foot. I'll get the vet.'

I knelt down beside my horse and ran a hand softly up and down his leg, from his knee to his toe. I distinctly felt the higher temperature around the once injured bone, and nearly wept. It was in the exact spot that the original trouble had been.

I knew at once what I wanted to do. I quickly got to my feet and ran back to the house to catch Derek before he started dialling.

‘Let me get the man who originally cured him to come and see him?'

Derek put the phone down and shrugged. ‘He's your horse.'

‘Thanks.' I fumbled for my diary to find Esmond Cobbold's address. I dialled the old man's number and listened to it ring a dozen times before, finally, it was answered. There was no mistaking Esmond's wheezy old voice.

‘Esmond, it's Simon Jeffries here.'

‘How are you, dear boy?'

‘I'm fine, thank you. Are you fit?'

‘There's nothing wrong with me that a glass or two of good claret doesn't put right.'

‘Good, because I'm hoping you'll agree to come down here for a few days.'

‘Why is that?'

‘Nester's leg is playing up again.'

There was a moment's silence, then a sigh. ‘I'm sorry to hear that. I saw you'd run him a couple of times recently.'

‘He was perfectly sound after both those races. I rode him out this morning and he was fine, straight as a die, but the head lad checked him this evening and his leg had really heated up.'

‘I could deal with it remotely, you know.'

‘I'd feel much happier if you could come here. And I've got two bottles of Margaux '76 just waiting to be appreciated.'

There was a chuckle at the other end of the line. ‘Devil,' Esmond said. ‘Pick me up at Reading at . . .' he paused while he consulted his timetable ‘. . . six-fifteen.'

 

I could see this crisis dominating my thoughts and actions until it was resolved – just as other major preoccupations in my life were coming to a head. To myself, I cursed the bad timing. Outwardly, I excused myself from Derek and went to my car. From there I called Matt.

‘Do you need me yet?'

I held my breath.

‘No, it's okay,' he drawled. ‘Everything's under control. We've got our man in sight still.'

‘Which man?'

‘The one who came to see Lincoln, of course. We think we've seen him before somewhere. I've taken some digital shots and sent them down the line to the office. Could you get in there and see what you think? Or get Monica to e-mail them to wherever you are. Where are you, by the way?'

‘I'm at Derek de Morlay's,' I admitted. ‘There's a bit of a problem with Nester's leg.'

‘For heaven's sake! You're not still wasting time on that, are you?'

‘Matt, you know perfectly well that running him in the Champion Chase is a major deal for me.'

I heard a long, self-righteous sigh. ‘Just make sure you're ready to run when we need you.'

‘Of course,' I said. ‘Where are you now, anyway?'

‘This chap came by car; he's got one of those small Rovers. He doesn't strike me as very used to London traffic. But he's got to Portman Square – we thought he might be going to the Jockey Club for some reason. He managed to park in the square but so far he's still sitting in his car. He's been there twenty minutes.'

‘But isn't anyone waiting to see if Lincoln himself comes back?'

‘We checked with the owner of the building who lives on the ground floor. Lincoln was renting the flat. He's gone, paid off two months' rent he owed on Sunday and went with a ruck-sack through the back door, leaving nothing. That's why we're staying with this man. At the moment, he's our best lead to Lincoln.'