Warned Off (8 page)

‘Which friends?’

‘I don’t know. Danny didn’t tell me
their names.’

‘Why were Bergmark and Rask trying to
blackmail Danny?’

She sipped coffee. ‘They said Danny had
been sacked from the Tote in Sweden for trying to steal money. They said they’d
tell his boss at the Lab.’

‘What did they want from him?’

‘They wanted him to cover up samples
from doped horses.’

‘Why?’

‘They were doping them with a trainer
... betting them.’

She reached in her coat pocket, brought
out a packet of cigarettes and lit one.

‘Do you know who the trainer was?’ She
shook her head and drew on the cigarette.

‘You told the police all this?’

She nodded. ‘They asked me for evidence,
blackmail notes. I didn’t have any. They told me they took Rask and Bergmark in
for questioning but had to let them go. Useless bastards.’ She flicked ash onto
the carpet.

‘You definitely don’t know the trainer
who was involved with Bergmark and Rask?’

‘No.’

‘And you’ve no idea who Danny’s friends
were, the ones who beat up Bergmark and Rask?’

She shook her head.

‘Did you know Rask was dead?’ I offered
by way of compensation.

‘Good. How did he die?’

‘The police say he hung himself.’

I saw the first trace of a smile. ‘Is
there anything else you can tell me?’ I asked.

‘I’ve told you everything I know the
same as I told the police, only they didn’t do anything about it.’

I scribbled my phone number on her
cigarette packet. ‘Would you get in touch with me if anything else comes up?’

She nodded. ‘Okay.’

Leaving the mug of half-finished coffee
on the floor, I got to my feet. She pushed herself out of the chair. ‘Who’s the
friend you’re trying to help?’ she asked.

‘He’s a jockey.’

‘Did he know Rask and Bergmark too?’

‘I don’t think so. I’m not really able
to question him just now.’

‘You talk like a policeman.’

I smiled. ‘I’m not, but I know what you
mean.’

She led the way to the door and opened
it. ‘If you find who killed Danny will you come back and tell me?’

‘Sure.’

‘Do you have anyone to help you?’

‘One or two people.’

‘Do you think you
will
catch
them?’

I shrugged. ‘I’ll try.’

She stared up at me and I started to see
the first real signs of despair as tears welled in her eyes. Reaching with one
hand I gently squeezed her arm then turned and left.

It was a relief to be back out in the
sun.

On the long drive home I tried to
analyse the new information. When she’d started talking I’d thought I had
struck a rich seam, but trying to sift the nuggets from the dirt didn’t clarify
things a hell of a lot.

Ignoring the fact that she wasn’t completely
stable and assuming everything she said was true, the men who killed her
husband couldn’t be as McCarthy thought, the ones who’d maimed Rask and
Bergmark. Then again, after Gordon was murdered, I suppose it was only natural
for her to blame the Swedes.

McCarthy had said Rask and Bergmark
weren’t really major players and if Gordon had been responsible for setting the
two thugs on them I would have thought they’d have been so terrified, revenge
would have been the last thing on their minds.

Let’s assume the thugs were Kruger’s and
Danny Gordon had persuaded Kruger to send them to sort out the Swedes. Why
would Kruger have arranged it for Gordon? What did he owe him or what did he
want from him in return? Some of the secrets from the Forensic Lab? That had to
be a distinct possibility.

But if McCarthy’s assumption was correct
then it was Kruger’s men who killed Danny Gordon. But why? Why almost kill
for
a man one week then kill him the next? Had Gordon double-crossed Kruger? Had
Kruger got what he wanted from Gordon and murdered a potential witness?

Who was the trainer involved with
Bergmark and Rask in the dope cover-up plot Mrs Gordon had told me about?
Roscoe? If  he was tied up with Kruger in developing the perfect dope then
there’d be no need for an accomplice in the Forensic Lab since it would be
pointless trying to hide what was undetectable.

A visit to Roscoe’s had to be next but I
decided in the meantime to throw my hat visibly into the ring by letting it be
known on the racecourse that Harle was back in circulation. That was sure to
flush out Kruger’s boys.

I
phoned McCarthy and told him Mrs Gordon’s story. He said he’d check with the
police on her blackmail claim. When I let him know I planned to leak it on the
racecourse that Harle was out and ‘Malloy had seen him’ to urge the hit-men to
come looking for me he didn’t like it.

Apart from thinking I was tempting fate
he said the press would pick up on Harle’s story and start digging dirt. I
persuaded him it was a chance we had to take. After McCarthy I phoned Priscilla
in London.

‘Hello?’

I recognised her voice. ‘Priscilla, it’s
Eddie Malloy.’ She thought for a few seconds and I prompted her. ‘Remember? I
was looking for Alan.’

‘Oh, yes, did you find him?

‘He’s in Cyprus.’

‘Cyprus! What the hell is he doing
there?’

‘He says he’s sick of the British
weather and he’s going to ride there for the rest of the season. Don’t be
upset, he’s thinking about you. He sends his regards.’

‘I’ll regards the bastard when he gets
back. He could at least have sent me some money.’

‘I think he’s a bit broke just at the
moment.’

‘Have you got an address for him?’

‘No, I’m sorry, I haven’t.’ I heard a
grunt of anger and frustration and guessed that things were about to start
getting thrown around her flat. ‘I thought you’d appreciate the call anyway,
Priscilla. If you do bump into Alan in the future remember to mention my name.
Goodbye.’

I hung up on one sore lady who was
guaranteed to blab around the racecourse how Alan had done her wrong and how
Eddie Malloy had found him in Cyprus. After that it was only a matter of time
till I received a visit.

I checked the
Racing Calendar.
Wetherby
had a two-day meeting the following Tuesday and Wednesday and Roscoe had horses
entered on both days, which meant he’d be away for at least one night and
possibly two.

There had to be a chance his house would
be deserted on the Tuesday night, just ripe for a visit with the lock-picks.

That evening I went to see Harle in
hospital. He was in the intensive-care ward heavily sedated and a doctor told
me it would be days before he’d be well enough to talk sensibly. I said I’d
come back soon anyway.

Driving home it occurred to me how
vulnerable Harle was lying virtually comatose in a hospital bed. If the heavies
found out where he was they wouldn’t have too much trouble finishing him off.
But they’d have to find him first.

The smug smile was still on my face when
I realised how stupid I’d been. Pulling over I stopped and switched off the
engine. There had been racing at Ascot that afternoon, a London track. Chances
were Priscilla had been there and if so she’d have been mouthing off about
Harle being in Cyprus. As soon as our friends tagged onto this they’d be
hotfooting it to Puckham Farm to check on Harle.

They knew his condition and they knew he
was beyond escape. If he wasn’t there he’d been rescued and if he’d been
rescued there was only one place for him: hospital.

And not just any hospital, the nearest
hospital, which was the one I’d just left.

I started the engine and turned the car
back toward Cheltenham. If Harle stayed in that bed another twenty-four hours I
was pretty sure he’d leave it in a box. I’d put him in hospital, in danger, now
I had to get him out.

I told the ward sister I felt bad about
leaving my brother alone and could I stay with him till nightfall. ‘Absolutely
not,’ she said. I pleaded with her, told her our mother was desperately worried
about him but she wouldn’t budge.

I couldn’t get in but I didn’t doubt that
Kruger’s men would find a way, possibly a violent one, to gain access and kill
him or abduct him again. As from now his life was in danger and it was my fault
for being so stupid as to make that call to Priscilla. I should never have done
it without ensuring he was protected and much as I hated the idea the only way
to make amends was to call in the police.

I’d been so used to going it alone, so
determined to get the evidence needed to regain my licence that I didn’t want
anyone else involved. Especially the police. I was an ex-jailbird; they were
certain to treat me with suspicion at best. I didn’t want them asking The
Jockey Club to keep me out of it.

I tried to think of an alternative but
with the exception of sitting outside the hospital with a gun there wasn’t one.
I headed for the police station.

They showed me
into a small brightly lit room and said there would be someone along soon. Ten
minutes later he came in with his notebook. About forty years old, five seven,
twenty pounds overweight, reddish-fair hair, bad acne and an attitude that said
he’d rather be doing something else.

He approached the desk. ‘Mister Malloy?’

‘That’s right.’ I offered my hand and he
shook it reluctantly as he sat down. ‘Detective sergeant Cranley.’

‘Pleased to meet you.’

He grunted. ‘Now what’s this about some
friend of yours in trouble?’

‘Alan Harle. He’s a jockey. At the
moment he’s lying comatose in hospital. Somebody’s trying to kill him.’

He pursed his lips and stared at me.
‘Who’s this somebody?’

‘I’m not sure.’

‘Well, who do you think it is, Mister
Malloy?’

This was going to be a long haul. ‘I
think a man called Gerard Kruger is behind it.’

‘And why would this Mister Kruger want
to kill your friend?’

‘I don’t know. That’s what I was trying
to discover when I found Harle.’

‘Found him where?’ He was making notes
now. I told him what happened at Puckham Farm.

‘Why didn’t you call us?’

‘My first thought was to get him to
hospital.’

‘Well, what was your second thought?’

I bit back a sarcastic reply. ‘Look, it
only happened yesterday. I’m here now telling you about it. He needs some
protection.’

‘That’s hardly for you to decide.’

‘Well, who the hell is it for, then?
Harle’s life is in danger.’

He stared at me, frowning so hard his
acne joined up. ‘Keep your voice down, Mister Malloy, you’re getting yourself
all upset.’

‘Look, sergeant ...’

‘Detective sergeant.’

‘Look, the guys who are after Harle ...’

‘I thought you said it was one man, a
Mister Kruger?’

‘He uses two hit men and they’ve already
killed one man and maimed two others.’

‘You’ve got evidence of this, I
suppose?’

‘No I haven’t.’

He held the pen about two feet above his
notepad and stared at me as though I’d crawled from some hole. Then he dropped
the pen from height and crossed his arms. ‘You’re sitting there naming names,
accusing people of murder without any evidence? What are you all about, Mister
Malloy?’

‘If I had evidence I’d be talking to
somebody higher up than you.’ I said foolishly.

Unfolding his arms he clasped his hands.
‘Is that right? And just who would you be talking to?’

I sighed in frustration. ‘Look, I’m
sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I’m worried about my friend. Everything I’ve
told you is true, I’m just trying to convince you that he’s in grave danger,
that he needs some protection until he’s well again. Send one of your men to
see what sort of state he’s in if you don’t believe me.’

‘And you don’t know why these people are
after him?’

‘No.’

‘How did you know where to find him?’

‘His girlfriend had an idea where he
was.’

‘Does she know who’s trying to kill
him?’

‘She doesn’t even know he’s been
injured.’

‘A very secretive fellow this Mister
Harle.’

I put my elbows on the desk and leaned
toward him. ‘Detective sergeant Cranley, the two men I told you about might very
well be walking through the door of the hospital right now. I’ve signed Harle
in under a false name, but they’re clever and they won’t take long to find him
and when they do they’ll probably finish what they started.’

He clenched his jaw and his nostrils
flared.

‘If Harle dies before your men get there
I will kick up the biggest stink in the press that you have ever smelt. My
visit here is logged at your main desk. You yourself have made notes of what
I’m here to ask for. Now, it’s your choice. If I turn out to be wrong on this
at least it won’t cost a life. If you’re wrong it will.’

His face reddened and his next words
came through almost gritted teeth. ‘Which hospital is he in?’

‘Cheltenham General.’

‘Ward?’

‘Intensive care, under the name James
Malloy.’

He got up almost kicking the chair
aside. ‘Wait here,’ he growled.

Twenty minutes later he came back
looking no calmer. He didn’t bother sitting down. ‘Have you given your address
and phone number to the desk sergeant?’

I nodded. ‘You can go,’ he said.

I stood up. ‘What about Harle?’

‘What about him?’

‘Are you going to give him protection?’

‘I don’t discuss my plans with members
of the public.’ He baited me with a little cold smile.

‘Only because they talk more sense than
you do.’

His smile disappeared. He was being a
bastard because I’d scared him into protecting Harle. We both knew it. I walked
past him and headed home with the definite feeling that DS Cranley was the type
of man to bear a grudge.

Sometimes I wished I could keep my big
mouth shut.