by Joe McNally
She shook her head, still miles away.
‘I think you did the right thing,’ I said. ‘He wouldn’t have wanted you to see him. He looked very calm, as though he’d made his peace with the world.’
‘You think so?’
‘I’m sure he did.’
She pursed her lips. ‘You didn’t find any letters in his pockets or anything?’
I shook my head, reluctant to tell her I hadn’t looked.
‘I thought he might have written one to me…to…to say goodbye?’
I nodded, desperately sorry for her. All the more so because the Valium seemed to have killed the emotion she should have been showing as she spoke. The drugs just channeled her feelings into a monotone.
‘I asked the police,’ she went on, ‘but they said they didn’t find anything either. They’re fucking useless.’
The curse, completely lacking in anger, took me by surprise. She continued in that flat voice. ‘I told them who killed him but they did nothing.’
‘Who killed him?’ I asked.
‘I don’t know exactly who did it but I know who had him killed.’
‘Who?’
‘Two men called Rask and Bergmark.’
I concentrated on keeping the excitement out of my voice. ‘Why?’
‘They’d been trying to blackmail him and Danny got his friends to beat them up.’
‘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.
‘Any idea 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 anyone tell you 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, the same as I told the police, only they didn’t do anything about it.’
I wrote 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.’
‘Was he involved with Rask and Bergmark too?’
‘I don’t think so. I’m not really able to question him just now.’
‘You talk like a cop.’
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?’ she said.
‘One or two people.’
‘Do you think you will catch them?’
I shrugged. ‘I’ll try.’
She stared at me and, finally, her tears welled. Reaching with one hand, I gently squeezed her arm then turned and left.
It was a relief to be in the sun.
On the long drive home, I tried to analyze 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.
Danny was killed after the Swedes had been attacked. Had they organized it as revenge? If, as Mrs. Gordon claimed, Danny had arranged the assaults on the Swedes, then revenge made little sense, with both of them so afraid and so vulnerable. I began to feel some sympathy for the police.
Who was the trainer involved with Bergmark and Rask in the doping 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. Or had they needed Danny to help get it to that stage?
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 would flush out Kruger’s boys.
25
I phoned McCarthy and told him Mrs. Gordon’s story. He said he’d check it with the police. When he learned I planned to leak a story about Harle as bait for the hit men he didn’t like it.
He said the press would pick up on Harle and start digging dirt. I persuaded him it was a chance we had to take. I phoned Priscilla in London.
‘Hello?’
I recognized the fake husky 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. 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.’ She grunted with anger and frustration and I guessed 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 now guaranteed to blab around the racecourse how Alan had done her wrong and how Eddie Malloy had found him in Cyprus. It was just 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, possibly two.
There was a strong chance his house would be deserted on the Tuesday night, just ripe for a visit with the lock-picks.
That evening I visited 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.
Driving home, it occurred to me how vulnerable Harle was, lying almost comatose in a hospital bed. If the heavies discovered where he was, they wouldn’t have too much trouble finishing him off.
But they’d have to find him first.
The smug smile still on my face, it dawned on me how stupid I’d been. Pulling over, I switched off the engine. There had been racing at Ascot that afternoon, a London track. Chances were Priscilla had been there 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, 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,
the one I’d just left.
I turned back toward Cheltenham. If Harle stayed in that bed another twenty-four hours, he might 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 until nightfall.
‘Absolutely not,’ she said. I pleaded, told her our mother was desperately worried about him but she wouldn’t budge.
I couldn’t get in but 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. 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 Harle 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 others involved. Especially the police. I was an ex-jailbird; they were certain to treat me with suspicion. I was afraid they'd ask 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.
Best get McCarthy to make the call. I went looking for a phone-box, then the doubts set in again. Mac would be too anxious about how this would reflect on the Jockey Club. He’d probably want to have a meeting and prepare a statement before contacting the cops. I couldn’t risk any delay.
I headed for the police station.
26
A young female constable showed me into a small, brightly lit room and said that DS Cranley would be 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. 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, I only found him 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.’
‘Listen, 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 horizontal 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.’
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 he’s in real danger, that he needs some protection. 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. 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 cold little 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.
27
I skipped breakfast and went straight to the hospital. I wanted to see what Cranley’s idea of protection was and I nursed a faint hope Harle might be fit enough to talk.
The ward sister told me a policeman had been with the man she now understood was called Harle, all night, though the patient had not yet regained consciousness.
The young constable sitting by the door of the small ward looked weary and bored. When he saw I intended to stop, he stood up.
‘Good morning,’ I said.
‘Morning, sir.’
‘I’m Eddie Malloy.’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘I brought Mister Harle in.’
He wasn’t impressed.
‘It was me that arranged protection for him. I spoke to DS Cranley last night.’
‘That’s right, sir, he told me.’
I put my hand on the door. He gripped my wrist. ‘I’m afraid you can’t go in there, sir.’
I looked up at him. The grip stayed tight. ‘I’ve cleared it with sister, don’t worry.’
‘It’s nothing to do with sister, sir, with respect.’
I let go the handle and he let go my wrist. ‘Who is it to do with then?’ As if I didn’t know.
‘DS Cranley, sir. No one is to see Mister Harle until we have a chance to take a statement from him.’
‘But-’
‘DS Cranley did mention your name in particular, Mister Malloy.’
I took a couple of steps back, trying to conceal my anger. I didn’t want Cranley to have the pleasure of hearing I’d blown my top at the first obstacle. ‘Okay. Do you know if Cranley’s on duty just now?’
The constable looked at his watch. ‘Shouldn’t think so, sir. You’d get him around two this afternoon.’
‘Thanks for your help, constable.’ I turned and headed down the corridor.
‘Don’t mention it, sir. That’s what we’re here for.’
Very funny.
I stayed in town and rang McCarthy. He was at a meeting, try again in an hour, his secretary said. I had a feeling this wasn’t going to be my day.
McCarthy was free when I called back. ‘Mac, things are starting to get complicated.’
‘What’s happened?’
‘I’ve had to bring the police in.’
‘Why?’
‘To give Harle protection. You were right. It was a bad idea to drop it on the racecourse that he was out. Even an idiot would know he had to be in the nearest hospital. There was no way I could stay with him day and night, so I had to go to the police.’
‘I won’t say I told you so. Did you mention us, The Jockey Club?’
‘No. I told him Harle was a friend.’
‘Who did you speak to? Maybe I know him.’
‘God help you if you do. Detective Sergeant Cranley.’
‘Never heard of him.’
‘Lucky you, he’s a major pain in the arse. He’s already stopped me from seeing Harle. The police want a statement as soon as he’s conscious. God knows what he’ll say.’
‘Eddie, listen, you will have to try to keep us out of this.’ The stress he was feeling came through in each word.
‘I’ll do my best, Mac.’
‘If you do anything to embarrass us-’
‘Mac! I’m having a bad day and it’s just started. Don’t wind me up. I’ve told you, the last thing I want to do is involve you. Now take my word for it and let’s leave it at that. If the shit hits the fan, just tell them I’m nothing to do with you. I’ll go along with that.’