Silk Chaser

by Peter Klein

‘You say your boss is somewhere in the sales ring?’

  ‘Yes, I’m sorry. He’ll be a while yet, he’s got a filly he’s selling that comes up in another twenty minutes or so.’

  ‘Are there any other staff around who can tell me about that scar?’

  I looked up and down the aisles. The barn was deserted apart from the girl and several horses, a bit of a lonely spot to have to tend your horses all day without any company.

  ‘There’s just me,’ she said.

  ‘Well, I want to have a proper look at that scar. Take her back in her box where I can inspect her thoroughly.’

  ‘You want to look at her inside the box?’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Hall smoothly.

  The girl looked a little put out. Normally a prospect was happy to just see a horse walk up and down and run a hand over its legs. And here was this guy making her jump through hoops and taking up all her time. But she did as she was told; it was, after all, her job.

  Out of curiosity, I followed along the opposite aisle, still invisible to the pair of them. When I got to the box behind where they’d gone into, I couldn’t see them because the wire mesh had been replaced by wooden panels. That was probably a good thing, because then they would also have been able to see me. There was silence for a moment; presumably Hall was inspecting the horse’s scar. Then I could hear their voices floating faintly over the wall. Hall said something to the girl; I couldn’t quite make out what. But I clearly heard her reply.

  ‘Please . . . no.’

  Another silence, then; ‘No! Stop it.’ She sounded urgent, scared.

  ‘Your boss wouldn’t like it if he found out you weren’t pleasing clients,’ said Hall in a bullying tone.

  I heard her shout, ‘No!’

  ‘You dirty little bitch! Scratch me like that, will you? I’ll show you.’

  I ran around the end of the barn to the stable where they were. Hall had the girl pinned in the corner of the box, one hand gripping the back of her hair, trying to hold her still. With the other, he’d succeeded in tugging her jodhpurs down to her knees. Her polo shirt had a rip down the front of it, showing the white of her bra, and she was fighting a losing battle to stave Hall off. Meanwhile, the horse stood nervously, eyeing the pair of them while tied to its chain.

  ‘For Christ sake, Hall,’ I said, throwing open the stable door with a loud bang. ‘Didn’t you ever learn that when a girl says no, she means no?’

  Both of them wheeled around in surprise at my entrance. Hall looked astonished that anyone had been able to creep up on him. When he saw it was me, his face turned from astonishment to pure loathing.

  ‘You, you damn pervert!’ he said.

  I ignored him for the moment and faced the girl. ‘You okay, luv?’

  The girl seemed embarrassed, half ashamed of her semi-naked state. She hoiked her jodhpurs up, crossed her arms around her breasts and ran past me, out of the box.

  ‘It’s okay,’ I called after her, but she’d sprinted to safety and was gone.

  ‘Look what you’ve done, you idiot,’ said Hall. ‘The little trollop was begging for it and you’ve gone and scared her off.’

  ‘Excuse me, begging for it? She didn’t look like she was begging for anything from where I was standing.’

  ‘How long had you been spying on us?’ Hall demanded.

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. He’d regained his composure a little by now and was even dusting some of the straw from his trousers. The suave bastard. ‘Long enough to know she didn’t want any part of you.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ he said dismissively, trying to push past me and out into the yard.

  I grabbed him by the lapels and thrust him back hard against the wooden wall of the box. He didn’t like that and for a moment I thought he was going to do something about it, too. I grabbed him harder, my fists tightly holding his shirt buttons under his chin and jamming him against the wall.

  ‘You’re a fucking low-life, Hall, aren’t you?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘If I hadn’t shown up, you’d have had her, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘There was nothing to it. You’re imagining things.’

  ‘I know your form.’

  ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Don’t I?’ I looked at him, deciding where exactly to hit him. Probably the mouth to start with, to shut him up. God knows he deserved it.

  ‘Look, it was just a harmless bit of fun, that’s all,’ he said, changing to a more conciliatory manner with me. I felt him relax against my grip, give up the struggle. ‘So, no hard feelings then,’ he said cheerily as if nothing had happened. ‘But I really must get going. Got some more horses to look at.’

  I loosened my fingers and felt myself let go of him. He left me shaking my head as he strode off quickly and purposefully, making his way back towards the main ring area and brushing himself down and tucking in his shirt as he walked.

  When he’d gone, I walked back along the line of boxes past a feedroom. Inside, I heard muffled sobbing. It was the girl who’d been with Hall a moment ago. I stuck my head inside and gave a warning cough so as not to alarm her.

  ‘Are you all right?’ I asked her gently.

  She was sitting on the feedroom floor, her hands wrapped protectively around her knees. She looked up, a little startled when I spoke.

  ‘Thanks. I’m fine.’ She nodded at me, dropping her head shyly down again as soon as she did.

  ‘I just happened to be walking past and heard you shout. Did he harm you?’

  She shook her head straightaway and stifled another sob. ‘I should have known better than to be alone with ’im.’

  ‘You know him?’

  ‘Kagan Hall? Everyone knows that prick; what he gets up to. He can’t keep his hands to himself, he can’t. Thinks every girl who works in a stable is his for the taking. The bastard.’ She gave a little sniff and I offered her a tissue which she took gratefully.

  ‘Do you want to do anything more about it, I mean, press charges with the police or something?’

  She shook her head slowly, gave me a despairing look. ‘It wouldn’t be worth the bother,’ she said. ‘Giving statements to the police, having to explain to my boss what happened. The stigma I’d cop once it got out. My name would be mud; the tramp that tried to have it off with Kagan Hall at the sales.’

  ‘That’s not true. You know it didn’t happen that way.’

  ‘No,’ she said, shaking her head resolutely. She’d made up her mind. ‘I’d never get another job in a stable again.’

  ‘Of course you would.’

  ‘You don’t understand. Guys like Hall . . . they think they can walk on water. They get away with murder.’

  11

  When I got home from the sales, I fed Che, cracked open a coldie and made myself some tuna pasta. After dinner I sat down on the lounge, nursing my drink, and thought about Kagan Hall. Jesus, he was something, wasn’t he? Had I seen what I thought I’d seen? Of course I had. The prick would have just about raped that girl if I hadn’t come along. But the arrogance, the sheer arrogance of Hall in denying anything had happened was beyond belief. He’d just shrugged it off like it was a game.

  There was another thing that came to me; that art gallery opening I’d gone to with Maxine. Hall had been true to form then as well, groping that woman behind her husband’s back. In fact, just about every time I’d see him, he was touching or feeling or ogling someone. Even that night at the Rialto when Maxine had put on the special Winning Way presentation, he’d been all touchy-feely with her. Although he was Maxine’s client, I wondered if he’d ever tried his luck with her.

  I had a bit of a think about his nationality. He was a Brit; his English background was hardly a secret, but I wondered where he had come from to be where he was now. I’d never heard of him till about five years ago, when he’d seemed to suddenly arrive on the scene like a whirlwind. He’d certainly made an immediate imp
ression, with his smooth presentations and wall-to-wall advertising. And the guy could pick winners; his track record attested to that. I was curious about what he’d done before. He must have worked in the industry, perhaps for one of the big bloodstock agencies in the UK or overseas before coming to Australia. I took my beer into the office and fired up my computer. It’s not the quickest machine in the world, but after several minutes I had online access and Googled Hall’s name. He certainly had a web presence. Virtually all of the recent references to him were connected to Winning Way Syndications. There were direct links to his website, newspaper stories about his winning horses, references back to sale results and other assorted bits and pieces relating to horse syndicates and the like. I had to trawl through three pages of semi-promotional material before I could find anything other than his Australian connection. It wasn’t much, just a brief UK story from one of the international breeding magazines which mentioned Hall winding up his syndication business there – the Winning Star Syndicate – and that Kagan Hall and his partner, Paul Mead, would go their separate ways to pursue new opportunities in racing.

  I looked at the date; just over six years ago. Probably not long before he’d surfaced in Australia. I scanned down the page for any other relevant items about Hall but couldn’t see any. Perhaps it went back too far; I didn’t know how these things worked. I thought about his syndication business in the UK and wondered if it had been as accomplished as his Australian venture. I noted he’d taken a similar name for his current operation, swapping the Winning Star name for Winning Way in Australia. Perhaps there were legal restrictions in using the same name? If it had been successful, why wind it up? Good syndica-tors usually stayed around forever; at least, the Australian ones I knew did. My old mate Vern from Classic Bloodstock must have been in the business for decades, and there were others I could think of with similar longevity in the trade. So why had Hall left? Maybe he’d had a dispute with his partner. Going their separate ways ‘to pursue new opportunities’ covered a lot of ground. But I was curious to find out. I searched Winning Star Syndications, but all I got was a notice telling me the page was no longer available.

  I tried Googling Hall’s ex-partner, Paul Mead, but this time I encountered so many references beginning with Paul and Mead that I didn’t know where to begin. I tried cutting the search down to Mead, but that wasn’t any easier. I was looking for a bloodstock syndicator, but all I could find out about Mead was that it was an ancient alcoholic beverage. I spent another hour trawling through UK bloodstock syndicate websites hoping to find Mead in the management of any of those companies. No-go; it was as if he’d vanished. You’d think there’d have been something more in the racing papers about Hall or Mead and why they dissolved their partnership. Perhaps I just didn’t have access to the right papers going back far enough. But I knew someone who did. I reached for my mobile and called Kate.

  She was working at her computer, I could tell, talking into the phone as it nestled between cheek and shoulder while she continued tapping away at the keyboard.

  ‘Hi Kate, it’s me.’

  ‘Hi Punter. What’s happening?’

  ‘You still at work? It’s gone seven.’

  ‘Yep, never stops. Listen, I’m kinda busy at the moment, got a story to finish.’ Kate always had a deadline to meet.

  ‘I won’t hold you up. I just wondered if you have anything in your UK archives on Kagan Hall going back, say, five to ten years.’

  I could hear the typing stop at her end.

  ‘Kagan Hall. The Kagan Hall from Winning Way Syndications?’

  ‘That’s the one. Apparently he ran a syndicate in the UK known as Winning Star before he came out to Australia. Had a partner in it called Paul Mead, but they dissolved it a few years back. I’m trying to find out why.’

  I heard someone asking her ‘How long would it be?’ and she replied five minutes.

  ‘Look, I really gotta go. Can this wait till sometime next week? You know I’m always good for a favour, but business comes first.’

  ‘Oh, sure. I understand. It can wait, I’ll let you go. It’s just that you did say to call you if anything came up about the strapper killings.’

  That got her attention.

  ‘Hang on, what’s Hall got to do with any of that?’

  ‘I don’t know. Probably nothing.’

  ‘Punter, you can’t just ring up and expect me to cop that as an explanation. What have you got, what do you know about Hall?’

  The trouble with Kate; you can quickly find yourself at the wrong end of an interrogation.

  ‘I told you, I don’t know. I’ve got nothing but a hunch, that’s why I’m calling you. How about you dig up what you can find out and we swap notes next week?’

  ‘Next week nothing. I know you and your hunches. I’ll run a search tonight.’

  ‘I thought you had a story to finish?’

  ‘I’ll kill that in two minutes flat. What exactly am I supposed to be looking for?’

  ‘I don’t quite know. But if you can check out any articles relating to Hall or his partner’s business in the UK, it may help. I thought you might have access to more papers and magazines than what’s available over the net.’

  ‘Sure, we’ve got PA, TNS Media Monitors, Reuters and every major UK paper online. If he’s appeared in the media, I can find him.’

  ‘That’s great. You at the races tomorrow?’

  ‘I’ll be there.’

  ‘Good. Let’s have a show and tell then.’

  The following morning I drove to Flemington racecourse an hour before the first. It was going to be a busy day at the office. Four races to play, maybe five if things fell into place. It’s rare that I bet on two or more races in a day and lately there had been several days where I hadn’t seen a race worth tackling. But today was the last weekend’s racing before Christmas and a number of good-quality fields had accepted. I tipped George at the gate as I went in; put a fiver into his plastic collections bucket. He peered at me between the bridge of his Salvation Army cap and his goggle-like glasses; thanked me and wished me luck. I walked past the horse stall area first, looking for David. Dad had a two-year-old in the first race and I didn’t think it would hurt to ask my brother if it had trained on since its last start. I ducked into the stalls where Dad’s runners were stabled, but was brought to an abrupt stop by a burly security officer who stood in my way.

  ‘Have you got a pass, mate? You need to be a licensed person to get into the horse stalls.’

  I had to admit that I wasn’t a licensed person. I just wanted to see my foreman brother; usually just walked in, so forth. But today I was politely but firmly told I’d have to stay outside the fenced-off section of the horse stalls.

  ‘What’s with all the protection?’ I asked him.

  The guy jerked his head towards the horse stalls opposite. There were two security men guarding the entrances there as well. ‘It’s the strapper killings. Our company’s been hired to guard all stalls at the main meetings until further notice.’

  ‘No kidding?’

  ‘Nuh. The race clubs have hit the panic buttons. Still, not complainin’, good overtime for us for Christmas.’

  I walked around the outside of the fence and located David about three-quarters of the way along. He was fumbling around inside the leather raceday bag, probably checking to see that everything he’d packed meticulously a couple of hours earlier was still there in readiness for today.

  ‘Come in,’ he said when he saw me.

  ‘Can’t. They’ve got this security thing happening. Strictly licensed persons only. Extra protection for the strapper killings.’

  ‘Oh, of course. Forgotten you haven’t got a stablehand’s ticket any longer.’

  ‘Mine expired about ten years ago. The horse okay for today?’

  He nodded. ‘Cherry Ripe. The old man thinks she’s well suited. Reckons she’s trained on well since her last start placing.’

  ‘That’s what I wanted to hear.’<
br />
  ‘What about you, you got anything that stands out today?’

  I gave David a couple of horses for later in the day and told him what price I thought they should be. Then I left him to it and walked over to the members’ entrance.

  There’s a little café up on the second floor which serves the best crab sandwiches I’ve ever tasted. I could eat them all day if they kept dishing them up to me. I bought a plate of them and a coffee and when I’d paid, I spotted Kate already sitting by a corner table waiting for me.

  ‘Kate. Get you anything, a coffee, a sandwich? They make the best crab sandwiches here known to mankind.’

  ‘I’m sure they do, but no thanks, I’ve already got a drink.’

  She was playing with the straw in her lemon squash and took a little sip from it after she spoke. She was wearing lipstick, makeup, a designer dress and jacket. A set of petite baby Zeiss binoculars were slung across the back of her chair. She knew how to dress up and looked every bit the seasoned racegoer, which indeed she was. I sat down next to her and started on a sandwich.

  ‘I had a look through our online archives last night for anything on Kagan Hall and his partner Mead,’ she said.

  ‘Any luck?’

  ‘Uh-huh. In fact I found several articles, mostly about Hall.’ Kate reached into her handbag and pulled out an envelope.

  ‘Great. Want to give me a look?’

  Instead of giving me the envelope she waved it in front of me. ‘I thought this was supposed to be a show and tell,’ she said. ‘I want you to tell me why you asked me to look into Hall’s background first.’

  I was still chewing on a mouthful, so I couldn’t reply straightaway. Kate eyed my plate with increasing interest. ‘Mmm, actually they don’t look too bad,’ she said, helping herself to one.

  ‘Hall’s a groper,’ I said, swallowing. ‘Can’t keep his hands off the women. I caught him the other day out at the sales trying to have his way with some poor stablegirl in a barn. He’d have raped her for sure if I hadn’t happened to be there. In fact, I’ve noticed him a few times trying it on with different women.’