Running Scared (The Eddie Malloy series Book 4)

by Richard Pitman

  It was evening before I told Charles I thought it might have been sabotage. We sat by a blazing log fire in the living room of the big house, fed, bathed and in dry clothes.

  Whiskey glinted in the chunky glasses we held then burned gently as I sipped. Classical music came at low volume from huge speakers. Just a lamp and the fire flames lit a comfortable and companionable semi-darkness.

  From the easy chair, Charles smiled at me, waiting for the punch line. I didn’t smile back. He said, ‘Somebody tampered with the wheel?’

  ‘I checked it before they towed the car away. Three of the bolts holding the wheelnuts had sheared. They’d been sawed halfway through.’

  ‘Who sawed them?’

  ‘I don’t know . . . yet.’

  He sat forward, smile fading and I told him about Cathy and the insurance and about last night’s call.

  He listened, long eyelashes flicking as he blinked rapidly, a habit he had when concentrating, sizing things up. He asked, ‘Why didn’t you tell the police?’

  ‘Because I felt lousy and I didn’t fancy standing around for another hour in the rain then spending the rest of the evening giving them the same statement over and over.’

  He shook his head slowly which meant he thought I was stupid.

  ‘I’ll ring them in the morning, tell them I went to see the wreck at the garage and noticed the sheared bolts.’

  He nodded. ‘You think it was done at the racecourse?’

  ‘Probably. Nobody could have known I would be driving the jeep there but plenty of people could have seen me arrive.’

  ‘Perhaps the car park attendants saw something. I mean you don’t just quietly sit and saw at a wheel.’

  I shrugged. ‘Jack it up, slip the wheel off, anybody passing just thinks you’re fixing a puncture.’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  We discussed it for half an hour speculating on why someone would risk killing me to prevent me nosing around Bill Keating’s past life. We worked our way through the list of names I’d rung last night asking about Bill.

  Charles said, ‘One of them has to be involved somewhere. He must’ve called up the guy who then rang you with the threat.’

  ‘Maybe, but it could just as easily have been a remark made by one of them that this guy then latched onto.’

  ‘True.’

  Two more drinks brought no enlightenment and as the embers died in the grate and we downed the last of the whiskey, Charles became serious. ‘Is it really worth your while going on with this, Eddie?’

  I shrugged. It was late. I didn’t want to be at the losing end of a lengthy argument.

  He moved forward in his seat. ‘I know you liked Bill and, and Cathy too but… Well you were hardly . . . you weren’t that close. I don’t think Bill would have held you to any sort of commitment.’

  ‘Maybe not.’

  He looked exasperated. ‘But you’re going on with it?’

  ‘Somebody tried to kill me today and they almost got you too. I’d like to find out why.’

  ‘But if you keep trying to find out why he’ll probably keep trying to kill you.’

  ‘I’ll be careful.’ I got up. So did Charles.

  ‘You can be hellish flippant sometimes,’ he sighed.

  Smiling I put my hand on his shoulder. ‘Survival mechanism.’

  ‘Contradiction in terms the way you use it.’

  ‘Good-night.’

  ‘Good-night,’ he mumbled and I could sense him shaking his head slowly as I walked away.

  Before turning in I rang Cathy and told her what had happened. Her concern for my welfare failed to mask relief at the fact that Bill’s death was beginning to look more suspicious. She was still awaiting her solicitor’s advice on proceeding with the insurance claim but was expecting a call next morning.

  I asked about the pathologist’s opinion on how long Bill had been taking heroin. Cathy said he couldn’t tell for certain but it would have been months rather than years, maybe even weeks.

  I considered asking her to meet me at Stratford next day but, wondering who might see us, I thought better of it and we agreed I’d go to her place for dinner tomorrow night.

  Lying in the darkness, in the deep rural double-glazed silence I felt all the old doubts coming on. I didn’t need the echoes of Charles’s warning. I was worried. My luck had to run out sometime.

  10

  Next morning the only reminder of my bad fall was a mild headache. I felt okay but the doctor’s suspension meant I couldn’t ride.

  At breakfast, Charles asked me if I still planned to go to Stratford.

  ‘Might as well. Ferret around.’

  ‘What about the police, you going to ring them about that wheel?’

  I chewed toast. ‘Would you mind doing it? I haven’t got time to hang about waiting for them.’

  ‘They’ll want to talk to you.’

  ‘Tell them I’ll ring them this evening. Get the name of the investigating officer.’

  ‘What if they ask to see the car?’

  ‘They can do that at the garage, can’t they?’

  ‘Suppose so.’

  Smiling I said, ‘Cheer up or I’ll make you drive me home from the races.’

  I spent five minutes checking the car over. I found nothing but drove warily on the first ten miles of the journey to Stratford.

  A valet told me Doctor Clarke was in the weighing room but it irritated me to be in there when I wasn’t riding. I waited for him to come out.

  In the same brown checked suit as yesterday, he was carrying three jockeys’ medical books, which he shuffled absent-mindedly. He looked up as I walked toward him and raised his hand like a traffic cop when I was five yards away.

  ‘No!’ he said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Don’t ask me, Eddie, you are not riding today. You’re stood down till Monday. End of story.’

  ‘I know. I’m not arguing.’

  His face softened then turned quizzical. ‘What are you doing here, then?’

  ‘Looking for some info.’

  ‘From me?’

  I looked up at him. He was tall and thin. Although I couldn’t see it from here, I knew he had a nice round bald spot on his crown shining through brown hair. He had hollow cheeks and a big light brown moustache stained in the centre by nicotine.

  ‘If you can help.’

  ‘I’m pretty busy.’

  ‘Won’t take a minute. I’ll walk with you.’

  We set off in the direction of the secretary’s office.

  The doc said that although he was far from a specialist on drug abuse he wouldn’t have thought Bill Keating a long-term user. ‘He just wouldn’t have been able to ride at that level.’

  I headed for the pre-parade ring, the warm-up area for horses.

  A dozen grooms clutching wet bridles walked smartly beside their horses who looked better fed and clothed than most of their companions, only two of whom had waterproof jackets on. The others wore cheap clothes and shoes.

  I was on nodding terms with three or four of them but there was one in particular I wanted to talk to. I knew him only as Nick, a boy working for a Lambourn yard. He wore an expensive waterproof and leather boots. Wiry and wary looking he had that air about him that life in his tough home city had bred naturally into many of its natives; sharp, watchful, opportunistic, it showed an almost predatory instinct for survival.

  I arranged to meet him in the bar when he’d finished his duties.

  Nick’s horse was unplaced but he told me he’d backed the winner. Nick was known for ‘sourcing’ things for people. He could fill most orders or point you in the right direction as long as there was something in it for him.

  The drinks I paid for entitled me to ask where someone could buy heroin in Lambourn. Nick’s answer was that you couldn’t. Not from somebody living there anyway. A dealer from Newmarket apparently did some good business either on special trips to the village or sometimes on racecourses themselves.

 
; It cost me twenty-five pounds for the bloke’s name and phone number.

  By late afternoon, the rain was back on its beat and my wheels splashed dirty water from the potholes in the drive approaching Cathy Keating’s place.

  Young Amy opened the door. I smiled at her. She looked uncertain then blushing slightly turned to call down the hall, ‘Mum, it’s Mister Malloy.’

  Mister indeed. Made me feel old.

  ‘Well bring him in!’ Cathy called from the kitchen. Leaning over the sink Cathy’s tight jodhpurs showed a fit shapely lower half. A loose green sweatshirt covered the rest of her slim figure. The dirty boots, which stood in the porch, had been replaced by furry pink rabbit slippers. A strand of straw stuck out at collar level of her shoulder-length hair.

  Arms holding something under a running tap she turned her head to welcome me. ‘You’re early.’

  ‘Yeah, sorry. Couldn’t be bothered going home then setting off again.’

  ‘Come straight from Stratford?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘How many winners today?’

  ‘Zilch. Wasn’t riding.’

  She glanced round again. ‘Oh that’s right you got a knock. How’re you feeling?’

  ‘I’m fine. How are you bearing up?’

  She plucked a towel from its plastic hook to dry her hands. She said, ‘I’m okay.’

  I glanced round to make sure Amy had gone then said, ‘And the children?’

  ‘Subdued is probably the best way to put it. Especially Kate, she’s spent most of the time since the funeral in her room.’

  ‘Hasn’t she got any friends who could maybe bring her out of it a bit?’

  Cathy shook her head and laid the towel down. ‘Doesn’t want to see them.’

  I said, ‘It’ll take a while, I wouldn’t worry too much.’

  She looked at me. ‘Eddie, I wish I had the time to worry about her. I wish I could allocate her a few more pounds of the one ton of worrying I do every day.’

  She threw her hands wide. The cuts from the broken cup were healing in thin dark lines. She said, ‘God I’m sorry. You must think I moan day and night.’

  ‘Not at all. I’m sure you take a break when you’re sleeping.’

  We smiled then had coffee and sat talking while pots bubbled and lids clinked out delicious aromas. Cathy said her lawyer had advised her to proceed with the insurance claim and see what the insurer’s reaction was. She’d set things in motion earlier today.

  She had enough worries and while I made light of the threatening phone call it was tough trying to put a devil-may-care sheen on the jeep sabotage.

  Her frown deepened. ‘You’d best leave it to the police now, Eddie.’

  ‘I’m afraid that would have to be a mutual agreement and whoever’s after me ain’t offered that option.’

  ‘I thought he gave you a warning by phone?’

  ‘Just one. He didn’t bother coming back to renegotiate after the Jeep so I’m assuming that whatever deal he had in mind has passed its sell-by date.’

  ‘You think whoever it is would still try to get you even if you dropped the whole thing?’

  ‘I think it’s probable so I’m not hanging around waiting. I’ll get to him first.’

  She sipped cold coffee and stared at me. ‘You’re sitting there like you haven’t a care in the world and I’m feeling guilty as hell.’

  ‘What for?’ I asked.

  ‘Getting you into all this. Just for my sake.’

  ‘For your sake and for Bill’s. And Kate’s and Amy’s. And now mine.’

  Putting her cup down, she massaged her brow with both hands.

  ‘Anyway,’ I said, unfolding the twenty-five pounds piece of paper Nick had written the dealer’s number on, ‘it’s a team effort.’

  Cathy stopped rubbing and looked up. I pushed the paper across the table. ‘I want you to ring that number and ask for Vince.’

  Mentioning ‘products’ and ‘wares’ rather than drugs Cathy fenced around doing her best to get some commitment from Vince. His apparently genuine surprise at being asked if he could help sowed doubts in Cathy’s mind and mine. Then he said he’d ring back ‘when he had more time’ and try and clear things up.

  She gave him my mobile number and an hour later he called saying that although he wasn’t directly involved he could arrange a meeting with a certain party who may be able to ‘tell you a bit more.’

  Would it be possible for her to come to Newmarket tomorrow?

  Sure, it would be possible.

  He named a pub and a time and told her to watch for a guy in a black suit and red waistcoat.

  Cathy hung up and gave me the first warm, proper smile I’d seen from her in years. The frown ridges around her mouth and eyes curved to laughter lines. She said, ‘This is quite exciting!’ I smiled at her enthusiasm and naivety.

  ‘What happens now?’ she asked.

  ‘The hard part. You meet Vince and find some way of getting him to tell you if he was supplying Bill with heroin.’

  ‘On my own?’

  ‘That’s what he’ll be expecting.’

  The excitement faded quickly. ‘But what if he recognizes me?’

  ‘I doubt that. It’s not as if your picture’s in the paper every day.’

  She nodded slowly. I reassured her, ‘Don’t worry, wherever you are I’ll be no more than a few yards away.’

  ‘What if he recognizes you?’

  ‘Then it’ll cut things short and I’ll ask him nicely to tell us what he knows.’

  We spent half an hour making plans and I left just as the ten o’clock news came on the car radio. Bumping and splashing down the drive I listened to the usual depressing reports of international wars and violent crime and wondered what percentage of mayhem would find its way to our little patch of English soil.

  11

  Next morning at breakfast, Charles told me the police had not yet called back. He’d reported the damaged wheel-bolts and told them where the car was. I was about to update him on the progress made at Cathy’s place last night when I noticed how uneasy he was talking about it.

  I sipped black coffee and asked him what was wrong.

  ‘Nothing.’

  He looked awkward, avoiding my eyes.

  ‘Come on,’ I urged.

  He put down his cutlery, a piece of yolk-daubed bacon pinioned to his fork. He said, ‘I’m nervous about how Broga will take this.’

  Most trainers had a number of ‘employers’ in that they had different owners but Broga Cates was now the sole source of Charles’s income. He was also his landlord.

  ‘Take what?’ I asked.

  ‘This whole business with threats and sabotage and police and stuff. I don’t think he’ll see it as good for his image somehow.’

  ‘Nah,’ I said, ‘he’ll be fine. Something for him to dine out on.’

  ‘You think so?’

  ‘Yeah, I wouldn’t worry.’

  Charles wasn’t convinced but picked up his fork again. ‘I’d better tell him though.’

  I nodded.

  ‘I’ll ring him after first lot.’

  I could see he didn’t relish the prospect. I asked, ‘Want me to call him?’

  ‘Would you mind?’

  ‘Not at all.’

  He grimaced, undecided. ‘Think he’d rather hear it from me since I’m his trainer?’

  I shrugged. ‘I’m his retained jockey and the hassle’s all down to me really.’

  ‘Well, if you wouldn’t mind?’

  ‘No problem.’

  His wide smile showed how relieved he felt.

  I rode work again on Allesandro, the big grey that had Charles whooping like a kid the other day. One of the horses he’d pulverized in that gallop had won by ten lengths at Stratford and Charles and Broga were planning a betting coup on Allesandro, Charles for the money, Broga for the hell of it.

  He worked exceptionally considering he was still some way short of peak fitness and as I dismounted in the yard Ch
arles salivated over the prospect of hammering the bookmakers.

  ‘He’s in at Uttoxeter next Wednesday. If we leave that bit of belly on him, we should get an even bigger price. I’ll go and ring Broga now.’

  I followed Charles and listened to him hatching plans for Allesandro with Broga who was at his estate in Barbados for a few days. He had well and truly caught the racing bug and had set up another racing stable alongside his sugarcane plantation. He’d been nagging us to fly over and take a look at it.

  At that moment, Charles looked as though he needed a holiday. He asked Broga to hold and handed me the phone.

  As I took it I watched Charles trying to hurry casually away already whistling in an attempt to blot out what he thought might turn quickly into a major argument between me and his boss.

  Broga took the news even better than I’d expected, calling me ‘mate’ all the time and offering support of whatever kind I needed. He knew a certain Chief Constable and would be happy to have a word. I thanked him and said that might well come in handy at some point.

  My car was parked by the gable end of the barn and I was checking it over methodically when I heard an engine then wheels crunching gravel. I looked up to see a police car swing into the yard. One uniformed guy, one plain-clothes.

  They followed me up to the flat where I made tea and answered questions, knowing they were simply going through the motions. Still, I knew it was a tough job and I was courteous, tried to make sensible suggestions like liaison with Cathy’s local force. I got the usual, ‘Leave that to us, sir.’

  I set off on the hundred and forty mile drive to Newmarket. The trip was reassuringly boring and all the parts stayed on the car.

  12

  I’d arranged to meet Cathy in the bar of a hotel and by the time she arrived, it was busy with racegoers and she had trouble picking me out. I watched her in the doorway anxiously scanning faces. I raised my paper. She saw me and looked relieved, tried to smile as she came over but tension kept her frowning.

  I got up and kissed her lightly. She was holding her breath.

  ‘Relax,’ I said.

  She sat down. ‘I’m nervous.’