Running Scared (The Eddie Malloy series Book 4)

by Richard Pitman

  Sholto settled into his new job at the yard though he was excused riding duties because of potential head injuries. Cathy Keating drew her insurance pay-out and slipped quietly into the background.

  It looked like Kenny Hawkins would never get beyond sitting in a wheelchair but he got some money from the Jockeys’ Insurance Scheme and the Injured Jockeys’ Fund were looking after him. I suspected Kenny had declined his brother’s offer of financial help.

  I had no more tough-guy phone calls, no sabotaged cars. The police returned after Christmas then seemed to let it drop completely. From where I stood, the evidence now pointed to Conway as being responsible for the murder of Bill Keating.

  On New Year’s Day, Jeff Dunning told me everything was in place for the coup at Sedgefield four days later. Conway was ninety-six hours away from losing an awful lot of cash. After that, I’d hand the tapes Sholto had made to the cops.

  Sholto set up the final meeting.

  24

  ‘Serious money,’ Sholto said, waving the mini tape in the air as he came in. He took the stairs up to my flat two at a time. I followed listening to him rave about how much Conway was going to lose.

  Slotting the tape into the small machine, he set it running and stood it on the mantelpiece. He’d met Conway in a park so there was little background noise. Conway complained about the cold and commented on Sholto not wearing a coat.

  Sholto looked at me here and said, ‘Thought he was about to rumble me with the tape recorder.’

  The machine had been in the inside pocket of Sholto’s jacket hence the reason for him leaving his coat at home. On the tape, he told Conway he didn’t feel the cold much. After a longish pause, a trundling sound (a girl with a pram, Sholto said) Conway spoke.

  - Well what have you got?

  - I gotta horse as the saying goes.

  - When?

  - Thursday, Sedgefield.

  - How good is it?

  - It’s the biggest certainty that ever looked through a bridle. It’s the one we’ve all been waiting for for years and it’s the last one we’re doing.

  - What’s its name?

  - I can’t tell you now.

  - Come on, Barclay, you gave me the others in plenty of time.

  - This one’s different. A hell of a lot of planning’s gone into it and we can’t afford a cock up. I’ll ring you with the horse’s name five minutes before the off.

  - Don’t be so fucking silly! What do you take me for?

  - That’s the deal.

  - How do I get my money on?

  - You give it to me.

  - Now you are taking the piss.

  - Look, we can’t have people putting bundles on this without any thought for the SP. You run around on the morning of the race trying to put five or ten grand on you’ll ruin the price for everybody including yourself.

  - So what’s the difference between me putting it on and you?

  - I told you, a lot of planning went into this. We’ve got agents prepared up and down the country. They’re all going to move into different betting shops at exactly the same moment so that even if suspicion is raised by the bets it’ll be too late for the shops to feed the money to the course and bring the price down.

  - Yeah, then they’re all going to move out of the shops with my fucking winnings in their hippers! Don’t take me for a mug, Barclay.

  - You’ll get your cash, don’t worry, just the same as the rest of the syndicate will.

  - And who makes up the rest of the syndicate?

  - I can’t tell you.

  - No, because the syndicate’s probably you and a couple of your bent mates trying to stitch me up. Give me four winners to hook me and then come up with the bet of the century to rip me off for my stake. You must think my head zips up the back.

  - Hey, listen! No sweat as far as I’m concerned if you don’t want in on this one. You know my interest in this and you know what our deal was so I’ll call you on Thursday with the horse, you do what you like but when he wins, you do the brain scan as agreed.

  Sholto looked at me and said, ‘I stood up here to leave and he started getting panicky.’

  - Wait, listen, what would you do in my position? Wouldn’t you be suspicious?

  - I suppose I would but those are the terms and that’s it. I’m not controlling the coup; I’m only passing you privileged information and telling you the rules of the game.

  - Well I ain’t playing it.

  - Fine. Nice doing business with you. I’ll phone you Thursday.

  Soft footfalls as Sholto walked away then a faint call. Sholto stopped walking.

  He smiled, ‘Stood and made him come to me.’

  Conway’s voice again.

  - Are you going to be at Sedgefield for the race?

  - Sure am.

  - What if I come with you?

  - You’re welcome to.

  - When would you want the money?

  - Tomorrow afternoon at the latest.

  A long pause then Conway again.

  - Look, you’re not just dealing with me here. You and your friends need to know that the cash will be coming from some very powerful people.

  - Fine. How much are we talking about?

  - Fifty grand.

  Sholto watched for my reaction, a silent ooohh! He laughed, ‘That’s what I nearly did.’

  He spoke on the tape.

  - That’s a bit more than I’d expected.

  - I told you, you’re not dealing with mugs.

  - Can you get the cash for tonight? We’ll need a couple of extra days to distribute that to the agents.

  I smiled at Sholto, ‘Nice one.’

  Conway spoke.

  - I can have it for noon tomorrow.

  - Okay. Where do you want to meet?

  - Come to my house.

  - Where do you live?

  - Near Kingston, take this card.

  - Okay, Mister Conway, see you tomorrow.

  - Listen . . .

  - Uhuh?

  - If this fucks up in any way whatsoever it won’t be a brain scan you’ll need it’ll be a life support machine.

  - Cheers.

  Sholto got up and switched the tape off. ‘Nice turn of phrase Mister Conway has, eh?’

  I nodded. ‘Do you think there are some others in this with him?’

  Sholto said, ‘If he’s serious about the fifty grand I suppose there must be.’

  ‘Scared?’

  He shrugged slightly. ‘No reason to be if everything goes to plan, is there? The horse I give him wins. Hardly my fault if it then gets disqualified, I’ve kept my end of the bargain.’

  ‘D’you think Conway will see it that way?’

  ‘Eddie, are you trying to put me off? If you are it’s working.’

  ‘I’m serious, Sholto, I just want you to know what you’re getting into.’

  Helping himself to a large whiskey he said, ‘I’m into it now anyway, aren’t I? A bit late to back out!’

  He was right.

  It was smart of Sholto to ask for an early pickup of the money but in one way, I regretted it. If it had been in the evening, I could have gone with him but at noon on the Tuesday, I was well on my way to Leicester where I had three rides.

  But Conway and his fifty grand filled my mind. It was way above what I’d been expecting and if we could get it all on at the expected prices and everything worked out there would be more than enough for Kenny Hawkins and his family. Half of it would keep him comfortable for life.

  But Conway’s threat that some big players were involved troubled me. They wouldn’t hand it over to Sholto and stand on the doorstep, waving goodbye. Someone would probably tail him. All we could think of to combat that was to rent a car and leave it in one of the two car parks of a motorway service station.

  Sholto would drive straight there with the cash and park on the northbound side, leave the car to go and have a cup of coffee then head across the bridge to jump in the rental car and travel south again.
>
  We’d have to hope whoever was following him stayed in their car in the northbound park.

  Just in case they were tailing him south again, he was to go to a certain hotel and call my mobile number then we’d make further plans.

  25

  The first race was twelve thirty. I was riding in it and was so anxious to hear from Sholto I was tempted to tuck my phone in my breeches. How the Stewards would have viewed me taking a call jumping the open ditch is another matter.

  But Sholto didn’t phone at half twelve. He didn’t phone at all and the winner I rode that afternoon gave me no satisfaction whatever. My mind was so full of doubts and fears for Sholto I don’t even remember riding the race.

  I rang the hotel we’d agreed to meet at but nobody fitting Sholto’s description had been in. By the time I left the course a dread weighed on me. The money didn’t seem to matter too much anymore; the coup could go to hell. I prayed they hadn’t harmed him.

  It took me two hours to reach the hotel. I cruised the car park, headlights searching the dark for Sholto’s rental car: nothing.

  I sat a while wondering if they’d beaten the plans out of him and were sitting inside waiting for me. In the end, I had to go in and see.

  But Sholto wasn’t there. Nobody approached me.

  I clutched at the straw offering the idea that maybe Sholto had forgotten my mobile number. I dialled my answerphone: nothing. The lump in my stomach grew heavier. I dug out Conway’s address and set off with zero optimism.

  The house was in darkness. Biggish place standing in a large garden, one of a dozen houses in a tree-lined avenue.

  No lights and no sounds as I prowled keeping close to the walls. A huge garage at the rear was solidly locked. No cars in the drive. Conway had to come home sometime and I thought of staking the place out. I wasn’t riding next day.

  But a hard frost was setting in and if Conway had abducted Sholto, he might not return till after the race. Till after he’d persuaded Sholto to give him the name of the planned winner.

  My heart grew heavier at the thought. Sholto didn’t know the name of the winner yet.

  The plan was that he’d tell them no decision would be made till the morning of the race. We’d assumed that fact alone would keep Sholto safe from abduction, a simple explanation to Conway that couldn’t be argued with: all we had now were the original race entries and the knowledge that six horses would be declared to run. But if a couple went unsound or were withdrawn for different reasons then things would have to be put on hold. Conway should have understood that, should have known Sholto would have no name to give till raceday morning.

  The reality was we’d choose the horses the day before the race, but Conway wasn’t to know that.

  They’d be trying to get out of Sholto something he couldn’t give.

  I shivered in the dark and headed out to check the last thing I could think of: if the rental car was still at the motorway services.

  It was. Exactly where we’d left it. I’d have to call the rental company in the morning and ask them to collect it. I drove to the flat to wait by the phone.

  26

  I stayed at home on Wednesday waiting for word. At noon Jeff Dunning rang asking where the stake money was, saying he’d set up all the links needed to get the bets on. I promised I’d phone him back by three o’clock.

  I had little doubt now I’d soon get a call from Conway or one of his people. He’d want to exchange Sholto’s safety for the name of the horse.

  If I told Jeff what had happened he’d know the main reason for fixing the race had gone. There’d be a chance he’d want to cancel the coup, run the race straight. On the other hand, he’d said some of the lads intended to make a few quid themselves from it so they’d be keen to go ahead.

  The only real loser in their eyes would be Kenny Hawkins. My priority was to protect Sholto so I would have to give Conway the name of the winner and the only way to do that was to pretend to Jeff that everything was okay.

  The problem then would be what horse to give Conway: the winner who would then be disqualified, or the runner up who’d be promoted after the Stewards’ Enquiry. Or did I tell him about the whole scam and let him decide what to do? If I did that, he’d know we’d been planning to rip him off and might kill Sholto.

  Also, if I gave him only one horse he’d splash his fifty grand around any old way and ruin the SP for everybody. I called Jeff.

  ‘Jeff, this guy’s having problems coming up with the stake money. He says it’s going to be tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Eddie, come on! That’s too late!’

  ‘For your people, I know it is but I’ve just made a few calls and I’ve managed to set up some contacts that can collect in the morning and spread themselves over a big enough area.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘Certain.’

  He hesitated. ‘Jeff, I’m being straight with you, honest.’ The lie flowed easily. ‘If he doesn’t come up with the money in the morning I’ll let you know. You can cancel everything if you want to.’

  ‘Ring me before ten one way or another.’

  ‘I will.’

  Another pause, keeping me waiting, tempting me to ask. I held out. Jeff said, ‘Thimbelina will be first past the post and Sun Tonic will get the race in the Stewards’ Room.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll ring tomorrow.’

  I sighed with relief then jotted down the names though they were already branded on my memory.

  Then I sat listening to the clock tick, watching the hands. At twelve minutes to eight it started snowing, light flurries. Gradually it thickened till the yard lights cast big floating shadows from the snowdrops onto my blind.

  Maybe Sedgefield would be snowed off. I couldn’t make up my mind if that would be a good thing.

  The clock ticked on. The snow kept falling. My frustration and fear deepened. At ten twenty-three, he finally called.

  It wasn’t Conway’s voice, didn’t recognize it from the tapes.

  ‘Your pal Barclay said you’ve got something to tell me.’

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘Right beside me. His ear’s a bit swollen from me punching it but would you like a word in it anyway?’

  ‘Put him on.’

  ‘Eddie!’ Panic there, terror.

  ‘You okay?’

  ‘You’ve got to tell them, Eddie!’

  ‘I will, don’t worry, Sholto. They’ll let you go then?’

  ‘After it wins. They promised.’ His breath was coming fast.

  ‘Okay, tough it out. I’ll see you tomorrow. Put your man back on.’

  ‘Very co-operative bloke, your friend.’ London accent.

  ‘When will you let him go?’

  ‘After the horse you’re going to give me wins.’

  We both knew I was in no position to bargain or ask for promises.

  ‘The horse’s name is Thimbelina. She runs in the second at Sedgefield but you must back her first past the post.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘She can be a bit unruly, hangs a lot in a finish and sometimes interferes with others. She’s been disqualified before after winning so you must place your bets in a shop which takes first past the post.’

  ‘And where do we find these shops.’

  ‘Most of the independent bookies in London will give first past if you ask for it.’

  ‘You better not be ripping us off here, Malloy.’

  ‘I’m not but listen, spread the money as thinly as you can or the price won’t be worth having.’

  ‘We’ve got it sorted. You just make sure it wins.’

  ‘It will.’

  ‘It had better, hadn’t it Barclay?’

  He hung up.

  Grotesque caricatures of a battered half-dead Sholto Barclay filled my dreams.

  27

  By morning, the temperature was up and my tyres squirted dirty slush aside as I drove north. For the first time in my life, I was glad I had no rides booked. Concentration on the job would hav
e been impossible, yet I’d need to pack my kit in case I was offered a spare. Driving up to Sedgefield with no obvious intention of riding would have caused suspicion.

  I’d already called Jeff and told him the cash was safely in hand. I wasn’t looking forward to explaining the deception but Sholto’s life was more important than Kenny’s bank account.

  If Thimbelina didn’t pass the post in front at around one thirty-five this afternoon Sholto could end up as Conway’s second victim. Even if she did win, his safety couldn’t be guaranteed.

  I reached the course just after twelve thirty and went straight to the weighing room. Jeff and the others were there. The tension was tangible. Even more so because we were fighting it, trying to act normal.

  Jeff was riding in the race along with Bobby Craine, Jake Brassey, Bernie Collins and Craig McCafferty. We acknowledged each other with brief nods and grunts all anxious to form a huddle and reassure each other but knowing we couldn’t. We were the only ones in the weighing room who knew what was happening. Or we should have been.

  I went outside. Two minutes later Jeff joined me.

  He said, ‘Everything going smoothly?’

  ‘As far as I know.’ I looked at my watch. ‘They should have started placing the bets about five minutes ago.’

  ‘How many bodies?’

  ‘Enough.’

  ‘I hope so.’

  ‘I see Bobby and Jake are riding in the first. Hope they come back safe.’

  ‘Jesus, don’t even think it.’ Jeff lit a cigarette and the smoke rose drifting through his dark curls.

  ‘How’s the ground?’ I asked.

  ‘Soft.’

  ‘Much snow here last night?’

  ‘Jesus, Eddie, I’d rather talk about nothing than talk about the fucking weather.’ He sucked in nicotine looking nervously around. Two Stewards walked past. Jeff flinched.

  ‘You’ll have to cool it.’ I said. ‘You won’t be worth a toss come race time.’

  His head moved in bumpy little nods and the cigarette went back to his lips.