Dead on Course

by Glenis Wilson

  ‘Er … er, yes.’ I had to think quickly what he was referring to. All that came into my mind when he said it was not if you’ve just had your throat cut. Fortunately, I stopped myself from saying the words out loud just in time. Of course, he meant the celebration of thirty years of married life. All the same, I looked at him sideways. He alone amongst the guests would know the real truth about George and Rachel’s marriage.

  His silence had been the one thing that had caused the caustic waste of most of their years together. If he’d had the guts to speak up at the time, a lot of people’s lives would have been played out differently. George and Victor had been great golfing friends for years before the rift, and it crossed my mind that I had been the catalyst. I had had to expose the truth. Without the exposure, there wouldn’t have been a party tonight, no celebration and no mending of the rift between the two men.

  And George and Rachel would still be living in marital hell.

  I took a long pull of beer. I’d stay for a bit – an hour maybe, for decency’s sake – then I’d make my excuses, plead an early start tomorrow morning and get back to the cottage. I was not in a celebratory mood.

  And then, across the room raising her drink to me, I saw Annabel.

  Sod, Uncle George!

  Knowing I wasn’t going to bring her, he’d steamed on, arranged for her to be at the party himself. I knew why: it was for Aunt Rachel’s sake.

  But it was too much. After discovering the murderous attack on Dunston, my emotions were still reeling. Coming into Annabel’s orbit without full control was asking for it. If I’d known she was going to be here, I’d have stayed at the cottage when I stopped off to change my ripped and bloodied gear.

  Annabel was now weaving her way through the crush.

  ‘Harry, how’re things? I’m so glad you made it. Uncle George said you might not.’ She smiled up at me but the smile started to fade almost immediately. ‘There’s something wrong, isn’t there?’

  ‘No, no.’ I brushed off her query.

  ‘Oh, yes. Your face is really pale under the top tan. You can’t fool me.’

  ‘Nonsense, I’m fine.’

  ‘OK, if you’re playing it that way. We are at a party, but I’ll see you afterwards.’

  ‘No, my love, you won’t. I’m not planning on being here for more than an hour.’

  ‘And why’s that?’ She raised an eyebrow at me.

  ‘Because I’m not in a party mood.’

  ‘Because …?’ she persisted.

  ‘For God’s sake, Annabel, leave it.’

  She drew back, hurt showing in her face. ‘I expect you’ve had another bloody fall,’ she said coldly.

  The words hurt. It was the elephant in the room between us and she knew that. She’d said it to hurt.

  I shrugged. If she thought that the reason, fair enough. It was a good deal better than attempted murder.

  Rachel’s sister, Lucy, came up carrying a tray of wine glasses. ‘Hello, Harry. I know it’s been a difficult year for you, but how are things now? Getting better?’

  I wish. I waved a hand to show I didn’t want a drink from the tray. Told her what she wanted to hear.

  ‘Yeah, things are getting better, thanks.’

  ‘Good, good,’ she nodded. ‘But please do take a glass. We’re about to drink a toast to George and Rachel.’

  ‘Oh, yes, sure.’ Annabel immediately took two from the tray and handed one to me. ‘They deserve to be toasted. Thirty years being married is a marvellous achievement.’

  Her gaze challenged mine until I looked away first.

  Lucy tapped a teaspoon against a glass. ‘Has everyone got a drink?’ she called above the laughter and chatter filling the room. There were murmurs of assent.

  ‘Then I’d like to propose a toast to George and Rachel. Tonight’s a celebration of their enduring love. Only love can survive all the hardships of married life. And they are both survivors. Thirty years – that’s wonderful. May you have many, many more anniversaries to celebrate. Everyone – George and Rachel.’

  We all raised glasses, drank the toast and clapped.

  ‘Speech, George,’ Victor called out.

  Flushed with pride, Uncle George held up a hand.

  ‘First of all, thank you, everybody, for coming tonight. Rachel and I appreciate your company and your good wishes. But I specially wish to thank Harry. He did a damn fine job of sorting out the truth for us a few months ago. I know I speak for Rachel as well when I say our life together now is a far cry from what it was, and we are blessed to still be together and more in love now than we ever were before. So, thank you for our second chance, Harry.’

  I felt the biggest heel. In acute embarrassment, I raised my glass. ‘No need to thank me, Uncle George. You deserve happiness. I’m glad, for you both. Very glad.’

  Spontaneous clapping broke out again amidst cheers and whistles.

  ‘You can’t leave now, Harry,’ Annabel murmured.

  She was right. I was ashamed of my earlier attitude. It was very small-minded of me. No way did I want to spoil their special evening.

  Early the next morning, I switched on Sky television to check on the breaking news. Nothing indicated Dunston had died. It was mentioned as an attempted murder, an attack that had taken place inside a horsebox at Fakenham racecourse in the early evening yesterday. The victim had been transported to hospital.

  So Dunston must still be alive.

  Did that mean that his attacker would risk another go? I hoped the police had provided a guard at his bedside. If he lived, and he’d seen the man – recognized him – Dunston was in a very dangerous position.

  Over a strong coffee, I pondered the last few moments I’d been alone beside him in the horsebox. He’d heard what I whispered in his ear and the name. I was certain of that.

  What I’d been asking myself over and over ever since was: did Dunston blink twice in confirmation of the murderer’s name? Or had he simply blinked because, at that precise moment, the interior of the box had been suddenly flooded with bright light?

  The only way would be to ask Dunston again. And I couldn’t do that. The police already thought it very odd I’d been the first person at the scene on all three occasions and had links to the victims. It would be very unwise to risk a visit. But until I could prove otherwise, my money was on the double blink being an affirmation of the murderer’s name.

  The police could follow up what leads and forensic evidence was available; I was following a different trail. If the two trails converged at the end, that would be excellent. If not, and I could provide concrete proof, I’d simply have to come clean and hand my findings over to them to finish the job. If I kept anything to myself, I would certainly be charged with withholding information. No way did I want to join Darren Goode.

  I drank my coffee, locked up and drove over to Mike’s stables. He was in the kitchen as usual, preparing for the working day. He greeted me with a beaming smile. Although normally of an amiable nature, his effusiveness was unexpected.

  ‘Harry.’ He banged the kettle back on to the Aga ring. ‘Let me make you a drink.’

  ‘What’s with the five-star treatment?’

  ‘I’m in a happy mood, that’s all.’

  I twigged. ‘Would it have anything to do with a certain lady reciprocating your feelings?’

  He clapped me on the shoulder. ‘Now, there you have it.’

  ‘Well, whilst I’m glad for you, Mike, there’s some pretty disturbing news I need to share.’

  By the time I’d finished filling him in, the smile was long gone, replaced by a shocked expression.

  ‘Good God, Harry … I reckon you did well to get out of that police station.’

  ‘It is getting a bit regular, I must say.’

  ‘And you were covered in the poor man’s blood?’

  ‘Of course I was, trying to stop it pumping out.’

  ‘Has he died?’

  ‘I don’t know. It wasn’t on the early news, except
to say he’d been attacked.’

  ‘So he could still be alive?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Have you thought, Harry, that if he was one of the loose ends Darren Goode was talking about, he’s still a threat to them?’

  ‘Yes, I have. But I can’t go steaming in and tell the police. I’m just hoping they’ve placed a guard by his bedside.’

  ‘I’m pretty sure they will have. The police aren’t stupid. They’ll know if the murderer wanted Dunston dead, he’ll have another go.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So, what’s your next move?’

  ‘Later this afternoon, I’ll get myself over to North Shore Hotel. I’m supposed to be meeting Tom. Says he’s got something important to tell me.’

  ‘The wine waiter, on Saturday night, at the wedding?’

  ‘That’s him.’

  ‘Who are we talking about?’ Fleur walked in, kitted out in jodhpurs and padded jacket.

  ‘Not someone you know, love,’ Mike said.

  ‘Morning, Fleur.’ I deliberately tried to break the ice.

  In acknowledgement, she cast an indifferent, casual glance at me that clearly said I was barely above frog-spawn level.

  ‘After second lot, Uncle Mike, I’m off with Mum to have a final viewing of the cottage, OK?’

  ‘Oh, yes, sure,’ he said hastily. ‘You don’t have to ride out at all, Fleur, if you’d rather not.’

  She shook her head decisively. ‘I’d rather. Got to think of my race fitness.’

  ‘You’re riding in a race?’ I feigned interest – anything to lighten the atmosphere she’d brought into the kitchen.

  ‘Didn’t Mike tell you?’ She turned and stared at me. ‘I’m off back on a flight to Italy tonight.’

  ‘Oh … right,’ I said, taken aback.

  ‘Her trainer’s rung,’ Mike explained quickly. ‘Lost one of his other jockeys in a shockingly bad fall yesterday. So he rang to see if Fleur wanted back in.’

  ‘And I do,’ Fleur said emphatically, walking to the back door leading to the stable yard. ‘Just two lots, then.’ She closed the door behind her.

  I looked at Mike and raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Best thing, I reckon,’ he said comfortably. ‘She has her own path to tread.

  ‘And your sister?’

  ‘Maria’s going to take a six-month rental on a cottage in the village. They both went to view it yesterday, after the trainer’s call. Says three’s a crowd, y’know,’ he smirked.

  ‘Don’t tell me … Pen’s moving in, yes?’

  He nodded. ‘Bloody marvellous, isn’t it?’ He was like a schoolboy with a first date.

  ‘All these years older,’ I laughed, shaking my head at him, ‘and a whole lot dafter.’

  ‘I know. Great, isn’t it?’

  TWENTY-NINE

  I’d taken my Blackberry with me to the stables and done a quick hourly check for any news about Dunston. There was no news.

  I had to assume he was still holding on and the hospital was monitoring him closely. The longer he lasted now, the better his chances, it seemed. It also increased the risk of the killer trying again. Once Dunston was well enough to talk, that would be it. So, if another attempt was going to be made, it would be in the next few hours, maybe running over until tomorrow at the latest.

  The irony was I couldn’t warn the police. I had no proof. Whilst Dunston remained the only threat to the killer’s identity, he was also my only sure way of proving who the man was. And that only applied to the attack on Dunston himself.

  I’d no proof the same man had killed Lucinda. I knew he had, but I couldn’t prove it.

  Another unpleasant thought crossed my mind. Maybe if Dunston did pull through after all, he could refuse to divulge the killer’s name. It would make sense. Once he’d blown the whistle, he’d have to admit he’d taken money from the man to see off Louis Frame. Even as my thought pattern threw up this scenario, I knew it was the most likely.

  Dunston wasn’t going to shoot himself in the foot by confessing. All that would get him would be a custodial with Darren Goode. The tiny hope I’d fanned into a flame every time I checked the Blackberry for further news on Dunston’s condition now flickered and went out. Even if he survived, Dunston wasn’t going to back me up.

  I was in this on my own.

  In sombre mood, when evening stables were over, I nosed the car through Mike’s gates and headed east, to the coast.

  The first person I saw on entering the North Shore Hotel bar was Dan.

  ‘Good to see you again, Harry.’ He put down the glass he’d been polishing.

  I perched on one of the tall stools near the wall-mounted television.

  ‘Just a mineral water with ice, thanks. Need my brain working tonight.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘Not sure, to be honest. Know why when it happens.’

  ‘Like that, is it?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’

  He pushed a misted glass across the bar.

  ‘You the only barman on duty tonight?’

  ‘No, young Danny’s on, too.’

  ‘Not Tom?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘How did he get on in the baby stakes?’

  He grinned and ran a hand upward through his gelled hair. ‘Got a girl.’

  ‘He was pleased?’ I didn’t mention he’d said his wife would have liked a baby boy.

  ‘Oh, crikey, yes. Never stops talking about his little Alice – that’s what they’re calling her.’

  ‘Uh-huh. And how’s the murder enquiry going? Nothing seems to be getting reported in the news. Have you heard anything, possibly even on the grapevine? Any progress at all?’

  ‘Nah, the killer vanished off the face of the golf course, didn’t he?’

  ‘Were any of the guests absent, do you know, at the time the murder was taking place? Say, any of the major players, like Edward Frame, Brandon himself – anybody you may have served who asked for a drink and then left it untouched. Did you happen to notice?’

  ‘The police never stopped grilling me about that. On and on at me, they were, but it was useless. I just wish I had. I’d tell them straight away if I knew anything.’

  Dan looked troubled. I could understand why: weddings were his special baby. He liked them happy, with a big H.

  ‘What about Edward Frame?’

  ‘Yeah, he was there, and Richard, the best man – they were drinking together a lot of the time. Richard had a load on board from earlier on. And Edward was really knocking it back.’

  ‘What about Brandon?’

  ‘Well, Brandon and Lucinda went upstairs to … to …’ He was struggling to put it delicately. I understood. He was working, and respect and discretion for guests was paramount in his job.

  ‘Consummate their marriage?’ I helped him out.

  ‘Yeah. But Brandon came down to the party again a bit later, until the alarm was given.’

  ‘And the bridesmaids were there all the time?’

  ‘Yeah, leading the dancing, they were.’

  ‘Do you think they might have noticed anyone possibly?’

  ‘Don’t think they would have noticed, not in that crush. Reckon the police would have asked that.’

  I sighed. ‘Yes, yes, of course they would.’

  ‘The police found a footprint in the bunker, but you know that.’

  ‘Yes. Did they find the shoe that made it?’

  He shook his head, ‘Not that I heard. Except …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘It was a trainer that made the footprint, they reckoned.’

  ‘And the murder weapon – any news on that?’

  ‘Nothing.’ He waved an expressive hand. ‘There’s the whole of the North Sea out there. The killer could have chucked it in. Gone for ever, then.’

  ‘Hmmm … best hiding place in the world.’

  ‘Wish they could get the bastard.’ He returned to vigorously polishing glasses.

  ‘Have any of the guests who attende
d the wedding been back since, Dan? You know, as golfers or in the restaurant, perhaps?’

  ‘No, I’d have seen them probably. And if I wasn’t on shift, one of the others would have told me. Everybody on the staff’s on red alert still. No, I’m sure no one has been back.’

  I glanced to my right at the clock by the main door: two minutes to eight o’clock. As I did so, I saw Tom walk in. Our eyes met and he gave the faintest tip of his head and went out again. I glanced at Dan. He was intent on replacing the polished glasses and hadn’t noticed.

  Sliding off the bar stool, I left my drink and followed Tom. Dan would no doubt assume I’d gone for a leak. Which, as I followed Tom through the reception hall and down the stairs leading to the billiard room and toilets, was exactly where he was headed. The whole scenario had played out so smoothly, and so unnoticed by anyone else, it could have been scripted and rehearsed.

  Partway down the stairs, I hesitated, giving him time to enter the toilets, check if anyone else was in there. He’d been practically paranoid when I’d spoken to him on the phone. The need to keep what he had to tell me too private to risk a third party overhearing. I knew he would be certain to ensure the toilets were empty. I gave him a couple of minutes then followed.

  ‘Thanks for coming, Harry.’ He was standing by the washbasins, waiting for me.

  ‘Sorry I couldn’t make it any sooner.’

  ‘You’re here now.’

  ‘So, what do you want to tell me?’

  ‘I need to confess.’ His words startled me. Never, in all my searching and digging for the truth of who the killer was, had I remotely considered Tom.

  ‘I should have said at the time of the murder but I was too scared.’

  ‘Now, just hang on; what exactly are you confessing to?’

  ‘To seeing the murderer.’

  I stared at him. ‘You witnessed Lucinda’s murder?’

  ‘No, no,’ he said agitatedly, ‘but it must have been the man I saw that night. I should have told the police … but I didn’t.’

  ‘Whoa, let’s have it straight, right? Tell me what you saw, in the order you saw it.’

  He licked his lips and cast a quick glance at the door.

  ‘I’ll make it quick; don’t want anybody else knowing.’