by Joe McNally
‘No violence, Mister Malloy. It never solves anything.’
‘Well, that’s a popular saying, but it’s not true. Violence solves a lot of things. A lot. Keep my friend safe. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
‘The car I’ll be driving won’t be traceable. Save yourself any preparation. Let’s just meet and get a civilized deal done.’
‘Is that it?’
‘That’s it.’
Eddie hung up and walked across and put his hand on Mave’s shoulder. ‘Looks like we’ve been outed, Maven.’
‘What was that about pictures?’
Eddie told her.
She shut her eyes, and raised her chin, stretching her neck and groaning. ‘Oh, Eddie, I’m sorry! Now you’re in trouble as well as Sonny.’
‘No trouble. He sounds like an amateur. We’ll fix this before the week’s out.’
She sat shaking her head.
‘I’ll make some strong coffee,’ Eddie said.
Mave traced the caller’s number: a pay phone outside New Street railway station. ‘We should have recorded it,’ she said, ‘I could have taken a voice print.’
‘Why? I’m meeting him tomorrow. There’s every chance I’ll know his face. He must be a racecourse regular to have sussed what was happening. I’ll know his face, then it shouldn’t be hard to put a name to it.’
‘Then what?’
‘Then we do the deal for Sonny and figure out how to get those pictures off him. If he really does have pictures.’
She watched Eddie pace the fireside rug. The logs were embers now, the dull yellow glow reflecting in his shoes. Mave read his mind. ‘Eddie, we need to do this the easiest way. The safest way. No point getting yourself wound up.’
‘I know.’
‘I know you know, but it’s making no difference to you. Go to bed.’
‘Can’t sleep.’
‘Whiskey?’
‘Please.’
‘Will you sit down to drink it?’
‘I will.’
She brought two glasses. Eddie sat in the chair across from her and laid his head back. ‘You got any recording gear I could wear tomorrow?’
‘Plenty.’
‘Can you rig me something up now?’ She rose and left the room, and he sat staring at the empty high-backed old chair she’d been nesting in.
Half an hour later, Eddie lay in bed, still angry. Angry at himself for not thinking things through, and angry at the people who believed kidnapping and blackmail were okay. He had tested the bug Mave built. Six times. No more sloppy preparation. He was going to try and make this episode short and not at all sweet for the captors of Sonny Beltrami.
7
They left Mave’s Shack soon after dawn, driving through a sea mist that covered the wheels and made it look as though the car was floating eastward off the headland. Market Rasen racecourse was on the opposite coast, five hours’ drive away. Maven sat wrapped in a tartan blanket. Her body clock was set to sleep mode from dawn to dusk, and she tried to get comfortable.
‘Nice blanket.’ Eddie said.
‘Mmm.’
‘Where’d you get it?’
‘Blanket shop.’
‘How come it didn’t make an appearance yesterday when I asked for one for the picnic?’
‘Because I didn’t want two grass stains in it shaped like your arse bones.’
‘So I had to lug the rug.’
‘About all you’re good for, rug lugging.’
‘Say rug lugger six times.’
She tried. She failed. They laughed.
He let her settle into sleep, her skinny legs drawn beneath her, curled up like a child. The mist lifted as they left the coast behind and drove toward the rising sun.
They reached Market Rasen just before noon. The only movement from Mave during the journey had been with the gentle rocking of the car as it rounded bends and crossed uneven ground. Stationary now. Engine off. Still she slept.
Eddie shook her softly and she uncurled and looked at him and stretched and yawned. ‘We here?’
‘We’re here. At the golf course. This is where you get off.’
‘Any water?’ Mave asked. Eddie passed her a bottle from the back seat. ‘Put it in your bag.’
‘I can buy some in the club house.’
‘Just be careful not to lean against the wall. Somebody might think you’re a golf club and pick you up and swing you.’
‘Ha, ha. That’s shapeism, or weightism or some ism or other that’s probably against the law.’
Eddie knew that banter helped her nerves. But he worried what she’d do on her own for the next four hours. She opened the back door to reach for her holdall with the gear in it. ‘See you later,’ she said.
‘Mave. Go easy. Take no chances. A two minute video clip should be enough. I’ll make him get out of the car and come to mine.’
‘I know. I know. You told me three hundred times last night.’
‘And remember. I can’t take my phone into the track. If anything goes wrong, leave me a voicemail.’
‘Eddie! You do all the wisecracking to take my mind off things, then you switch straight to scare the shit out of me mode. You’d make a crap psychologist. See you later.’ She closed the door and he watched in his wing mirror as she wandered toward the big club-house.
The talk in the weighing room was of how soon the three jockeys, Kellagher, Sampson and Blackaby, would face trial. Eddie overheard someone say McCarthy had been sacked. He borrowed a copy of The Racing Post and read the formal statement: the usual gushing appreciation from Buley about all McCarthy had done in his long career and how relieved his friends at the BHA were to see him leave in one piece to spend more time with his family.
What family? The poor bastard was on his own! Eddie was angry that Mac had lost his job, and frustrated that the big man hadn’t called to tell him. He was even angrier with Buley as he knew Mac had been stitched up. Eddie asked the clerk of the scales if he could use the landline to make an urgent call.
McCarthy didn’t answer. Eddie left a voicemail: ‘Mac, why didn’t you phone me? When did this happen? Jeez…what are you going to do now? Look, I’ll get down there to see you as soon as I can, but call me this evening, okay?’
Eddie had three mounts booked for Dil Grant, a Canadian horseman who’d found his way to England via Hollywood bit parts, rodeo shows and seducing widows on Atlantic cruise ships. The widows supplied most of Dil’s horses and paid his training fees promptly, but he was always grubbing for cash. Dil’s life lurched from crisis to crisis and Eddie had concluded that the trainer couldn’t live without chaos.
Dil legged Eddie up on Scamperalong, a compact little gelding likely to be suited by the tight right-handed track and the fast going.
And he was.
Eddie led nine rivals throughout, forty hooves rattling out a four and a half minute drum roll on the firm ground. Scamperalong scampered along and became Skipalong each time he met a hurdle, jumping it with skill and exuberance. Eddie’s favourite part of riding a winner for Dil Grant was seeing how it opened up Dil’s world again, that bright smile childlike and untainted, because everything Dil had dreamed of had once more become possible.
Eddie’s other two mounts finished unplaced. He had no ride in the last, so he sat in the sun by the weighing room, scanning faces in a futile search for someone who looked guilty about kidnapping. Half an hour later, he drove out of the car park, bug in place at waist height, behind his belt.
He passed the golf club and turned right at the sign saying Dog Kennel Wood. Eddie knew this place because he’d once pulled in to nap for half an hour before the long drive home.
His eyes adjusted to the forest gloom as he cruised slowly along. Mave would be watching. There’d been no voicemails, so he had to assume all was well, and leave the rest to her.
He took a right at the junction and rolled along to the back of the 13th tee. He pulled in tight to the verge, lowered the window and switched off the engine.
Birdsong.
The scent of pine.
A muffled cry of "Fore right!"
Eddie watched his mirrors, not wanting to appear nervous by looking round. He settled back, fingering the bug again, and checking his flies. In the right wing mirror, he saw a green Range Rover approach, travelling fast. He sat up quickly, released the handbrake and shoved the gearstick to neutral in case the car hit him from behind.
But it stopped under hard braking about ten feet back, spraying wood chips and raising a dust cloud. Eddie wondered how long he’d need to wait before the man came to him, allowing Mave to get a video clip.
No time at all.
And it wasn’t a man.
She was tall and slim, a catwalk swagger in fast forward as she tossed her long red hair and swung her arms in a short-sleeved blouse as white and glossy as a daylight moon. Jeans, boots. No jacket. No bag. No intention of getting in the back. She opened Eddie’s passenger door and sat down and slammed it shut.
She didn’t smile. Her facial bones looked like they’d been drawn in by a pencil artist. Sharp jawline and chin, high cheeks and deep brows. Eddie would have bet eastern European but for her red shining hair, fringed as sharply as her brow, hanging straight and heavy at the sides to touch the bicep-high cuffs of the blouse.
‘You look much different from how you sounded on the phone,’ Eddie said.
‘I don’t keep dogs so I can bark myself.’
‘You’re in charge?’
‘That’s right.’
He watched her. She held his gaze. ‘Okay, what’s the deal?’ he asked.
‘I want in on the racket you’re running.’
‘What racket would that be?’
‘Come on, Malloy. We’ve still got Sonny.’
‘I know that. I just want it clear that I’m not running any racket. I collect money for a friend of Sonny’s. Sonny brings it to me. I take it to our mutual friend.’
‘You tell Sonny what horses to bet.’
‘I don’t. That would be breaking the rules of racing. Sonny gets the info elsewhere, he does his job, and I take the money and pass it on.’
‘Why doesn’t Sonny take it direct to his friend?’
‘To try to keep his friend’s life uncomplicated.’
She watched Eddie, then did that wild and wilful head toss again, throwing in a hard look. Eddie sensed she was in charge of nothing. ‘So it’s Sonny’s friend passing on the tips?’ she said.
‘Listen, I don’t know anything about tips. A while back, Sonny asked me to help him out. I agreed.’
‘Help him out by telling him which races were fixed.’
He turned in the seat to face her. ‘Did Sonny tell you he was betting on fixed races?’
‘He’s told us nothing. But it doesn’t take much working out. We’ve been watching him for a long time and he’s yet to back a loser.’
‘How much do you know about racing?’ Eddie asked.
‘Enough.’
‘Not enough. Far from enough. You’ve no idea who Sonny’s working for?’ The doubt that had been in her eyes changed to a flash of fear. ‘He’s working for you.’
Eddie shook his head. ‘If only. Do you seriously think that if I knew that every bet Sonny placed was likely to win, that I’d still be riding horses for a living?’
She watched him. ‘Who does he work for?’
‘I’d be doing you a big favour if I told you, and I don’t think I owe you any favours.’
The anxiety level in her green eyes was rising. Eddie said, ‘I’ll do you one favour. Go straight to wherever you’re holding Sonny and put him in this nice car of yours and take him back to where you found him, treating him gently along the way. And remember to tell him how sorry you are for making such a mistake. Then barricade your house and hope for the best.’
She did the hair flick thing again, and raised her chin. ‘You’re bluffing.’
Eddie shrugged. ‘Don’t say I didn’t try.’
‘We’ve got those pictures of you. And we’ve already got a buyer.’
‘Good for you. Sell them. I’ve nothing to hide.’
‘Then why did you agree to meet me?’
‘Because your friend sounded what you obviously are…amateur. And I wanted Sonny out with the minimum of fuss. I now need to go and tell Sonny’s friend. And that means there’ll be a lot of fuss. A lot. You’d best get yourself back and start building those barricades.’
She opened the door. ‘I’ll call you later, Mister Malloy.’
‘Okay. That call had better be to tell me that Sonny’s out.’ He watched her in the mirror. The swagger had gone. She walked staring at the ground. She turned and came toward the car again. Eddie rolled the window down. ‘Don’t try to follow me,’ she said.
‘Okay.’
‘I’ll be checking.’
‘I won’t follow you. No need.’
She turned away, moving faster this time and resuming her toughness once back in the car with an aggressive, wheel-spinning reverse. Eddie waited. Mave popped up by the open window and shouted ‘Boo!’
He smiled.
‘You didn’t even flinch,’ she said.
‘Mave, the best bet of the week was that you’d do that. Get in and tell me about your day.’
8
After the long drive back to Mave’s house, Eddie made tea and sandwiches. Mave cared little for doing anything unless technology was involved. Eddie brought a tray of stuff to her desk and pulled up a chair. She always worked in the gloom, a short desk lamp shone for Eddie’s benefit only. On her PC screen, she zoomed in on a map of the UK with a single tiny red light animation flashing in the West Midlands.
‘You got it?’ Eddie asked.
‘Looks like Chaddesley Corbett.’
‘There’s a point to point meeting there. Martin Tate’s old yard’s close by.’
She closed in and switched to Google Earth and they spiralled down from space to a house lying in about three acres at the bottom of a dead end lane just off the A448. Two vehicles were in the picture, neither one the Range Rover that Mave had stuck a tracker on.
‘Could be their place,’ Eddie said, ‘or just some safe house where they’re holding Sonny. Can you find out who lives there?’
‘If it’s changed hands in the last ten years or so, it’ll have been on the Internet. Once I’ve got the address and postcode, I can find out who owns it.’
‘Crack on.’
The redhead rang at ten-forty and the recording app Mave had put on Eddie’s phone kicked in. ‘You call your friend and tell him if he wants to see Sonny again, we’d better get the name of the next horse that’s going to win,’ she said.
Eddie sighed. ‘Okay. To use an old cliché, it’s your funeral.’
‘When will it be?’
‘The funeral?’
‘The tip!’
‘Calm down. I don’t know.’
‘Tell him we need to know within forty-eight hours.’
‘I will pass that on,’ Eddie said.
‘I’ll call you in the morning.’
‘You do that.’ Eddie hung up. Mave checked the dialling code of the pay phone. ‘Bromsgrove.’
‘About ten minutes’ drive from that house.’ Eddie pointed to the Google Earth picture.
‘We could be there in three hours. How are you at sleeping in cars?’ she asked.
‘Depends how you are at driving?’
‘I’m good. I don’t brake much.’
‘Others do, then, no doubt.’
‘Only the scaredy cats.’
‘I’ll drive.’
‘You’ve already done ten hours today, Eddie. I’ve slept. My working day’s just starting.’
They watched each other.
‘Do I get the blanket this time?’ Eddie asked.
She nodded.
‘No rug?’
‘No rug. And I’ll fill the coffee flask.’
‘Lordy! Manual labour for Maven Judge. Whatever next?’
&n
bsp; Ten minutes later, they were locking the house up. Maven said. ‘Wait! I forgot.’ She hurried back in, and came out with three cushions. Eddie smiled. ‘Very thoughtful of you, Mave. A blanket and cushions. I’ll think I’m at The Ritz.’
‘They’re not for you.’ She opened the driver’s door and stacked them on the seat before climbing in and adjusting them. Even at that, her chin only reached the top of the steering wheel. Eddie got in the back and said ‘Drive down to the harbour first.’
‘Why?’
‘See if there’s a sub docked that can lend us a spare periscope.’
‘Very funny. I can see fine now.’
‘You look like you can see three yards of bonnet and a yard of road.’
‘Did I at any point today criticize your driving?’
‘Tough thing to do when you’re prone. And snoring.’
‘I don’t snore!’
‘No, I suppose you don’t. More like a purring noise.’
‘Shut up, Malloy, and go to sleep.’ She turned the key and wrestled with the gearstick. ‘How do you get this heap into first?’
‘It’s an automatic.’
‘Oh. Right.’
‘Can you reach the mirror to adjust it?’
‘I can reach you to slap you!’ She adjusted the mirrors and they set off. ‘Which way is it?’
‘Mave. Stop.’
She looked down to find the brake and stamped on it, bouncing the coffee flask onto the floor.
‘When did you last drive a car?’
‘When I passed my test.’
‘How old were you?’
‘Seventeen.’
‘How old are you now?’
‘Thirty-four.’ Their eyes met in the mirror and she shrugged. ‘I thought it was like riding a bike. It just came back to you.’
‘Move over.’
‘You need to sleep, Eddie.’
‘I’d rather be tired and alive than asleep and dead.’ Eddie got out as Mave slid across. She settled with the blanket around her. ‘I’ll stay awake, and talk to you,’ she said.
‘What a treat.’
9
As the satnav announced “destination reached”, they made one pass at the top of the dead-end lane. Lights were on in the house. It was too dark and too far along to see if the Range Rover was in the driveway. They turned off onto a track in the woods and parked. ‘You coming?’ Eddie asked. Maven nodded, nerves sealing her voice box. She undid her seat belt.