by Joe McNally
On the drive back, Sonny told Eddie he planned to stay with Mave for a week. Eddie decided to head south and home.
As Eddie packed his bag, Mave watched. She said, ‘Come and have a picnic with me on the cliff before you go.’
‘Ahh, the old rug-lugging ruse again.’
‘No. I’ll bring my blanket this time. My best blanket.’
Eddie turned to look at her. ‘Your best one?’
‘Promise.’
‘Okay.’
It was early evening, much breezier than last time and the tide was at full flow, sending echoes up from the rocks of Hell’s Mouth Bay. Mave’s face held many words…she was just finding them hard to say. ‘Do you want me to stay?’ Eddie asked.
‘I don’t particularly want you to go. I don’t need you to stay, if that’s what you mean. I don’t even need Sonny to stay now that I know he’s all right.’
‘So spit it out. What’s up? ‘
Her hair blew across her face and she moved a rubber band from her wrist to tie it up in a single flourish, like a magician. ‘Well, one of the reasons I wanted you in on this as a partner was to try and reduce the chance of you getting mixed up in any more of your investigations. Your luck is going to run out. Simple statistics.’
‘It just did.’
‘I know. And rather than prevent it, I caused it.’
Eddie shuffled closer to her. ‘Tell you what, you were right about this blanket. The rug was much better.’ Eddie poured coffee from the flask. ‘Listen Mave, drop all this guilt stuff. It’s not like you. Man up, as the saying goes.’
She punched Eddie’s shoulder. ‘It’s not so much you I feel guilty about, it’s my poor judgement. A child could have seen this coming.’
‘Well that makes two of us, as I said before, so forget it.’
She shook her head, and pulled daisies, throwing them to the wind. ‘I’m done with this now. No more bets.’
‘That’s the opposite of what I need.’
She looked at him. Eddie said, ‘When the pictures get published and they haul me in, I know you’ll speak up for me.’
‘Of course!’
‘We’ll it’s time to start building some evidence that your system is completely independent of any input from me. Open online accounts with every bookmaker and get as much on as you can. By the time my case comes up, you’ll have a list of closed accounts with every bet listed. Just make sure you don’t bet in any race I’m riding in.’
‘Okay.’
‘You’ll be exposed after that, but you can go back to using Sonny.’
‘No. It’s too dangerous. I’ll either figure out something foolproof or chuck it completely.’
‘And do what? ‘
She looked across the sea. ‘Who knows? Travel, maybe.’
‘Well, remember to keep enough money for driving lessons. Or a chauffeur. Or compensation for the public.’
She smiled. ‘You could be my chauffeur.’
‘The perfect job. Driving a woman who sleeps all day. You’d best get a motorhome.’
‘I might just do that.’
12
It was close to midnight when Eddie drove down the rough track to his house in the small valley. Bats whizzed through the beams from the security light. As Eddie got out of the car, an animal screamed from the forest as jaws closed on it.
Bad omen, Eddie thought.
The house was cool but smelt musty. Eddie made coffee, and pinged Mave, as ordered, to tell her he was home. Then Eddie sat in the small back room, which he’d christened the Snug. His fireplace was there, and the room was dominated by a large picture window offering a view of the long garden and the woods beyond.
He sat in darkness, playing chess in his head with the potential moves he could make before Barney Scolder made his with the pictures.
Peter McCarthy came to his mind. The big man had not returned Eddie’s call. Eddie guessed that Mac’s resignation was tied to the surprise announcement that Kellagher, Sampson and Blackaby were to be prosecuted.
He rang Mac’s home number. ‘Eddie, I’m sorry. It’s been frantic. Come to my house in the morning for breakfast. It’s better we talk face to face.’
In the morning Eddie set off, reflecting on how long it had been since Mac had invited him to his isolated cottage on the hill. Mac didn’t ‘do’ visitors. Eddie knew that Jean McCarthy had suffered agoraphobia for many years. Mac had been protective of her privacy. Now, nine months on from Jean’s death, Mac remained reclusive.
Jean had died suddenly, after a minor operation went wrong and she contracted pancreatitis. Complications quickly set in, the worst of them necrosis. Ten days after going into hospital for a two-hour appointment, Mac’s wife died in the intensive care unit.
Eddie wondered how Mac would cope without his job while still grieving for his wife. The big man had survived for years by adjusting, by making few waves, by compiling victories in his name from the accomplishments of others. But he did so in such a way that Eddie found it endearing. Eddie had done him many favours and most had been returned.
Eddie saw Mac at the window as he pulled to a halt in the wide driveway. Mac raised a hand. By the time Eddie was out of the car, Mac was opening the front door, which was framed by a trellis of roses, and Eddie walked through a tunnel of scent.
‘Beautiful morning again,’ Mac said, shaking hands.
‘It is. How are you?’ Eddie looked Mac up and down. ‘I’ll never get used to seeing you in just a sweater and cords.’
Mac smiled sadly. ‘I think it’ll be a while before I stop reaching in the wardrobe for my suit in the mornings.’
‘It’ll pass. At least you’re not stuck in an office on a day like this. Especially the same office as that prick, Buley.’
‘True. Come in. I’ll put the kettle on.’
They sat in the garden, old cast iron chairs turned east toward the sun, coffee pot on the table alongside Mac’s favourite pastries.
Mac said, ‘How are you?’
‘Surviving, with a tale to tell. But you go first.’
Mac raised his shoulders and opened his hands, then broke eye contact to look at ground. ‘There’s not much to say, Eddie. Nic Buley and I have had a few disagreements as you know…We just reached a point on Friday that was, well, completely unacceptable to me.’
‘This court case?’
Mac nodded, as though reluctant to continue. Eddie said, ‘Even the lads were surprised when they heard it was suddenly going to court.’
‘An astounding decision, and uncharacteristic of Buley, I must say. It seems his narcissism has got the better of his usual guile.’
Mac told him about Buley’s ambition to have the case started before the first anniversary of his appointment.
‘Crazy, Mac. But it doesn’t surprise me. He’d have wanted you lined up to take the fall, you see. That’s where it made sense to him. But you called his bluff. Don’t be surprised if he comes begging you to go back.’
‘Not now. It’s gone public. He’ll blunder blindly on and worry about a scapegoat later.’
Eddie nodded toward the table. ‘I think you’d best eat that last Danish before the wasps do.’
Mac picked it up. Eddie said, ‘So what do you think you’ll do, now?’
Mac shrugged and chewed. Eddie said, ‘All those years of experience. They’ll stand you in good stead. They’ll be queuing up to offer you a job.’
Mac smiled sadly, ‘Kind words, my friend. If only. I’m fifty. And fat. And from a different epoch. I hear people in London saying how hard it is to get a job in your mid-thirties. Fifty’s ancient these days.’
‘I know plenty rich owners, Mac. I’ll tell them a good man’s going to waste.’
‘No, you won’t. I mean, I’m grateful for the thought, but I don’t want someone creating a job for me out of sympathy. Money’s not an issue. I’ll find something, maybe do some charity work.’
Eddie sighed and clasped his hands as he leant toward the big man. ‘W
ell, don’t rule out a recall once Buley makes a balls of this. He’ll have nobody to hide behind, so he’ll need to go. Whoever takes over would be crazy not to ask you back.’
‘We’ll see, Eddie. We’ll see. Anyway, tell me about your troubles.’
Eddie told him about the pictures, and Mac reacted with all those expressions Eddie knew so well, manipulating his face while chewing, leaving Eddie in no doubt he was in as deep as he’d feared.
Mac drained the coffee mug and set it down and looked at Eddie. ‘What are you going to do?’
‘I was hoping you might have some ideas.’
‘You were always the ideas man, Eddie.’
‘Well, I’m stuck. If I try to get the pictures back, he’ll think I’m guilty. If I don’t, they’ll publish.’
He nodded slowly, wiping his hands and mouth with a napkin. He said, ‘If it’s any consolation, I’m pretty sure the BHA will lose this case at the Old Bailey.’
‘Why? Apart from Buley being a dickhead, that is?’
‘Various reasons. Insufficient evidence. Lack of a deep understanding of the intricacies by the prosecution, inexperienced witnesses, and crucially, not a damned thing on Jordan Ivory, who’s behind it all.’
‘The big bookie?’
‘The big criminal. But one without a single conviction. And that’s what’s made the case so difficult. We know those three are working for Ivory, but unless one of them admits it, or someone in Ivory’s camp turns, all we have is circumstantial evidence. It will be hard enough for experts to agree on how those three were manipulating results. To expect a jury with no experience of racing to interpret race footage and betting market fluctuations, well, it’s a total waste of time and money.’
‘But that’s the mystery here, Mac. Buley must know this. He wouldn’t have needed you to tell him. Could he have something up his sleeve to make him look the hero come court time?’
‘Well, the whole department has spent more than two years trying to build a solid case. We believe it centres on Ivory. Until there’s hard evidence of his involvement with those three, I can’t envisage anyone, Buley or anybody else, coming up with an ace by August third.’
‘That’s when the court case starts, isn’t it?’
‘So I’m told.’
Eddie watched him. ‘You’ve been well stitched up here, Mac. They manage to get rid of you on Friday, which was, what, the twenty-fourth of July, and just over a week later the case is in court?’
‘I was thinking that myself. The deadline Buley mentioned was the fifteenth. That’s one year on from his appointment.’
‘You spoke to any of your police contacts?’
Mac lowered his head. ‘Not yet.’
‘I don’t suppose you’ve had much of an appetite for it. Sorry.’
Mac raised a hand. ‘Don’t worry.’
Eddie stood up. ‘Look, Mac, I’ll let you get on. Just leave Buley and the BHA to mess everything up without you.’
Mac, grunting, got to his feet. ‘What about you? Is there anything I can help you with over these pictures?’
‘Forget that too. If Buley’s prosecution gets thrown out, it’ll make things tough for Scolder’s newspaper. Any quick attempt at dropping another jockey in it will look pretty lame to the public.’
‘Well, I hope you’re right. But, I’m around if you need me.’
Eddie reached to shake hands. ‘Same goes here. You know that. I’m just ten minutes away if you want some company. We never close.’ He smiled. Mac did too.
13
Over the next three weeks, Maven Judge steadily built her online portfolio of betting accounts. She joined an online tipping forum under an assumed name and began proofing her tips. Sonny resumed betting on the racecourse, but delivered the winnings to Mave in person.
At the start of her project, Mave had bought Sonny three static caravans: one in the south, at Salisbury: one in the midlands at Stourport and one in the northwest at Formby. As the summer wore on, Mave noticed that Sonny had settled in the Stourport site, and always travelled back there no matter where he’d been that day.
All Eddie could do was wait and watch the court case play out at the Old Bailey, while his frustration over Jonty and Nina grew. Driving home from Newton Abbot one evening in late August, Eddie got to thinking again about Sonny’s kidnappers. He was angry that they’d escaped punishment while he continued to roast on the spit until Scolder decided to use the pictures.
If Eddie called the cops to report the kidnapping, the details of the photos would come out. And the bets. Mave would be outed, as would Sonny, and all for no benefit to Eddie. Also, he realized that his resentment was for what they did, rather than who they were. She’d been desperate. Jonty had wanted to help her. Neither knew Eddie. It was nothing personal.
But wherever Eddie turned with this, he ended up in a corner.
Since the prosecution of Kellagher, Sampson and Blackaby had begun, much of the talk in the changing room was of the court case. Three weeks in, most of the guys thought it was swinging in favour of the prosecution. Eddie said little. He wanted bent jockeys out of the business, but a “not guilty” verdict would neuter Scolder’s story with the pictures.
There was an hour of daylight left as Eddie turned off the M4, and he decided he’d drop in to see how Mac was doing. He’d made a point of visiting at least twice a week since Mac had lost his job.
The big man was in the garden, as Eddie turned into the driveway. Mac was pacing the paths in the large rose beds, same old corduroys on, same worn brogues. Eddie walked toward him. ‘You’re beginning to look like a proper countryman with your flowers and that old hands-behind-the-back stooped walk. Beats rushing around in the city, eh?’
Mac smiled. ‘How was Newton Abbot?’
‘A winner-free zone.’
‘Well, you’re in one piece. That’s invariably the best result of all.’
‘True. But that long drive has left me with a desperate thirst for coffee.’
‘Come inside. I’ll put the kettle on.’
Seated at the kitchen table, Mac said. ‘What’s the word in the changing room on this case?’
‘It seems to swing with regularity. Latest is that the prosecution is just on top.’
‘What happens daily won’t matter in the end. Come summing up time, when the jury files out, that’s when they’ll realize just how hard it is for ordinary folk to cut through all the racing jargon and the so-called expert interpretation of different rides.’
‘No doubt, you’re right. The lads seem to have taken to Broc Lisle. They love it when he swings into professional presenter mode for the press. He seems quite a character.’
‘I feel for the man. He doesn’t seem to understand that Buley’s making him look a clown as the official spokesman. Buley’s slipped quietly into the background and left the poor bugger to it.’
‘Slithered, not slipped, Mac. Buley’s a snake. He’ll probably try to wriggle out of this when the case turns against the BHA.’
Mac looked at Eddie. ‘From what I hear, I’m not sure he’ll be able to.’
‘Go on.’
‘Not for publication…’
Eddie nodded. ‘As ever. Soul of discretion.’
Mac said, ‘Buley has offered the police three hundred grand to help with their costs.’
‘Wow! I take it the defence don’t know that?’
‘Not yet.’
Eddie smiled, ‘But some little bird is going to tell them?’
He shook his head. ‘I’m not the vengeful type, you know that. I’m just sad they’ve ballsed this up.’
‘Who told you about this…this bribe?’
‘An old friend in the Met.’
‘How are the police going to justify accepting money, effectively from the prosecution side?’
‘They’ll manage that all right on the grounds of public interest and budgetary demands. How they’ll handle the PR aspect of implied bias, well, I don’t know.’
‘Despera
te stuff from Buley though. All he’s doing is proving your judgement spot on.’
‘Maybe. But I’m told the funding was agreed and paid a while before I left. That’s how they were able to bring the case at such short notice.’
‘So, let me get this right…Buley has been so desperate to chalk up a result within a year of joining the BHA that he has persuaded the board to ante up almost a third of a million of racing’s money to try and get a conviction that he’ll claim sole credit for?’
‘That sounds a fair summary.’
‘And everyone else at the BHA stays mum. Everybody except you, which he’d have known, so he engineered your resignation?’
Mac shrugged. Eddie leant toward him. ‘Mac, does that not make you very angry?’
‘Sometimes,’ Mac said quietly, lowering his head.
Eddie put both hands on the table and craned his neck low to try and look into McCarthy’s eyes. ‘Sometimes? Sometimes? I’m fucking livid about it, full stop!’
Mac nodded. Eddie grasped Mac’s arm. ‘Listen, let’s do something about this! I know you’ve got other things on your mind, but this is not right!’
Mac looked up. ‘What? What shall we do?’
‘Something! You can’t just sit here day after day or walk in the bloody garden or stand gazing down the valley at what used to be. Come on, Mac, fight!’
Mac smiled sadly. ‘I always admired your guts. Whatever differences we had over the years, whatever problems you caused me, I always stood in awe at the fire in your belly. Does it never fade?’
‘No it doesn’t bloody fade when stuff like this is going on. You don’t need fire in your belly, or guts or anything but a sense of fairness and the determination not to let them get away with it.’
Mac watched him flare then said quietly, ‘But, in the end, Eddie, it doesn’t matter. It’s an insignificant scene played out on a tiny stage, and everyone will forget it the day after the decision.’
‘I won’t. And you shouldn’t!’
The big man sat back and sighed. ‘Perspective, Eddie. And perception. Yours differs from mine. And mine from many others.’