by Joe McNally
That evening Buley waited until Broc Lisle was the only other person still in the building. He went down one flight of stairs and through the swing doors, then stopped. Lisle was coming toward him, buttoning his overcoat.
‘I wanted a word,’ Buley said.
‘I’m listening.’ Lisle stared at him.
‘It could take a while.’
Lisle smiled. ‘Some other time, then, eh?’ He stepped aside to pass Buley, who put his hand on Lisle’s arm. ‘What’s the big rush?’
‘I’m visiting my father.’ Lisle had told Buley about his father and made it part of his contract that he saw him at the times he specified.
Buley said. ‘Well, it’s not as though he’ll be counting the minutes, is it?’
Lisle tried to keep the anger from his eyes. It was rarely good to show emotion, and your adversary should never be allowed to see it. ‘I have a set time to see my father twice a week, Mister Buley. You know that. Now, please excuse me.’
Buley let go his arm. Lisle walked on. Buley called after him, ‘Why do you keep going to see him anyway? It’s not as if he knows who you are.’
Lisle stopped. He turned and looked at his boss. ‘But I know who he is.’
Buley blinked. Lisle stared until Buley lowered his eyes.
Buley watched the big glass door swing slowly shut. Oh well, it would have to be Friday, as it had been with McCarthy. At least that would make the weekend less tiresome. He returned to his office and phoned the man. ‘Job done?’
‘Not yet. It’ll be Friday.’
‘Why?’
‘Things don’t always fall into place as we’d like them to.’
‘Don’t talk to me like that, Buley. Get the bloody job done! If Lisle hasn’t gone by close of business Friday, you’re finished.’
By Friday, Broc Lisle felt he was making progress. There had been some unpleasantness at Ascot when Kellagher had sneered at Lisle and called him a clown, but given that everything else he’d been working on quietly had come together he felt entitled to a little self-congratulation. Especially so as he sat waiting for Buley’s summons.
He pulled from his pocket a soft leather sleeve, inside which was a credit-card sized piece of polished steel. Lisle used it as a mirror. He checked his teeth. He smoothed his moustache and had a sudden crazy wish for a long moustache that he could twirl like a proper pantomime villain. It made him laugh.
Upstairs, Buley heard the faint laughter and he smiled and shook his head. ‘Laughing all the way to the scaffold. Clown.’ He buzzed Lisle’s extension. ‘You can come up now.’
Lisle settled in the chair opposite Buley, whose suits and shirts, Lisle thought, were much too tight for good taste. Lisle watched him, knowing that Lisle Senior would have called Buley a corner-boy: a chancer. Someone who didn’t even merit the title “opportunist”. A corner-boy through and through.
‘Thanks for holding on, Broc. I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.’
‘No, you’re not.’
Buley frowned.
Lisle said, ‘The delay was deliberate. Frivolous. Vexatious. A silly tactic aimed at weakening me.’ Lisle crossed his legs and leant back and continued, ‘You see yourself as a handsome matador, poised to deliver the estocada to a tired and wounded animal. The reality is that you skulk around in your too tight shirt and trousers, hoping your intended victim is so close to death, you need not dirty your hands.’
‘I think we are letting you go just in time, by the sound of things, Mister Lisle. Your quirkiness seems finally to have spilled over into lunacy.’
‘We are letting you go? Who is we, Mister Buley?’
‘The BHA.’
‘And why would you no longer wish to retain the services of, if I may say so, a diligent, dogged, determined, steadfast employee, especially one with such fine investigation and deduction powers?’
‘Because you have failed, Mister Lisle. You failed to gain a single conviction in court. We then have the embarrassment of Eddie Malloy’s picture all over the Sunday papers.’
‘Ahh, I thought we’d settled the latter? You seemed so taken with Mister Malloy’s entourage on Tuesday when signing that agreement.’
‘Nonetheless-’
‘Nonetheless means nothing to me. It means nothing to anyone, Mister Buley, whatever you follow it up with. Tell me this, who leaked the police payment to the media?’
‘Well forgive me for pointing out that your job, until now, was head of integrity. It was for you to find out who leaked it, which you failed to do. Obviously.’
‘Ahh, be careful…evidence of absence is not absence of evidence.’
Buley crossed his arms and lowered his chin. Lisle said, ‘You met Arni Torland of The Times at your flat on the evening of twenty-sixth August, and you told him about the payment to the Met.’
‘You have gone mad.’
Lisle pulled an envelope from his inside pocket. ‘May I?’ he said, picking up the silver letter-opener from Buley’s desk. From the slit envelope he took a single sheet of typed A4 and pushed it across to Buley. ‘A signed statement from your friend, Torland.’
Buley swallowed and pulled the sheet toward him.
‘Dear oh dear,’ Lisle said, ‘you look on the verge of panic, Mister Buley. Can I get you a glass of water? Some valium? Or perhaps heroin? Does that have a calming effect? I wouldn’t know, you see, never having taken it. Your records from that rehab facility in the Tuscan countryside suggest strongly that you could enlighten me on the pleasures of the popular opium derivative.’
Buley sat stiff, staring at the door.
‘Thinking of bolting, Mister Buley? I could understand you wishing to be as far away as possible when things get this uncomfortable. What about Australia? Is that far enough? They used to welcome wrongdoers. In fact, I was there last year. At customs they stopped me and said “Criminal record?” I said, “Oh, I didn’t realize you still needed one!” Amusing, Mister Buley, don’t you think? Of course you managed to escape without facing court there for domestic abuse. What we used to call “wife-beating”. Battery, that was another name, wasn’t it? Something you specialized in down under, I believe. But once again, bribery came to your aid. You didn’t have to spend three hundred grand to get out of that, though, did you?’
Buley had stopped blinking. He stared at Lisle as though the man was steadily receding into the distance and Buley was desperate not to lose sight of him. Lisle said, ‘Who is blackmailing you?’
Buley kept staring.
‘Mister Buley, who forced you to take that case to court prematurely. You knew it would fail.’
‘It was my anniversary,’ Buley said quietly, as though alone.
‘Nonsense. That was the excuse you gave to Peter McCarthy, who deserved much better and whose loyalty to racing and to the BHA in particular has been unflinching. Who’s blackmailing you?’
Buley undid the top button on his shirt and loosened his tie. Lisle said, ‘You brought the case to court far too soon. Then, when it looked like all the work I had done was beginning to turn the tide, you dealt the death blow by telling The Times about the payment. Are you working for Ivory?’
Buley at last found something to react to. ‘I’ve never met the man in my life!’
‘You need not meet anyone face to face these days, Mister Buley. You know that. If it wasn’t Ivory, tell me what else, or who else makes sense?’
‘I’m not working for Ivory. I’m not working for anybody except the BHA.’
‘In the strictest interpretation of the word, perhaps not. But on whose behalf did you act to ensure that case was lost?’
Buley sighed and massaged his face. ‘I need some time, Broc.’
‘Don’t Broc me. I don’t respond to your well-practiced “interaction” tactics. Call me Mister Lisle. How much time do you need?’
‘The weekend.’
‘You’ve got until this time tomorrow to tell me who found out the same about your past as I did. And why they wanted that case thrown
out.’
‘Leave it with me.’
‘You have twenty-four hours.’
‘Then what?’
‘That depends.’
‘I’ll call you,’ Buley said.
‘Do that. Hopefully I will remember to have my phone line open.’ He took his phone from the top pocket of his jacket and held it up so Buley could see that it had been picking up everything.
Lisle said, ‘Before leaving my office, I called a voicemail bank I’d previously set up. Everything we’ve discussed is now lodged there. Should I fail to enter the password to retrieve that recording by a certain date, it will be recovered by my solicitor.’
Buley said nothing but Lisle thought he detected a dimming in Buley’s eyes. Lisle picked up Torland’s statement and put it back in the envelope. He said, ‘You may leave now.’
Buley opened his mouth to object, but stayed silent and got up. Lisle remained seated, smiling. He stopped Buley in mid-stride and said, ‘Tell me, Mister Buley, are you familiar with the show, A Little Night Music?’
Buley nodded, looking down at Lisle who said, ‘Remind me, would you of the title of its key song? Was it Send in the Clowns, or Send out the Clowns?’
Buley left the building. He stood in the blur of a London dusk, barely registering the busy surroundings. The lights of passing vehicles left vague trails on his conscious as though he was immersed in a photograph taken with a slow shutter speed. He turned right, walked half a dozen steps, then turned around and went to the pub on the corner. He ordered brandy and beer, but left both on the bar and went back outside and swiped his card at the main door of the BHA office.
Buley hurried upstairs. Lisle was still in Buley’s office, though he’d moved to Buley’s chair and was smiling as the man came back in. ‘Slightly faster than I thought, Mister Buley. I was prepared to wait one hour. Sit down.’
Buley sat.
Lisle put his elbows on the desk and leaned forward. ‘Tell me, am I the rock or the hard place?’
Buley frowned.
‘Or don’t you differentiate when things get this desperate?’
Buley said, ‘It’s pointless me talking to the other party now.’
‘I know. That’s the reason I waited here. The other party’s cards are all on the table. The only advantage you have is that they’re not yet aware that I know all that they do. But you are going to tell me. You’re going to give me the full “heads up”, as you would say. You are going to withhold nothing. And when I’m content that you have withheld nothing, I’m going to help you get out of the country so that the other party cannot do you any damage.’
‘You have that much clout?’
‘I have friends, Mister Buley. True friends. Not contacts…friends. People who trust me. People in whom I trust.’
‘What guarantees can you give me?’
Lisle looked at him. ‘My word.’
Buley’s primal survival instincts had kicked in and they prevented him from showing any doubt about Lisle’s honour. ‘All right. But no recording, no sworn statements, no signatures.’
‘Agreed.’
‘And no notes,’ Buley said.
‘I don’t need to take notes, Mister Buley, never have. Those with mental discipline, those who work their minds instead of just their bodies, we do not need to write things down. I’m listening. Please begin.’
33
Speculation about Buley’s sudden disappearance bubbled away for longer than Lisle had expected. Police had found nothing at Buley’s home that suggested he had any plans to leave quickly. His bank balance did not alter. None of his friends or contacts had heard from him. His GP reported that he had no record of any health issues which might have led to a sudden rash decision. His passport was in a desk drawer.
The media interest stretched on over the weeks and Lisle began to think it was simply a matter of time until the stories of Buley’s past misdemeanours were sold to a newspaper. But the new winter jumps season arrived without any light being shed on Buley’s hidden past. No new CEO had been appointed. The chairman of the BHA, Marcus Shear, announced he was taking temporary charge and that a search for a successor to Nic Buley had not yet been discussed, least of all because of ‘our concern for Mister Buley’s welfare.’
On one Tuesday evening visit to see his father, Broc Lisle walked the corridors, looking for him. Lisle senior sometimes found his way into another patient’s room, but Broc did not want to start a search without asking a member of staff. He spoke to a nurse. She told him she believed his father was being “freshened up” by staff in the toilet in his room.
Broc went to room 15 to find his father being helped from the toilet by two staff members. Broc smiled at them, ‘Lily…Martha…Is he behaving himself?’
‘Good as gold, Mister Lisle. Not been walking today, nor much yesterday. I think he misses it.’
‘I’ll get him into his chair and wheel him around a dozen circuits.’
Lily leaned over Lisle senior, ‘You’d like that. Mister Lisle, wouldn’t you? Shall we help your boy get you into the chair?’
Your boy.
It took Broc by the heart…a long hand reaching through the tunnel of years since his childhood, spinning multiple reels of memories, and settling on his heart. He swallowed.
Pushing the wheelchair at a steady pace along the thickly-carpeted corridors, Broc spoke to his father about the old days, about his mother, about racing. He always told dad about his job in racing now. Someday, a rare shaft of lucidity might open long enough to let him take it in.
Broc pushed the chair, speaking quietly, ‘I’m glad you’ve not been walking, dad. Rest is the thing now. You’ve walked enough in your life. You’ve covered a million miles. I can push you the rest. If you still want to be on the move, I’ll wheel you around for as long as you want. I just have a few things to mop up in this job, and then, I’ll make a deal with you.’ Broc stopped and moved to the front of the chair to squat so he was at eye level with his father. ‘If you stop wandering these corridors on foot, I’ll come every night and wheel you round them. You get to see them in style then. What do you say?’
Lisle senior stared for what seemed a long time, then nodded. Broc offered his hand. ‘Good. Let’s shake on it!’ The old hand reached slowly, rising, shaking, the pearlescent skin marbled with veins…it rested, soft, like a child’s, in Broc’s gentle grip.
34
Pat Kellagher lived in a small house near the Safari Park just outside the west midlands town of Kidderminster. For more than a year, he had wanted to move to a bigger, better house, but he’d been warned not to. That had frustrated him at first, but when the court case came up, he was thankful that he’d taken the advice…though it wasn’t as if he’d had much choice.
Still, he thought, as he pulled up in his driveway, things were getting easier. Once Buley was completely out of the news, he’d been promised that normal service on course would resume.
He unlocked the front door, turned on the hall light, kicked off his shoes, put on his black crocs and went to the kitchen. He switched the light on and gasped and stepped back, his hand still on the switch. Broc Lisle looked up from his seat at the kitchen table. ‘Sorry, Mister Kellagher. I didn’t intend to scare you. Not this soon, at least’. Lisle stood up. ‘I took the liberty of filling your kettle. Would you like a cup of tea?’
Five minutes later they were in Kellagher’s living room, drinking tea by the gas fire. ‘Heat is so comforting, Mister Kellagher, don’t you think? It must be of great benefit to you when the cold gnaws at some of those old injuries you’ve acquired over the years.’
‘How did you get a key for my house?’
‘I didn’t.’
‘How did you get in? The door was still locked when I put the key in.’
‘Ahh, remember at Ascot you called me a clown? Clowns know tricks, don’t they?’
‘What do you want?’
‘I want to ask if you’ll reconsider the offer of testifying against Jordan I
vory. Turning Queen’s Evidence, to use the vernacular.’
‘I told you before, I don’t even know Mister Ivory.’
‘Mister Kellagher. Throughout the case at the Old Bailey, I formed the impression, and I am seldom wrong in these things, that you were the leader of the triumvirate. That you were naturally more intelligent than your two partners in crime. Is that a fair assumption?’
‘There was no crime.’
‘Let me cut short these tiresome denials.’ Lisle took from his pocket a small silver digital recorder. He held it up and clicked the play button. For the next 97 seconds, he and Kellagher listened to Jordan Ivory giving Kellagher orders to fix a race at Warwick. Kellagher sat watching him long after the stop button had been clicked. Lisle smiled and said, ‘What say you now, my friend?’
‘That’s no use to you. We can’t be retried. There was no case to answer.’
‘Ahh, we used to call them barrack-room lawyers. Changing-room lawyers would, I suppose, be the expression in your business. New evidence, Mister Kellagher. It changes everything.’
‘I’m saying nothing, now.’
‘Look, I’m not just offering you this opportunity. It’s open to Mister Sampson and Mister Blackaby too. They’d be most welcome. The more the merrier.’
Kellagher pursed his lips and crossed his arms. Lisle smiled and said, ‘Your lips are sealed but your body language makes an awful racket.’ He got up and put the recorder back in his pocket. ‘Ahh, well, I thought it would be easier on everyone to have Mister Ivory locked up, so that he can wreak no further havoc. But I guess I will need to change tack and play this to Mister Ivory in the hope he will accept the invitation to turn Queen’s, thus keeping himself out of jail. In a way, it’s better to have you three back in the dock. At least then, we, the BHA get a rightful conviction. And with Mister Buley gone, the appropriate department will get credit for the conviction.’
Lisle handed him a business card and said, ‘I suspect that when you’ve had time to chat with your colleagues, you might have a change of mind. I’ll hold off for twenty-four hours.’