Aim High (The Eddie Malloy series Book 7)

by Joe McNally

  ‘Okay.’ You don’t make much sense, either, thought Eddie as he dialled Mac’s number again. He passed on what he’d been told, then turned again to Mave. ‘All done. Sorry.’

  ‘Don’t worry. My attention’s already turning to finding a horse for Sonny for tomorrow.’

  ‘You might want to leave Kempton out of your calculations.’

  ‘You think they won’t have the track fixed in time?’

  ‘Even if they do, what else will this guy come up with?’

  Mave watched him. ‘This scores high on the strangeness scale, Eddie, doesn’t it? Somebody having a go at inanimate things like racetracks?’

  ‘I keep saying nothing surprises me anymore, Mave, but this is coming close to it. If you’re going to be working, I’ll drive up and see Mac.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Lock up behind me.’

  ‘Jeez,’ she rubbed her face, ‘the reassurance man, right enough.’

  ‘I’m sorry. Want me to stay?’

  ‘No. Go. I’ll be too busy anyway to get scared. Wrapped up in the search for a seventy-five percent horse.’

  ‘For a one hundred percent ungrateful redhead.’

  ‘So it goes, Eddie. So it goes.’

  49

  Mac seemed surprised to see Eddie at the door. Eddie said, ‘You sounded on the phone like you needed some moral support.’

  They sat in the gloom of Mac’s living room. A tall, ancient standard lamp with a ribboned lemon shade lit the corner and little else. The place was cold. Mac had his long coat on, though he’d loosened his tie and poured a drink. He splashed some whiskey in a crystal glass and handed it to Eddie.

  ‘Want me to build a fire?’ Eddie asked.

  ‘I’ll do it. Let me finish this drink.’

  ‘You’ll get your suit dirty.’ Eddie balled up some old newspapers and drew wood from the stack which rested against the stove. As the fire struggled into life, Mac rubbed his chin, the crackle of his beard shadow clear above the sparking logs. Eddie sat back. ‘There. You’ve got something to stare at now.’

  He managed a tired smile.

  ‘You look…befuddled. Is that the right word?’ Eddie said.

  He nodded. ‘Along with four or five others.’

  ‘Back in the saddle again, Mac. Now the blisters remind you of the downside.’

  Mac raised his eyebrows then drank. Eddie said, ‘Whoever took you on was dead right, wasn’t he? Somebody’s targeting Jockey Club Racecourses.’

  Mac laid his head back on the chair and stared at the ceiling where the flame shadows flickered. Slowly he lowered his chin until he was looking straight at Eddie. ‘Listen to this,’ he said, and he pulled from his inside pocket a slim grey machine with a thin wrist-cord. He held it toward Eddie who saw the small regular holes of a circular speaker. Mac clicked a switch on the side: "Mister Bletchley?"…"Yes?"…"You need to walk the course again."…"Who is this?"…"Listen, you need to walk the course again, particularly the track intersection."…"Why?"…"Just do your job." Mac clicked the off switch.

  Eddie recognized the voice of Ken Bletchley, clerk of the course at Kempton. The other speaker had sounded like a female robot. ‘Bletchley got that call this morning?’ Eddie asked.

  ‘Five past ten,’ Mac said.

  Mac was still holding the machine at eye level. ‘Is there more?’

  He lowered it. ‘No.’

  ‘Did Bletchley walk the track again?’

  Mac shook his head.

  ‘So our man called somebody else to warn them?’

  ‘He called the Press Association.’

  ‘In that robot voice?’

  ‘In a normal voice.’

  ‘Recorded?’

  Mac shook his head.

  ‘So why at Kempton? Why did Bletchley record the call?’

  ‘Standard practice on all Jockey Club tracks ever since the bomb scare at the ninety-seven National. If anyone calls the switchboard and asks for an official without identifying himself or herself satisfactorily, the operator records the call.’

  ‘A good idea, on the face of it. But this one could rebound big style.’

  He nodded.

  ‘How long do you think you can keep it from the press?’

  ‘We’ll probably announce it tomorrow.’

  ‘You’ll see a massive shitstorm for not giving it out at the press conference today.’

  ‘That was a decision made in alliance with the police.’

  ‘The leader of this alliance being JCR?’

  ‘We needed time to think. To try and unscramble the digital disguising of the voice.’

  ‘I’m guessing it stayed scrambled?’

  Mac nodded, and drank some more. Then finished it off. ‘Want me to pour you another?’ Eddie asked.

  He grunted as he rose. ‘I’ll get it. You?’

  ‘No. Thanks.’

  Mac reached to rub his back above his belt, then turned it toward the strengthening flames. Then he leant forward, hands on knees, and groaned softly. The second of his chins drooped, firelight glinting in the sweaty crease. Eddie said, ‘Maybe retirement wasn’t such a bad idea after all, Mister McCarthy.’

  He looked at Eddie sideways and smiled.

  Eddie followed him to the kitchen where he took off his coat and hung it on the open door. ‘Mac, who’s heard that tape?’

  ‘Me, Bletchley, Tim Arango, and the police.’

  ‘Anybody reached a conclusion other than this guy knew the pit had been dug?’

  ‘The only thing that made sense to us was that the informant was somebody close to whoever’s targeting JCR. The police believe that a broadcast of the tape tomorrow, alongside an appeal for that person to come forward might pay dividends.’

  ‘That’s a bad idea, Mac.’

  He pushed the top back into the whiskey bottle. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because if it is an informant, then your man is going to know who it is. Not only that, he’s going to know how determined this guy was to prevent carnage on the track. You might suddenly lose your informant.’

  ‘True.’

  ‘Then you not only don’t have a foot in your man’s camp, you’ve got another murder to deal with.’

  ‘True, also,’ Mac said, and drank.

  ‘So?’

  ‘I’ll call Tim.’

  Eddie prompted him with raised eyebrows and by leaning toward him, as though that would make him reach for his phone. Mac said, ‘I’ll call when you’ve gone.’ His smile said that he knew if he called now and didn’t get the response Eddie thought he should, then Eddie would spend another hour giving him grief.

  ‘We’ve got to know each other too well, Mac.’

  ‘Thankfully…For me, at least. Will we return to the fire?’

  Back in their chairs, Eddie said, ‘Play that tape again.’

  He reached for the recorder and clicked it. Eddie listened, twice, then said. ‘Play that end comment a couple more times.’

  "Just do your job". "Just do your job".

  Even though it had been digitally altered to sound robotic, the nuances remained. ‘Mac, that’s a pretty definite command. Even disguised, you can hear the firmness, the tone.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Well it doesn’t sound like some scared informant sneaking on his boss. Maybe it was the man himself.’

  ‘Why would he set up a disaster then try to prevent it?’

  ‘Maybe all he wanted was the abandonment of the meeting. That would have been pretty damaging to JCR in its own right, wouldn’t it, especially on top of everything else that’s happened?’

  ‘Not as damaging as dead horses and badly injured jockeys. And why would he suddenly develop a conscience after killing three jockeys?’

  ‘Maybe he justified those killings because Kellagher, Sampson and Blackaby were crooks.’

  Mac shifted in his chair, the fire getting too warm for him. ‘It’s a strange conscience that can live with a triple murder over a few bent races.’

  Eddi
e paused and watched him. ‘Mac, let’s go back to Blackaby’s death at Cheltenham. We are certain the killer was there that morning. He had to be. So isn’t it strange that it was at exactly the time Ivory was there. And it turns out pretty helpful to Ivory that the last man who could have turned Queen’s evidence against him died that morning. And didn’t Ivory also claim that he didn’t know this mystery caller who was supposed to be meeting him in his box? He has got to be favourite now.’

  Mac half-stood and used his legs to push the big chair farther away from the fireside. He settled again and said, ‘But why wouldn’t he just have had Blackaby shot the same as Kellagher and Sampson?’

  ‘Because Ivory’s a bookie. With three deaths, he’d have been risking either the BHA or the Professional Jockeys Association pulling the plug completely on racing until the killer was caught. No racing, no income.’

  Mac nodded, looking into his whiskey glass. ‘True. But how would he have known racing would carry on after the second shooting? How could he be sure the plug wouldn’t have been pulled when Sampson was shot?’

  ‘Because Ivory knew that everyone in racing was working with the same sum. He could be certain that those who added two and two would come up with the right answer. Especially the jockeys. And that was confirmed when Blackaby said he had no plans to ride in the near future.’ Eddie became aware of his tone of certainty strengthening.

  Mac said, ‘But if the sums added up so nicely, every jockey would have taken comfort from the news that Blackaby had also been shot, if, of course, he had been.’

  ‘And maybe that was Ivory’s initial intention, but remember what I just said. Blackaby wasn’t getting back on a horse again, was he?’

  Mac set aside his drink and clasped his hands in his lap. ‘Okay…let’s go with Ivory as chief suspect. He has removed all three threats to his liberty. He can safely resume business, both bookmaking and whatever else on the nefarious side. Why would he want Kempton abandoned on one of the biggest betting days of the year?’

  ‘He wouldn’t. Ivory has no conscience. The man who dug that pit tried to warn the clerk of the danger before anyone was injured.’

  ‘So whoever dug the pit didn’t kill Kellagher, Sampson and Blackaby?’

  As that sank home, Eddie nodded slowly. Mac said, ‘So that means that despite the killings all taking place on Jockey Club tracks, today’s disaster wasn’t linked to them? Which then dictates that we have two people doing their best to discredit JCR. Does that seem logical?’

  Eddie sighed and stared at the fire. ‘No, it doesn’t seem logical. I can’t even see the logic in one person attacking the Jockey Club, never mind two.’

  ‘Nor can we. But today took everything that’s happened recently beyond coincidence, don’t you think?’

  ‘I suppose it did. In a way, it strengthened the pattern but kind of broke the mould, if you know what I mean?’

  ‘Eddie, I don’t know what anyone means anymore. And nobody at JCR does either. We haven’t the faintest idea which front to try and defend, because we don’t know what or where the next target will be.’

  Eddie watched him. ‘Any regrets?’ Eddie asked.

  ‘About taking the job?’

  Eddie nodded. He shrugged. ‘Not really. I just thought I might get a few weeks to adjust, to get back up with the pace. You know what I mean. I’m ring-rusty. I feel old.’

  ‘And I guess it’s a much different Jockey Club from the one you worked for all those years ago?’

  ‘Much less restrictive. The stuffed shirts have pretty much all gone. When we lost the responsibility of running racing I was quite despondent. But everything changes, doesn’t it? Lord knows we’ve learned that during this year. But things move much more quickly now at JCR. It’s all commercial, even though they’re non-profit. Everyone seems focused.’

  ‘Well, you can bet they’ll be focused on steadily pushing the blame for what’s happening in your direction.’

  ‘We’ll see. I’ll be no worse off than I was, whatever happens.’

  Eddie got up. ‘Well, you know I’ll help you if I can, Mac.’

  ‘I do,’ he sighed, ‘I do,’ and he got to his feet and followed Eddie to the door.

  They shook hands. ‘Do you think Kempton will go ahead tomorrow?’ Eddie asked.

  He shrugged. ‘They’re working under arc lights just now to see if everything can be made safe. It would be ghastly to lose two days.’

  ‘It would. I’d wish you a good night’s sleep, but somehow I think I’d be wasting my breath.’

  He smiled wearily. ‘Sound sleep’s a distant memory. The demons who don’t get you in daylight, tend to be waiting their turn after dark.’

  50

  Mave and Eddie were at the breakfast table when they heard on the radio that racing at Kempton would go ahead. BBC 5 Live summed up the Boxing Day events there, then introduced Marcus Shear, who picked his way carefully through an interview on behalf of the BHA. No reference was made to Jockey Club Racecourses and Eddie realized that JCR had been the only ones so far to conclude that their tracks alone were being targeted, rather than racing as a sport.

  ‘Coming to Kempton with me?’ Eddie asked Mave.

  ‘I don’t want to jinx the horse I’ve given Sonny. I’ve never been to the track when one of my tips was running.’

  ‘Well maybe you’ll bring some luck with you. Not much point staying here on your own.’

  She played with the slice of toast she’d been pushing around her plate for the last five minutes. ‘I suppose so. I just wish I could get this over with, you know. I wish I could have given Sonny three horses today and shut up shop.’

  ‘Well, if Nina Raine’s willing to take the seventy-five-percenters, you might get it all done and finished before the New Year. Fresh start.’

  ‘It won’t stop me worrying about Sonny.’

  ‘Mave…Sonny’s almost twice your age. Whatever decisions he makes, for whatever reasons, he can live with. You’re not his mother.’

  ‘I know. I know. It’s stupid, and it’s even more stupid that I’ve got this feeling, this wish that everything will still work out all right with him and Nina.’

  Eddie smiled. ‘You were logic personified when I met you. You were a female Mister Spock. Now look at you…from cynic to hopeless romantic.’

  ‘I know how it will end, Eddie. And I didn’t think it would matter much to me. But it does. It will.’

  ‘No matter how many times he comes back for more tips?’

  ‘I’m going to destroy the programme.’

  Eddie looked at her. ‘Completely?’

  ‘Irreversibly.’

  ‘How many years of your life are in it?’

  ‘The journey proved much more enjoyable than the destination. I’ve hated having the responsibility of money. Hated it. It’s not me. I’ve felt as though I’ve been living with a disease.’ She pushed her plate aside and opened her palms on the table and twirled her late mother’s wedding ring on the third finger of her right hand, watching it turn on her skinny finger. She looked up at Eddie. Her eyes did. Her chin stayed low. She said, ‘You know how we are, you and me? We fit together?’

  Eddie nodded.

  ‘Money gives me the opposite feeling. Since I started accumulating more than I need, I’ve never felt right. I thought I’d adjust, but I knew I wouldn’t. I knew I was kidding myself.’

  ‘Fine. Ditch it.’

  ‘I intend to.’

  ‘If it’s making you that unhappy, finish now. Tell Sonny no more after today.’

  ‘No. I’ll see this out.’

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘Sell the house.’

  ‘And move in with me!’ Eddie said with mock excitement.

  She smiled sadly. ‘We need each other too much for that.’

  Eddie opened his hands and slid them across. She put hers in his and their fingers closed with the same gentle pressure until they were linked physically as well as emotionally and spiritually. Eddie stopped himse
lf asking her never to go too far away. Her independence meant as much to him as it did to her.

  At Kempton, Eddie introduced Mave to Dil Grant and the Black Widows syndicate of three. They owned the horse Eddie was riding in the first race, Domacorn. Mave, as ever, wore a thin short jacket and trousers which tried to be tight but were defeated by her boniness. The widows encircled Mave in the windblown paddock, their fake fur coats nestling her as though she were a chick. ‘You must be freezing, you poor soul!’

  Eddie smiled as he caught Mave’s eye above their shoulders. She could do with some mothering. She also needed something to take her mind off the tip she’d given Sonny. It was a grey horse called Stalbridge Colonist and, along with nine others, it was an opponent of Eddie’s in this race.

  Mave had asked if it was all right to give Sonny the selection. She and Eddie had agreed she’d never tip a horse in a race he was riding in. But everything was ending soon, and the tip was the best she could come up with that day. It had hit seventy-two percent on her chart, and she’d warned Sonny of this. But he’d told her not to worry.

  She’d passed on Eddie’s warning too that all was obviously not right at the Jockey Club courses. None of this affected Sonny. He had his “fix”, for Nina. That was all that mattered.

  Eddie’s mount, Domacorn, was having his first run on a right-handed course. Some horses have a preference for racing clockwise; some hate it. It turned out Domacorn didn’t care much for it at all, and never seemed comfortable. He made several early jumping blunders and Eddie considered pulling up for his safety and the horse’s. But he decided to try and nurse him round, to accept they wouldn’t be winning, but to try to give Domacorn a bit more confidence in himself on right-handed tracks.

  With three to jump, they were second last, a long way off the grey, Stalbridge Colonist, who’d led throughout. Eddie took some comfort in the fact that he wouldn’t have to fight head-for-head with Mave’s tip.

  In the straight, from a long way back, Eddie watched the grey increase his lead galloping toward the second-last fence. A winner for Sonny and Nina…he had mixed feelings.