by Damien Boyd
Louise came running down the terraces of the Portman Stand.
‘He’s not in there either.’
‘Ring Dave and get him to check the Orchard Stand. There’s a restaurant in the back too, I think.’
Jane rang Dave and passed on the instructions.
Dixon watched the horses in the Parade Ring to his right. They were getting ready for the start of the 2.05pm. Westbrook Warrior was the biggest by some margin. His jockey wore green and gold stripes and certainly looked the part. Dixon missed the announcement of Best Turned Out but thought it could well have been the Warrior.
He could see the others that ran in the 1.35pm in the Unsaddling Enclosure being washed down and rugged up.
‘They look bloody tired,’ he said.
‘So would you if you’d just run two miles,’ said Jane.
‘True.’
Dixon waited for a call from Dave Harding. The on course commentator announced that the horses were making their way out to the start on the far side of the course. The Betting Ring began to clear as the spectators started to make their way back to the terraces to watch the race. Dixon could see a marshal sliding the rail back into place, blocking off the crossing point. He passed the binoculars to Jane.
‘Keep an eye out for Mayhew.’
Jane began scanning the spectators standing along the rail. Her phone rang.
‘That was Dave. No sign.’
‘Shit.’
‘They’re under starters orders...’
‘For fuck’s sake.’
‘There they are,’ shouted Jane.
‘They’re off.’
‘Where?’ asked Dixon.
The commentator was in full flow, following the race. ‘Westbrook Warrior’s on the rail, two lengths clear as they come to the first flight...’
‘They’ve come out of the hospitality suites and are walking across to the rail over there,’ said Jane, pointing.
Dixon looked through the binoculars. He saw Mayhew walking with his wife, Mary, towards the crossing point. He was carrying a glass of champagne and she a glass tumbler, probably a gin and tonic. Both were wearing tweed. They were arm in arm and presented a picture of marital bliss, which struck Dixon as odd. Appearances can be deceptive, he thought. Or was it something else?
‘Jane, let Dave and Mark know, will you? Tell them to stand clear off to the left at the end of Betting Ring.’
Jane took out her mobile phone.
‘Louise, tell uniform to block the road and the car park.’
‘...and as they come past the grandstands for the first time, Westbrook Warrior is five lengths clear from Daytime Blues and Gladbig in third...’
Dixon heard the pounding of the horses’ hooves and looked across to see them go past. He could hear the spectators along the rail, the Mayhews included, shouting encouragement.
‘Dave and Mark are moving in,’ said Jane.
‘And the road’s blocked,’ said Louise.
‘Right, you two over by the finishing post there. That tower thing. And make sure they don’t see you, Jane.’
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘Let’s do it then.’
Dixon walked quickly across the concourse towards Brian and Mary Mayhew. They were leaning on the outer rail, drinks in hand. Dixon could see Dave and Mark on the rail to their left. Jane and Louise were by the finishing post to the right.
‘...with one circuit still to go, Westbrook Warrior is now ten lengths clear of Gladbig in second...’
Dixon stood five paces directly behind Mayhew. He waited.
‘...as they come past the grandstand for the final time, Westbrook Warrior is twenty lengths clear of the field and looking comfortable...’
He could hear the Mayhews cheering as Westbrook Warrior went past. What had struck Dixon as odd before now hit him square in the face. Mary Mayhew was no more drunk now than she had been when they met her at Ferndale House. Half a bottle of wine on the kitchen table. It had been a convincing act. He wondered who the driving force of the marriage was as he reached for Noel’s phone and rang the unregistered pay as you go number.
Dixon could hear the phone ringing in Mayhew’s pocket only a few paces in front of him. The ringtone was different. No bell this time. Instead Dixon recognised the default Nokia ringtone.
Brian Mayhew was leaning over the rail and looking to his right, waiting for Westbrook Warrior to come off the bend in the distance and onto the home straight for the final time. The blood drained from his face. Mary Mayhew stared at his jacket pocket as he took the phone out and looked at the screen. Dixon could see Brian Mayhew’s hand shaking as he placed the phone to his ear. Mayhew looked at his wife. He opened his mouth to speak but said nothing. He shook his head. Mary Mayhew appeared frozen to the spot.
Dixon rang off. Mayhew turned to his right and looked straight at Dixon. Mary Mayhew turned to her left and saw Dixon. Her face contorted into a picture of pure hatred. She turned back to her husband, who was still staring at Dixon. In one movement, she smashed her glass on the rail to her right and thrust the broken piece into the left side of her husband’s neck. Then she twisted it.
Blood began pumping from Brian Mayhew’s neck. He dropped his glass and clutched his throat with both hands. Mary Mayhew stepped back as Brian Mayhew dropped to his knees and fell backwards. Blood began pouring from his mouth as he coughed and spluttered. Dixon took his jacket off and ran forward. He shouted across to Jane.
‘Get an ambulance. And the first aider.’
‘...as they come off the final bend Westbrook Warrior is sixty lengths clear with two flights to go...’
He wrapped his jacket around Mayhew’s neck in an attempt to stem the flow of blood. Mayhew was gurgling and crying at the same time. Air bubbles formed in the blood in his mouth. Each time he coughed Dixon was sprayed with blood as he held his jacket around Mayhew’s neck.
Dave Harding arrived.
‘It’s got the carotid artery, Dave. Hold this and see if you can stem the flow.’
‘...Westbrook Warrior lands the final hurdle still sixty lengths clear...’
Dixon looked over his shoulder. Mary Mayhew had disappeared. He saw movement to his right. She had gone under the rails and was standing on the course directly in Westbrook Warrior’s path as he came up on the stand side. Her arms were outstretched, tears streaming down her face.
Dixon looked back down the course. Westbrook Warrior was no more than a hundred yards away and going full pelt for the finish line. Dixon ducked under the rail, ran forward and threw himself on Mary Mayhew. Both of them crashed to the ground. Mary Mayhew was lying face down. Dixon was lying on top of her. He could hear the thunder of Westbrook Warrior’s hooves as the horse approached.
Dixon closed his eyes and put his hands over his head. He could hear the on course commentator in the distance and Mary Mayhew sobbing. He felt the ground vibrating beneath him, as the horse got nearer. Then silence. He opened his eyes and looked to the right just in time to see a pair of aluminium racing plates sailing over his head. He waited. Westbrook Warrior landed on the other side.
‘Good lad,’ thought Dixon.
He looked back down the course. The chasing pack was still over a hundred yards away. Dixon took his chance. He jumped up, grabbed Mary Mayhew by the coat and dragged her back under the railings. They got clear by the narrowest of margins just as Gladbig crossed the line in second place.
Dixon fell back onto the tarmac concourse. He looked up. A crowd had gathered around the scene. He could see Dave Harding standing over Brian Mayhew. He looked at Dixon and shook his head. Jane ran over and handcuffed Mary Mayhew.
‘Mary Mayhew, I’m arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Brian Mayhew...’
‘And Noel Woodman,’ said Dixon.
‘He was blackmailing him. And Brian was too spineless to do anything about it.’
When she spoke, the image of a rattlesnake spitting venom flashed across Dixon’s mind. He nodded to Jane.
‘Mary
Mayhew, I’m arresting you on suspicion of the murders of Brian Mayhew and Noel Woodman. You do not have to say anything but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something that you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’
‘I told him I’d kill him if his sordid little secret ever came out. He laughed at me. Well, he’s not laughing now is he?’
More venom.
A siren drowned out the on course commentary.
‘Ambulance’s on its way, Sir,’ said Jane.
‘Bit late,’ replied Dixon. ‘Get her out of here.’
‘Yes, Sir.’
Mark Pearce and Louise led Mary Mayhew away to a waiting police car. Jane helped Dixon to his feet.
‘What the bloody hell were you playing at?’
‘A horse will never tread on a human if it can avoid it, Jane,’ said Dixon, brushing the mud off his trousers.
‘How do you know that?’
‘Saw it on a John Wayne film once. Can’t remember which one.’
‘Idiot.’
‘Thank you, Constable.’
‘How’s the shoulder?’
‘Fine.’
They watched as Brian Mayhew was placed on a stretcher and the blanket pulled over his face. The paramedics carried him over to the waiting ambulance.
‘He never even got to see his horse win,’ said Dave Harding.
‘What on earth is going on?’
Simon and Jean Somerville were trying to push through the crowd, which was being dispersed by uniformed officers and racecourse marshals.
‘What’s happened to Brian and Mary?’
‘Sort them out, will you, Dave?’
‘Yes, Sir.’
Dixon looked over to where Brian Mayhew had died. The white railings were dripping with blood and the sand on the crossing was stained deep red. He had seen too much blood stained sand recently.
The tannoy crackled into life.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, we regret to announce that due to an incident, racing for the day is abandoned. Please make your way home safely and your tickets will remain valid for the next meeting. Thank you.’
Dixon sat on the metal steps leading up to the finishing post. He was covered in mud and blood. Jane sat next to him.
‘I’ve got the local lot getting names and addresses.’
‘Good thinking,’ said Dixon. ‘There’ll be no shortage of witnesses.’
‘Plenty of camera footage as well, don’t forget,’ said Jane.
Dixon shook his head.
‘Fancy dying live on Channel 4...’
Twelve
Dixon and Jane arrived back at Bridgwater Police Station to find a large crowd gathered around the television in the corner of the CID Room. They were watching BBC News24. Nobody noticed them arrive, so they crept into Dixon’s office and closed the door. Dixon leaned back in his chair in the dark and closed his eyes.
There was a knock at the door. It was DCI Lewis.
‘Staying out of the limelight?’ he asked, switching on the light.
‘I don’t feel much like celebrating, Sir.’
‘Why not? It’s all over the TV news...’
‘It was an arrest that went wrong...’
‘Rubbish. How could you possibly have known his own wife was going to do that?’
Dixon looked out of the window. He had known Mary Mayhew had not been as drunk as she made out when he had met her at Ferndale House the day before. And the marital bliss at the racecourse had been an act. But that was it. He turned back to DCI Lewis.
‘I didn’t know she was going to do that, no.’
‘There you are then. Don’t beat yourself up about it.’
‘Thank you, Sir.’
Dixon knew he wouldn’t do that. But he still didn’t feel like celebrating either.
He spent the afternoon interviewing Mary Mayhew. She confessed to both killings, which made for a short interview, at least as far as double murders go. It had not been the money. What Noel had demanded was ‘small change’, as she put it. No, she had suffered what she regarded as the ultimate betrayal by her husband, with public humiliation soon to be heaped on top, and she had exacted her revenge. Dixon got the distinct impression that she found the public humiliation the harder to bear. And she was clearly proud of what she had done.
A thorough search of Ferndale House was undertaken that same afternoon. A horse shoe and the charred remains of a cricket bat handle were found in an old oil drum used for burning garden rubbish at the bottom of the orchard, just as Mrs Mayhew said they would be. Brian Mayhew’s computer had been seized and was on its way to the High Tech Unit for examination.
It was just after 5.30pm when Mary Mayhew was charged with the murders of Noel Woodman and Brian Mayhew. Dixon was surprised when she began to sob as the charges were read to her by the Custody Sergeant. Perhaps the full implications of what she had done had hit home. No more horse racing and champagne.
Dixon and Jane watched her being led back to the cells.
‘But for a chance meeting in the Zalshah, she’d have got away with it,’ said Jane.
‘And Brian Mayhew would still be alive...’
‘You heard what Lewis said?’
‘I did.’
‘What do we do now?’ asked Jane.
‘Exeter Prison.’
‘Jon Woodman?’
‘I’ve got to tell him that his brother wasn’t a well intentioned whistleblower after all. Just a blackmailer.’
‘Nice.’
‘Give me five minutes.’
Dixon sat at his desk and rang DCS Collyer. Voicemail. Dixon left a message.
‘This is Nick Dixon, Sir. Bridgwater CID. We talked about the horse lorries at Gidley’s Racing Stables being used to import drugs. On the roof of the large blue one is a storage box. It’s full of spare saddles according to Hesp. But they’re not racing saddles. Racing saddles are flat pads. These are old dressage and jumping saddles. You’ll find the drugs stitched into the panels.’
Dixon stood in the doorway of his office.
‘There are going to be sixteen racehorse owners looking for a new trainer very soon.’
Jane smiled.
‘C’mon, let’s get out of here.’
Two days later, Dixon was sitting at home flicking through the channels on his new television. He had a new DVD player too but, much to Jane’s relief, had not yet replaced his film collection.
‘I’m off to see my parents. Back about fiveish,’ said Jane.
‘Ok,’ replied Dixon, without looking away from the screen.
He continued flicking through the channels and landed on Channel 4 Racing. He watched the 12.35pm from Haydock, followed by the 12.50pm from Lingfield. He looked at Monty sitting on the sofa next to him.
‘What d’you think, matey?’
Dixon reached for his laptop and powered it up. Then he opened Internet Explorer and logged in to Bet29.com.
He could feel his credit card burning a hole in his back pocket.
As The Crow Flies
Damien Boyd
Detective Inspector Nick Dixon’s former climbing partner, Jake Fayter, is dead. Killed in a fall whilst practising a new route on High Rock, Cheddar Gorge. Convinced that Jake would not have made such a simple mistake, Nick Dixon starts digging and uncovers a web of intrigue and criminal activity that will rock the sleepy seaside town of Burnham-on-Sea to its core.
As the body count rises, Dixon is forced to break every rule in the book and put his own life on the line to bring the killer out into the open.
A fast paced crime thriller that will leave you gasping for breath, As The Crow Flies is a spine tingling introduction for DI Nick Dixon and a spectacular debut novel from crime fiction writer, Damien Boyd.
To buy As The Crow Flies, click here
Head In The Sand
Damien Boyd
The discovery of a severed head in a bunker on Burnham and Berrow golf course triggers a frantic race to
find a serial killer that brings the seaside town of Burnham-on-Sea to a standstill.
When the connection is made with a series of unsolved murders over thirty years before, Detective Inspector Nick Dixon finds himself chasing ghosts from the past in a race against time that takes him the length and breadth of the country.
The brutal killing of an elderly man in a flat on Burnham seafront raises the stakes and, as he closes in, Dixon begins to question whether he is chasing one serial killer or two...
A fast paced crime thriller and the second in the DI Nick Dixon Crime Series, Head In The Sand follows on from As The Crow Flies, which has been described as 'gripping'.
To buy Head In The Sand, click here
Table of Contents
Prologue
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve