by Joe McNally
‘How old was she?’
’Ten.’
‘Where did she go?’
’She came to me.’
Ben’s eyes dulled and his head went down. I reached to clutch his arm, ‘I’m sorry, mate, that was really thoughtless of me. I’m sorry.’
He nodded slowly and rubbed his face with both hands. He looked up, ‘Want to get some fresh air?’
‘Sure.’
We headed down Melling Road and Ben told me he’d been along here yesterday with Alice, ‘Had to go and see the social worker. Took us fifteen minutes to walk this road and I was nervous. It was the first check on us since I got Alice back and you’d have thought I was the kid and she was the adult the way she was keeping my spirits up…we stopped here.’
We were at the big gates where the Grand National course crossed this highway. On raceday, the road was closed and a special surface laid for the forty runners to gallop over as they headed for the first fence. I’d crossed here on horseback many times. Ben pointed at the outline of the grandstands against the dark sky, ‘I told Alice that’s where we’ll be come National day, the Queen Mother Stand, special guests of Sir Monty Bearak. For once in our lives we’ll be somebody, I said, and Alice went mad.’
He was smiling again as he turned to me, ‘She was poking me in the chest with her finger shouting “you are somebody, Dad! We’re all somebody! Nobody’s any better than anybody else. Just because your friend’s got a Sir before his name, doesn’t make him better than you! Wise up!” Got a proper bloody lecture, so I did.’
‘Deserved, by the sound of it. I’m with Alice. We’re all equal.’
‘In the eyes of God, maybe.’
His sadness was returning, and I took his elbow, ‘Let’s go down to Anchor Bridge. You’re giving me another education here, like walking the canal last time. I’ve galloped across this road lots of times and never thought of it as a road, if you know what I mean, a normal road.’
On cue, truck headlights showed around the bend, then a motorcycle passed us. Ben’s words were drowned out as the truck thundered by. I leant closer, ‘What did you say?’
‘The long and winding road, I said. Talking to myself. Ignore me.’
We walked on in silence. Ben shoved his hands in his pockets, ‘The long and winding road,’ he repeated quietly, and I could think of nothing to comfort him.
19
It was almost midnight when I reached home. I steered the car into the long driveway, and smiled as I saw the old oil lamp burning on the windowsill of The Snug. When darkness fell and I was not home, this had become Mave’s habit. I looked forward to the night I could do the same for her, but she seldom ventured far from the farm.
I found her where I knew she would be, in the tiny workspace on the high-backed chair, right calf tucked under her left thigh. Aside from the oil lamp on the sill, only her PC screen gave light. It was her habit not to look at me when I came home, as though I had never left. The screen kept most of her attention. She said, ‘Home is the sailor, home from the sea, and the hunter home from the hill.’
‘Guided by the light.’
‘And at very cheap rates.’
I put down my bag and stretched and yawned, then went and stood by Mave’s chair, ‘You’re just always going to be a nighthawk, aren’t you?’
‘It’s beginning to look like it. I did try.’
‘You did. That’s true. Want a drink?’
‘No, thanks.’
I poured a whiskey and reached for my laptop and sat by the embers of the last firelogs. Mac had sent me a blown up picture of the frame Vita had asked for. Vogel was wearing a ring. I called out to Mave, ‘What does a silver ring on the wedding finger mean…on a man?’
‘That his wife is tight with money.’
I smiled, ‘Seriously, is there any significance you know of?’
She came to sit beside me, ‘It could be white gold. Why?’
I told her of Vita’s theory. She turned to me, ‘She believes that someone who’s working with his hands all the time among half ton beasts who are very unpredictable would risk pricking himself with whatever it is that’s driving these horses crazy?’
‘Those were my thoughts.’
She lowered her brow, looking accusingly at me under her eyelashes. I cleared my throat and said, ‘Well, they are now.’
She smiled, ’Sounds like Vita’s getting her teeth into this good and proper.’
‘I think she has a short attention span coupled with a desire for…er, frequent stimulation.’
‘Frequent stimulation? Isn’t that Dil’s job, and some would say he is appropriately named for such work.’
‘Dil looked more like a waiter hanging around the breakfast table, anxious not to offend the woman with the shiny credit card. If Prim had been there, maybe it would have helped bring her to her senses.’ I went over my conversation with Prim.
‘That just makes me sad, Eddie. Jeez, look at her, she could do a whole lot better than Dil. I’d bed her myself, were I that way inclined.’
I smiled, ‘Would you, now?’
‘Wouldn’t you?’
She held my gaze. I held my breath, then said quietly, ‘Were I that way inclined…’
’Smart answer, Mister Malloy, smart answer,’ she got up, ‘I’m going back to work. Tell Vita from me she needs to take more water with it, as my dad used to say. Sounds like she’s the last kind of detective you need for this caper.’
‘I’m hoping she’ll pay Ben to do some legwork.’
‘How was he?”
‘Okay. Managed to put my foot in it about Alice, but he held up.’
‘How is Alice?’
‘At a loose end. The devil she’s been chasing has hurried off to hell by the look of it, after Mister Bruno Guta offered him some mature advice.’
‘This DJ character?’
‘That’s him.’
‘Gone?’
‘Disappeared. No stand-in so far. Ben’s hoping Alice will ease off and find another project.’
‘You should invite them for the weekend. You riding on Sunday?’
‘Not at the moment.’
‘Why don’t you take the day off, ask the pair of them up?’
‘Good idea. I’ll give Vita the news about this ring in the morning, and see if she wants Ben to do some digging, then I’ll call him.’
‘Be nice to see Alice. Weather forecast is good, too.’
I got up and went to her, and squeezed her shoulders. She reached back to put a hand on mine.
‘I’m going to bed,’ I said, ‘the comforting clicking of your keyboard will be the soundtrack to my slumbers.’
‘Slumbers is a good word. One I don’t hear much these days, and all the better when I do.’
‘Has a kind of reassuring weight to it, hasn’t it?’
‘A heft. A harmonious heft.’
‘Good night,’ I went to the window to blow out the lamp.
‘Just leave it burning, Eddie.’
I looked at her and she stopped typing and turned to me, and said, ‘For the lost souls.’
20
Next morning, I called Dil to ask if he’d be at Warwick in the afternoon. I had three rides there, two of them for Dil, but trainers don’t always attend the track when they have runners.
‘I’ll be there.’ Dil said.
‘You sound like you’re still under pressure.’
‘When am I anything else?’
‘Vita coming with you today?’
‘Yes.’
His tone had tightened a notch. ‘Is Vita there now?’ I asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Well, I’d best let you go. If you keep barking out one-word answers she’s going to know we’re talking about her. See you later.’
‘Okay.’
I heard Vita say something. Dil said, ‘Eddie! Eddie, you still there?’
‘I’m still here.’
‘Did you manage to get hold of those blown up photos?’
&nbs
p; ‘Mac sent them last night, but they’re what he would call inconclusive, and what I would call useless.’
‘Could you bring them to Warwick?’
I sighed, ‘Dil, I only have them on email.’
‘You can print them off, can’t you?’
I pictured him looking at Vita as he spoke and imagined her nodding approvingly.
‘I can print them, but they’ll probably look even worse.’
‘We’ll see. It’ll do no harm.’
At Warwick, Vita was waiting for me at the door of the weighing room. Normally, she’d go to her private box and leave the running around to Dil. She wore a camel coat and a bright, multi-coloured scarf, the first time I’d seen her on track dressed in anything but black. She offered a cheek and I kissed her, ‘No black?’
‘Thought I’d try and change our luck.’
‘Well, no better place. Racing put the super in superstition. Where’s Dil?’
‘Gone looking for your friend, McCarthy.’
‘Mac’s here?’
‘I don’t know. But he should be, don’t you think? His concentration ought to be on finding out who’s interfering with our horses.’
I bit back my instinctive response, ‘Mac will have something in mind, I’m sure.’
‘I hope so. Did you bring those pictures?’
I set my bag on the wooden rail and drew the big envelope from the side pocket, expecting her to rip it open and pull out a magnifying glass. But she slid the envelope under her arm and said, ‘I’ll take a close look at them in the box.’
‘Fine. I’d best go and get changed for the first.’
‘Did you see who the assistant starter is?’
‘Jon Vogel.’
She nodded down toward the envelope, ‘Is he wearing a ring in these pictures?’
‘He seems to be.’
She smiled, ‘Do you think you could somehow try and get a closer look today, especially at the inside?’
‘Of the ring?’
She nodded, gazing at me, warming again, the way she had yesterday as her mind strung things together in the order that excited her most.
I said, ‘Let me think about it.’
‘You’re creative and persuasive, Eddie. You’ll find a way.’
I said, ‘I’ll see you in the parade ring,’ and I followed Bomber Harries through the door. As it swung closed, Vita called out, ‘Maybe a left handed high five!’
Bomber looked at me quizzically. ‘Don’t ask,’ I said.
I cantered to the start more quickly than usual, keen to be there to see all the girth checks. Vogel moved among us in his usual efficient manner. Girth checks were always done with his right hand. I watched to see if he ever put it in his pocket. He didn’t.
He came toward me, smiling. It was the first time I’d taken a proper look at him. He reminded me of the actor Philip Seymour Hoffman. He smiled, ‘Eddie.’
‘Jon.’
‘Try and stay on this one, will you?’ he laughed, as he twanged the girth, then slapped the grey’s rump with his left hand.
‘Glued myself to the saddle this time,’ I said, ‘That’s why I got to the start first, give it plenty of time to dry.’ He wore his watch with the face by the heel of his hand. I said, ‘Can’t be long till the off now, can it? What’s the time?’
He turned his wrist. I tried to see the inside of the silver ring, but his fingers curled over it. He said, ‘Two minutes to go.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Good luck,’ he strode toward the next horse. There were three left to check. He rump-slapped the last of them, the favourite. I made a mental note to check the order he’d gone round in at Bangor and Cheltenham.
I had seven rivals and an idea. As we walked toward the starting gate, line abreast I said to the others, ‘I’m going to lead until he runs out of gas, just in case he takes off. No point putting anyone else in danger.’
A couple grunted their thanks. One said ‘Good man!’ The starter let us go and I set off a couple of lengths clear of my nearest pursuer.
With a circuit left to run, they remained content to sit behind me and I steadily increased my lead to three lengths, then I cried out ‘Ahhh!’ and kicked the gelding on, crouching low to drive him for a dozen strides. He took fright and set off, and I stood theatrically as though fighting with him, then bent low again for a few seconds before standing once more, and with three to jump I glanced round to find myself fifteen lengths clear.
I was in full control and the horse wasn’t going too fast for this stage of the race, but the others had done what I’d hoped and sat back to stay out of trouble, expecting him to veer off and run out. As we went toward the last, I looked round again to see a lot of very busy jockeys and I laughed out loud as we galloped home to a ten length victory.
They called me a few names as we walked back toward the enclosures, but it was all good natured. They knew they’d been conned, and respected someone who’d outwitted them.
Unusually, Vita came to meet us. She rarely led her horses back in, preferring to let Dil do that. Laughing, she wagged a finger at me then clasped the rein, ‘Very clever, Eddie, though Dil almost had a heart attack.’
Dil’s jaw muscles were working like a strong pulse. I knew what was really wrong. He wouldn’t have been able to admit it to Vita, but he walked with me toward the weighing room as Vita stayed behind chatting to the few who were congratulating her.
Dil gripped my arm, ‘Why the fuck didn’t you tell me you were going to do that?’
‘Because I didn’t know.’
‘He was sixteen to one! I could have got all my losses back!’
I stopped and flexed my forearm muscle against his grip. He eased his fingers loose. I turned and stared at him, ‘Dil, I only got the idea after Vogel had spoken to me. And I didn’t know if it would work.’
‘You stole the race!’
‘I did. And if I’d said to you before I went out that I was going to try that, would you have rushed off to have three or four grand on?’
The fire left his eyes. His posture slumped and he looked much smaller. I said. ‘Would you even have had three hundred quid on?’
He looked at the ground, ‘Probably not.’
I waited. He kept staring at his shoes. I said, ‘Dil, look at me.’
He raised his head. I said, ’You’ve trapped yourself. You’re behaving like a cornered animal, snapping at everything and everyone. You got yourself into the trap. You chose Vita. You chose money. You chose to give up control. Deal with it, or get back to your old self.’
‘Easy for you to say.’
‘Easy for you to fix, Dil.’
‘It’s not easy! It might be obvious, but it’s not easy!’
He was heating up again. Pointless wasting any more breath trying to cool him off. I said, ‘For you? No, I suppose it isn’t,’ I walked away. He called after me, ’Vita wants a meeting after the last!’
‘Fine. She knows where to find me.’
21
The meeting was in Vita’s private box. The glass front was bigger than my picture window, but all it showed as I walked in was the deepening dusk over an empty track. If you squinted hard you could see the trail of hoofprints in the turf beside the winning post.
Dil sat opposite Vita. She turned and dismissed the last member of catering staff and watched the door swing slowly closed behind him.
She looked at me, ‘I got hold of Peter McCarthy on the phone.’
I nodded, ‘Good.’
‘He was in London. I wanted to leave him in no doubt that we simply won’t allow this to slip below the BHA’s radar. They need to do something.’
It had taken me years to learn that it’s always best to humour people who believe they’re right about something. Whichever way you steer them, whatever evidence you produce, it never matters. But I wouldn’t be able to stand months of this. ‘What did Mac say?’ I asked.
‘That they were very much aware of the importance of finding out what has
happened in these three cases.’
She seemed pleased. I said, ‘Mac’s one of the good guys. I’ve known him for years, and he’ll do his best, but nobody’s best will be good enough. Nobody at the BHA at any rate. They struggle to keep tabs on the day to day stuff. When something like this comes up, they just try to look calm and they pray.’
‘For what?’ Vita asked.
‘For somebody to call and offer to trade information. For an angry man who might want revenge, or to take out a rival. For something to come up.’
‘I thought they employed investigators?’
‘They do. Just not enough of them for something like this. And those they’ve got are plodders. They wouldn’t know where to start.’
She looked at Dil as though all this were his fault. She turned back to me, ‘What about you?’
‘What about me?’
‘These people, these criminals have put your life in danger.’
‘Collateral damage. Nothing personal.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Because they bet Spalpeen. It’s money they’re after. And I also think they might be trying to perfect whatever they’re doing in order to protect the jockey and the horse. Or maybe the horse and the jockey, depending on their priorities.’
‘Why do you think that?’
‘Because when Montego Moon took off, she ran straight until a fence got in her way. The other two were steered somehow around the jumps and along the flat part of the track.’
‘You’re making it sound as though they’ve been fitted with some sort of remote control.’
'Maybe they have. When you last crossed the Atlantic, you were sitting in a comfortable chair, thirty thousand feet up watching a movie or using the internet. I wouldn’t put it beyond somebody to have come up with a high tech way to make a dumb animal do what they want.’
She straightened in her chair, seeming to narrow as her shoulders tightened and her neck stretched, and her blonde hair topped her off like some kind of pointed beacon of superiority. ‘Don’t patronize me, Eddie.’
I sighed loud and long then bent forward to bang my forehead lightly on the table three times. I got up, and slid the chair in, ‘I’m going home. No doubt you’ll talk about me when I’ve gone. Include in that conversation whether you still want me to ride for you or not, and text me or email me or something. If you decide you still want me as your stable jockey, then I’ll ride your horses. You sort out all the other shit. If you’d prefer me to sort out the other shit, let me know.’