Murder at the Races

by Carmen Radtke

  ‘And if there’s any way to remind the stable hand that the horse needs to be walked for a bit longer, and to make sure he does only get a small amount of water to drink? The water mustn’t be too cold.’

  ‘Yeah, and while you’re at it, bring me a cold beer and scratch my bum, will ya, ‘cause I got me an itch,’ the man in the neighbouring cell yelled.

  The guard raised a fist. ‘I’ve had it up to here with you, matey. You got any more things to say, you tell ’em to our sergeant. He’ll cool your itch for you alright.’ He gave Rob a thumbs up.

  Rob expelled his breath. He’d have to put his faith in the man. Or in Mum’s lodger. He’d caught a glimpse of Phil Anderson when they brought him in, but Phil had quickly looked the other way. Still, at least there was someone he knew. Uncle Sal and Frances would soon enough find out what had happened to him.

  A sob rose in his throat. What exactly had happened? Thus far he hadn’t been told what he was accused of.

  Chapter Five

  ‘What is Rob accused of?’ Frances clung to her sanity with all her might. Uncle Sal had taken her home straight away, after that first horrible moment at the phone exchange. He’d insisted she sit down on the sofa and put her feet up, while he made a pot of tea.

  Uncle Sal pulled a leather-covered flask out of his cardigan pocket and poured them both a small amount of brandy. ‘Murder,’ he said, sitting down next to her.

  She closed her eyes. ‘No. That’s impossible.’

  ‘I know that, love, and you know that. The police don’t. All they have to work with is a dead blacksmith who ended up with a bashed-in head after recognising a novice horse as a former winner. That’s mighty fishy alright.’

  ‘But what’s Rob got to do with it?’

  ‘I can’t tell you that, love.’ He smoothed back her hair and took her face in his hands. ‘Phil will tell us soon enough. We’ll just have to wait for him.’

  ‘Phil! Of course. He can help us.’ She sank against Uncle Sal’s shoulder. ‘If only Jack were here.’

  ‘He’ll soon be back. On more day, and you can phone him up in New Zealand.’ He rocked her like a small child. ‘All we have to do is keep our wits about us and everything will be fine.’

  She attempted a smile. ‘Can I have another brandy?’

  ‘A wee tot,’ he said. ‘But first we need to ring up your mum before she reads the paper.’

  ‘Oh my God. Do you think there will be articles about the murder outside of Adelaide? We have to break it to Lucy.’

  ‘Let’s leave that to your mum, love.’ He patted her hand. His usually sparkling brown eyes had clouded over with concern.

  She pressed his hand. ‘What do I say?’

  ‘The truth. That there’s been a murder at the racecourse, Rob is implied, but he’ll soon enough be cleared. Maggie’s the daughter and sister of policemen, Frances. She’ll trust in the course of justice.’

  Uncle Sal was right, Mum had taken it better than expected, and she had promised to phone up Lucy with the horrible news. Better yet, instead of insisting on rushing back to be at Rob’s side she’d let herself be convinced that, if she didn’t want to stay put, Lucy and Rob Jnr would need her most.

  Frances’s stomach rumbled. Darkness set in fast, and still no sign of Phil. ‘He isn’t avoiding us, is he?’ she asked Uncle Sal.

  ‘Who, Phil? Why should he? You know that he comes home at all odd hours, or maybe he has dropped in at the club for a bit.’ He put his hand on her shoulder. ‘Calm down, love. We’ll have a bite, and then we wait, even if it takes all night.’

  She shivered, as much from the cold as from emotional exhaustion. Uncle Sal pulled the folded sofa throw out from under her feet on the stool and wrapped it around her.

  ‘I’ll light the fire, and then I’ll make us some sandwiches,’ he said. ‘Starving isn’t going to help Rob.’

  She nodded.

  They ate in silence. Every sound was magnified in the stillness of the room, so that she could distinguish every crackling spark in the fireplace. The burning blue gum gave off a comforting smell.

  Uncle Sal rekindled the fire for the second time when the sound of a car going onto the driveway to the back of the house set Frances’s heart racing. She sat up straight, shaking all over.

  Uncle Sal limped to the back door. ‘Phil?’

  ‘Give me ten minutes, okay?’ came the muffled reply. These minutes lasted a lifetime.

  Phil finally entered the sitting room, carrying two suitcases.

  Frances’s voice caught in her throat. ‘You’re not leaving, are you?’

  He gave her a pitying look. ‘I’m sorry, Franny, but I can’t stay here, the way it is with your brother.’ He sat down on an armchair. ‘I’m really sorry.’

  ‘The boy is innocent, Phil,’ Uncle Sal said. A hint of steel gleamed in his eyes.

  Phil said, ‘Possible. I wouldn’t know.’ He raked his fingers through his brilliantined hair, making it stand on end. Grey shadows lined his eyes. ‘This isn’t easy for me either.”

  ‘You said you don’t know if Rob’s innocent,” Frances said. Every word was an effort. ‘Please, at least tell us what you do know. You owe us that much.’

  Uncle Sal sat next to her, facing Phil with an unflinching stare. ‘She’s right, and it can’t hurt you, can it?’

  ‘Do we have a beer? Or something a bit stronger? I could do with a drink.’

  Uncle Sal flung him the key to the sideboard. ‘I got a bottle of whisky in there. Frances and I’ve still got our glasses.’

  ‘Right-ho.’ Phil got up and made a step towards Frances, before he turned around to get the whisky. He poured himself two inches high, gulped it down, and refilled his glass.

  ‘Don’t forget about us,’ Uncle Sal said.

  Phil filled their glasses as well, with a generous dose for Uncle Sal and a splash for Frances.

  He sat down and stared at his drink. ‘This morning, around 7.30, someone noticed that Adam Brockton, Brocky to his friends, hadn’t turned up for work. A stable hand was sent out to rouse him and found him in his room. His head had been bashed in with a horseshoe, but he’d been dead already, killed with an overdose of horse tranquiliser and digitalin. He must have been asleep when the murderer injected the needle, rolled Brocky over and buried the syringe under his body.’

  ‘That’s why you arrested Rob.’ Uncle Sal rubbed his chin. The first stubble poked through the skin, white and black interspersed, Frances noticed.

  ‘But that’s crazy,’ she said. ‘Why should my brother murder a blacksmith?’

  ‘Have you ever heard about painted horses?’ he said.

  A faint memory stirred in her head. ‘Didn’t Jack mention them, Uncle Sal? But it’s all a bit fuzzy.’

  ‘It’s a bit like a fake passport,’ Uncle Sal said. ‘You pass off an experienced horse with a good chance of winning as a novice, or another horse that usually crawls home long after the others have had their nose-bag. It’s all about manipulating the odds, right?’

  ‘That’s it.’

  ‘I understand that part,’ Frances said, ‘but I still don’t see what that’s got to do with Rob.’

  ‘Franny, all the animals get a look-over from the vet. They may look pretty much all the same when you see them on the course, but up close? And then there’s markings and such.’ Phil paused.

  ‘I’m sorry, Franny, but Alfie, the gelding that Brocky made a song about when you were at the races, had been painted. And he had presumably just won a race with big odds at the same racecourse where Rob and the blacksmith met.’

  Uncle Sal rubbed his eyes. ‘That doesn’t look good.’

  ‘No. Add to that the fact that Brocky was killed with things from Rob’s bag, and that we found a betting slip for the race in case in his room that would have netted him fifty pounds, and it looks pretty conclusive.’

  Frances shook her head. ‘No. It’s all a lie.’

  Uncle Sal pulled her close. ‘So, where are you going now, Phil?�
�

  ‘The inspector found me a room in a boarding house.’

  At least he had the grace to look embarrassed, Frances thought. ‘So that’s it. My brother’s in trouble, and you’re off.’

  ‘What else do you expect me to do?’

  ‘Stay.’ Her voice trembled. ‘Help us.’

  ‘Hush, love.’ Uncle Sal stroked her hand. ‘We can’t blame Phil for moving out. He can’t very well lodge with the family of a potential murderer. It would make him look crooked, and us too.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Frances,’ Phil said again. ‘I wish things were different, but they’re not. All I can say is, I hope we’ll meet again.’ He made a curious pause. ‘There’s always the Top Note and Dolores. It’s good to have a chat with old mates, eh, Uncle Sal.’

  ‘Yes.’ Uncle Sal blew out his breath. ‘We’ll catch up with you, no worries. One other thing, before you leave. Can you arrange for us to see the boy? And should we take him anything, clothes, shaving tackle?’

  ‘I made sure we packed up his gear and sent it along after him. As for a visit, maybe I can fix something for the day after tomorrow. And, Frances?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I gave the reporters his name as Theodore R Palmer, from Queensland, so that should give him some anonymity.’ He smoothed down his unruly hair. ‘Why doesn’t he use his first name?’

  ‘He hates it. When we were kids, one of our neighbours had a big slobbering bulldog named Teddy, and an elderly lady owned a poodle called Theo.’ Frances blinked back tears. ‘Can you imagine, one man constantly yelling, Teddy youse daftie, and the lady cooing, Theo lovie. It’s been Rob ever since.’

  ‘Yeah. I can see that.’

  Phil got up and held out his hand, first to Frances who touched it briefly, then to Uncle Sal who shook it hard. ‘No hard feelings? I’m only doing my job.’

  ‘Sure,’ Uncle Sal said. Frances nodded.

  They both looked after Phil as he walked out of the house.

  ‘You look all in, love,’ Uncle Sal said after a long pause. ‘What do you say, we turn in for tonight? Try to sleep, and tomorrow we’ll talk to Jack and see what we three can cook up together.’

  She must have dropped off as soon as her head touched the pillow, but her dreams were filled with faceless men, chasing her on horseback, with gigantic hypodermic needles in one hand.

  Uncle Sal looked at her with concern as she dragged herself into the kitchen. He’d already prepared a pot of tea and buttered toast.

  ‘You look fit to drop, love. Why don’t you phone in sick and crawl back to bed? I’ll bring you up a tray.’

  ‘Thanks, Uncle Sal, but no. I’ll be fine, and I need something to occupy my mind or I’ll go crazy.’ She took a slice of toast and forced herself to take a bite, and then another one, until she’d managed to eat it completely. Her stomach still felt a bit queasy but not too bad.

  ‘Can you ring the police headquarter and found out where – where he is, and when we can see him? And ask them if he needs money, or food …’ The tears she’d held back since the moment she woke up, welled up in force. ‘Oh, Uncle Sal, what are we going to do?’

  ‘Easy enough,’ he said, wiping her wet cheek with his handkerchief. ‘Find out who’s behind all this and bring the boy home. With your wits and mine and Jack’s against our unknown villain, what could go wrong? And we’ve got our secret ally in Phil.’

  ‘Do we? To me it sounded as if he couldn’t wait to wash his hands of us.’

  ‘Frances, he as good as said to come talk to him at the Top Note, where we can do so in privacy. Here.’ He handed her his handkerchief and refilled their cups. ‘I’ll pick you up after work. If you need me sooner, just give me a bell, will you?’

  Keeping her mind on her job was a constant struggle, but at least it gave her something to do, apart from fretting. She’d bought the newspaper on her way to work, from the sunken-cheeked man at the corner who had five children, a wife and elderly parents to support. And he was one of the luckier ones.

  Every day there seemed to be more men and women roaming the streets, with worn-out clothes, hungry faces and dead eyes. Fifty pounds! You could live on that for months. No wonder the police believed without questioning that Rob would commit a crime to lay his hands on that much money.

  The light bulbs on the switchboard flashed. Without thinking, she answered, plugged in the jacks to connect the call, and switched off again. At least Phil had been true to his word. The Advertiser had a lurid report about the horseshoe murder, as they called it, committed for the sake of greed. The heroic police had acted fast and held now in its cell a suspect, the cold-blooded veterinary surgeon, Theodore Palmer from Queensland.

  A blurred photograph accompanied the article, of a man being pushed into a police vehicle. A burly officer half-covered his body, and the hat shaded his face. No-one would have recognised Rob from this picture.

  The lights flashed again; back to duty.

  Five minutes before her shift ended, Mr Gibbons crept into the room, trying hard to be as quiet as he could. Frances gave him a questioning glance as she finally got through to the operator in Dubbo. Long distance calls could be tricky. With so many switchboards involved it was like a relay race, relying on the baton not being dropped.

  Her hand trembled as she took off the headset. ‘Yes, Mr Gibbons? Is anything the matter?’ Please, she prayed silently, let him not have made the connection with my brother from the story in the newspaper. Or the radio. She’d forgotten about the radio. What if they had mentioned Rob’s full name? Sweat formed on her forehead.

  ‘I wanted to thank you for the tickets,’ he said. ‘You’ve made me and my wife very happy.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear that.’

  ‘Oh yes, indeed.’ He cleared his throat. ‘There’s one other thing though.’

  Her heart missed a beat.

  ‘When you asked for a few days off before the show, I said I’d look into it.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I’m sorry to say I couldn’t make it the whole time, but if it suits you, you could have your last shift in two days, and start again the Monday after the show. You’ve worked enough extra hours to cover most of that, so you’ll only have to give up three days of annual leave.’ He peered at her with concern. ‘You do look as if you could with a bit of a rest. Don’t work yourself too hard, my dear.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘It has been a busy few days, but I’ll be fine.’

  Clara opened the door. ‘Hello Mr Gibbons. Off you go, Franny. Your Uncle Sal’s already waiting for you.’ A faint pink flushed her cheeks. ‘He asked me save him a spot on my dance card. Doesn’t he just have the loveliest manners?’

  ‘Well, Clara, I reckon I’d better ask you for a dance too before you’re all booked up,” Mr Gibbons said, with a twinkle in his eyes.

  ‘Ooh.’ Clara’s eyes widened with delight. Good on her.

  ‘Bye.’ Frances slipped out of the room.

  Uncle Sal enveloped her in his arm. ‘How are you holding up, love?’

  She swallowed. ‘Good enough. Have you –have you heard anything?’

  He looked around with a meaningful glance. People bustled about, with hawkers announcing their clothes pegs, shoelaces and potholders in increasingly desperate voices, while errand boys hopped it to and from offices, shops and the post office. ‘We’ll talk at home.’

  ‘What is it?’ she said as soon as they’d walked through the front door. ‘Please, Uncle Sal. I need to know.’

  She followed him through to the kitchen. He lit the wood-burning stove and put the kettle on before he lowered himself onto a chair. ‘We can see him tomorrow afternoon but only for ten minutes. The officer I spoke to said Rob’s keeping up well and only talks about the horse he treated. He worries about the animal.’

  ‘He would.’ Frances struggled to keep back tears. ‘Does he need anything? What are we allowed to bring?’

  ‘They didn’t say, but I reckon a few quid won’t go amiss, and maybe a b
ook or two to read.’ He bent down to massage his ankle. ‘I only wish they’d let me see him for a quick geek. Mind you, the place looked clean enough, and they’re not holding too many folks there, so it didn’t seem too bad.’

  Images from the pictures flashed in her mind. Rob was in a cell, and cells were bug-infested places, full of stomach-turning odours. And they held dangerous people.

  ‘Does he – does he have to share a cell?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Uncle Sal said. ‘Like I said, they’re not doing too much business. We’ll see for ourselves tomorrow. But now we’ll have our tea, and then we’ll wait for Jack to ring up. I’ve got something important to ask him.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘If he knows of a good lawyer who specialises in criminal cases. Phil said we’d better make sure we get the best man on Rob’s case. Murder carries the death penalty.’

  Chapter Six

  ‘I’ll come home on the next boat,’ Jack said, as soon as Frances mentioned Rob’s plight. For once she didn’t care if the operator was listening in. This was too important to bother about small things.

  How typical of Jack not to ask any questions but to come straight to her rescue.

  If only it were so easy. She pointed out, ‘You only arrived in New Zealand. Your sister needs you.’

  ‘As do you. Rachel will understand.’

  Frances closed her eyes, picturing the concerned gleam in his eyes. ‘There must be something I can do or ask him. Uncle Sal and I are allowed a short visit in an hour.’

  ‘I’ll send Bluey to do a little bit of questioning around the racecourses,’ Jack said. ‘If this blacksmith identified the horse, odds are they pulled that stunt on other courses too. And you ask your brother exactly when and why he was hired.’

  ‘You think he was used as a patsy?’ Frances had asked herself that question over and over again.

  ‘Sounds reasonable. He’s young, he needs money, and he’s new to the races. It would take a memorable attribute for him to remember a horse he’s given a quick once-over a few weeks or months ago,’ Jack said.