Hands Down, page 21
‘Let’s hope so, but I wouldn’t bank on it,’ Chico said philosophically. ‘So what’s the plan for today? More wanderin’ around in towels?’
‘Not if I can help it,’ I replied, but I had little or no idea what else to do. My overnight thinking had produced absolutely no results – nothing, nada, zilch – just a tired boy, who’d had insufficient sleep. I yawned.
‘But I want to listen again to the recording we made in the steam room yesterday. There was something Valance said that I want to hear again.’
‘What?’
‘If I knew that, I wouldn’t have to listen to it again. But I know there’s something in it that’s not quite right.’
I set my phone up to play the recording while I made the coffee, and it was the bit when Valance was talking about hearsay that had me reaching for the replay button.
‘… anythin’ that you may claim Gary Bremner said to you is irrelevant. I’ve been told it would just be ’earsay and would be inadmissible in court.’
I’ve been told…
Those were the exact words he had used.
Who had told him? His wife? His lawyer?
Surely not. So who?
Then the alarm bells went off, this time loud and clear in my head.
I remembered the something else that had been niggling away in my brain since the previous afternoon. It was the words Simon Paulson had used when he’d told me about calling Valance to tell him that Night Shadow would be running on his merits in the fifth race at Catterick. Simon’s exact words to me had been: Claimed they had too much invested on the race and I would be liable for their losses if Night Shadow won.
They and their. Not he and his.
And Gary Bremner may have given me only a single name, that of Anton Valance, but he had always referred to the ‘bastards’ who had burned down his stable yard. Bastards – in the plural. I had thought that he must have meant Valance’s two goons, but maybe he hadn’t.
Was Valance not working alone, but with someone else?
And, if so, who was it?
‘Penny for your thoughts?’ Chico said as I stood there with my coffee cup raised halfway to my mouth.
‘There are two of them,’ I said. ‘Maybe even more.’
‘Two of who?’
‘Valance has an accomplice.’
‘Who?’
‘I don’t know. But we have to find out. That’s how we can outflank his defences.’
‘And how is that, exactly?’
‘By setting them against each other. And we also have to do the impossible.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Find out who this accomplice is, then defeat them both, and do it all by Friday.’
27
At nine-thirty, I received a call from Marcus Capes.
‘Valance just rang me,’ he said. ‘He told me I was not to win on my ride this afternoon at Hexham.’
‘What’s the name of the horse?’
‘Meeru. Five-year-old gelding trained by Mr Kline. It runs in the first, a two-mile handicap hurdle, at one o’clock.’
‘Does it have a chance?’
‘A good chance, I’d say. He’s filled out really well in the last couple of months and I won on him last time out at Wetherby.’
I looked up the race on the Racing Post website. There were eight declared runners for the Class 3 contest and the website predicted that Meeru would probably start as favourite at about three-to-one.
‘What do you plan to do?’ I asked him.
‘I don’t know. Now I’ve told you, I suppose I should try and win it, otherwise you’ll simply tell the stewards I wasn’t trying.’
‘I won’t do that,’ I assured him, ‘but, yes, you should try and win if you can.’
‘But Valance will surely then send the incriminating video to the BHA.’
Just like Jimmy Shilstone, Marcus was terrified of both consequences, of winning and of not winning: heads you lose, tails he wins – there were no alternatives.
‘He won’t,’ I said decisively to Marcus, in just the same way I’d said it to Jimmy. ‘He’s invested too much in getting you under his control to just toss it away because you defy him once. He may be angry but he won’t send the video.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
I couldn’t be, but I wasn’t going to tell him that.
‘Trust me,’ I said. ‘Win if you can.’
‘Oh, God! I don’t know.’
‘Does Mr Kline know the horse isn’t to win?’
‘What do you mean?’ Marcus asked.
‘What I mean is, has Valance also got some hold over Noel Kline?’
‘How would I know?’
‘Well, find out. See what Kline says to you in terms of instructions for the race. If he knows that you know that the horse isn’t to win, the instructions will probably be quite vague, as he’ll also know you won’t be following them. Then let me know the answer, preferably before the race is run.’
I remembered back to when I had asked Charles to play the part of an integrity officer to find out the name of the mystery caller. He’d not only found out Marcus’s name and address but also some other little gems of information, such as the fact that he was trying his best to save up to buy a second-hand car to make getting to the races easier.
‘How are you getting to Hexham?’ I asked.
‘Mr Kline is taking me. We leave in about fifteen minutes.’
‘Discuss the race tactics during the journey and call me again when you get to the racecourse, before you’re required to switch off your phone.’
‘Okay.’ He said it slowly, as if not quite sure. Maybe he was having second thoughts about having called me in the first place.
‘Look, Marcus,’ I said. ‘I need to flush this man out into the open and you winning the race today is the best way. Yes, sure, he’ll be angry, but not so angry that he will waste the future opportunities that you give him. When he contacts you, just say the horse was too good and you couldn’t help but win without it being too obvious. But, and this is the most important bit, try and record what he says to you, either over the phone or in person. If you can’t get an actual recording of him speaking, write down exactly, word for word, what he says to you, just as soon as you can. Do you understand?’
‘I’ll try.’
‘Yes, Marcus, you try – you try very hard. I’m trying to save your career and I need you to step up and help me. Got it?’
‘Yeah, I got it. I have to go now and get down to the gaffer’s house or I’ll be late.’
Marcus hung up and I remained sitting at the kitchen table wondering if he would have the nerve to defy Valance’s instruction.
Hexham was at least four and a half hours’ drive from Nutwell so there was no chance of me getting there in time to provide him with any last-minute moral support as he walked to the parade ring to board Meeru just before one o’clock.
I would just have to wait and watch the race on the television. On past form, Valance wouldn’t even be doing that. However, I somehow doubted that he’d be back at the Harrogate Turkish Baths having another massage, not after his experiences of yesterday, but I was sure he would be elsewhere rather than at Hexham races, providing himself with a suitable alibi – after all, that’s what the word alibi means in Latin: ‘elsewhere’.
‘Who was that on the phone?’ Chico asked from the comfy armchair, without moving anything other than his lips.
‘I thought you were sleeping,’ I said.
‘I was. But I always sleep with one eye, and one ear, wide open. You know that.’
I certainly did. He’d once thrown me over his shoulder onto the hall carpet at Aynsford when he’d mistaken me for an intruder. I had carelessly padded my way downstairs in bare feet in the dark while he’d been snoozing on guard in the kitchen. How he’d heard me coming then, I still didn’t know. But I suppose I should be grateful.
‘That was a young jockey on the phone called Marcus Capes, the one who left his number under my windscreen wiper in Middleham. He said that Anton Valance had just called him and told him to lose on a horse called Meeru in the one o’clock race at Hexham this afternoon.’
‘And will he?’
‘Quite likely. I told him to win if he can but that doesn’t mean he will. All the others will be trying to win too.’
‘So are we off to this Hexham place?’
I shook my head. ‘Too far. It’s right up in Northumberland. Almost in Scotland. We’d never get there in time. Anyway, I’m more interested in knowing where Valance is going.’
‘Well, we can find that out, can’t we? Provided he takes his overcoat with him.’
Yes, I thought, we could, but beforehand I’d need to switch back on the NeverLoseIt tag and that would involve changing my phone’s personal ID once again from mine to Marina’s, something that would also show up on her phone.
I could hardly tell her that I was still looking for the Skoda keys, now could I?
As I was pondering this dilemma, my phone rang and it was her once more.
‘Hello, my love,’ I said, answering it with concern. ‘Is everything all right?’
‘Yes, fine,’ she said. ‘I thought I’d better tell you that I’ve just booked us on the British Airways flight from Amsterdam to Heathrow on Friday afternoon. It gets in at five to six London time, Terminal Five. The earlier one is fully booked already. Is that okay?’
‘Yes, my darling. Perfect. I’ll be there.’
‘Good. I’ll see you then.’
‘Oh, Marina,’ I said quickly. ‘Just before you go, I might need to use your phone ID again. Is that all right?’
‘You can’t have lost the Skoda keys again.’
‘No, I haven’t.’ I would have to tell her. ‘I am actually using your tracking tag to follow someone’s movements.’
There was a long pause from her end.
‘Whose movements?’ she asked.
‘Someone over here. I need to know where he goes so Chico slipped the tag into his coat. Not the key ring, just the tag.’
There was another long pause.
‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘I’ll get you another one.’
‘It’s not the damn tag that I’m worried about.’ She sighed audibly. ‘Charles always says that I couldn’t change you so I shouldn’t even try. You are what you are. That’s what he said to me very early on, when you and I first got together. Do you remember that time we went to Aynsford after someone had punched me in the face? That’s when he said it to me. Take him or leave him, he said, but just the way he is – and I took you then, and eventually I took you as my lawful wedded husband, so I shouldn’t really complain.’
Another pause.
‘So is that all right then?’ I asked again into the silence. ‘About using your phone ID?’
‘I suppose so. Just don’t tell me what you’re doing, I don’t want to know.’
‘Okay, thanks,’ I said. ‘And I’ll definitely be at Heathrow to meet you on Friday, I promise.’
‘That’s if I haven’t changed my mind by then.’
She hung up.
Take me or leave me, just the way I am.
But Marina had changed me, dramatically. After my first marriage to Jenny, Charles’s daughter, had ended in such acrimony and spite, I had firmly decided never again to get romantically involved with a woman, let alone pledge my troth to one.
I had been afraid that, as had happened with Jenny, pain and despair would quickly follow any love and excitement, so I believed it was best not to be in love in the first place. But Marina had broken through my determination to live a henceforth bachelor life, indeed she had swept away my resolve not to fall in love again with her first spine-tingling kiss on my lips.
But, in fact, had I been right all along? Were pain and despair about to replace, once again, the love and excitement of the past twelve years?
But Marina had changed me in other ways, too. The most intense change was in her allowing me to become a father. To watch the fruit of my loins be born into this world, then grow from being a helpless crying baby into a true human individual with all the emotions, strengths and weaknesses that we all possess, and for me to have helped mould that individual into the loving, caring person that Saskia had become, was a joy beyond measure.
So, whatever might happen between Marina and myself in the future, Saskia would always be a huge part of both of us and, as such, the last ten years would never be viewed by me as the wasteland of recrimination and regret that my years with Jenny now were.
‘So did she say yes?’ Chico asked, bringing me back from my daydreaming to the present.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘She did.’
‘Good, well get on and do it then. Let’s see where he is.’
‘There’s no hurry. Valance may be a villain but he is also, primarily, a jockeys’ agent, so he will have been on the phone at home since early this morning talking to the trainers, and even some of the owners, trying to sort out which of their entries will actually be declared to run.’
I looked up at the kitchen clock. It was just gone ten o’clock.
‘The declarations for tomorrow’s jump races and Wednesday’s flat were only published a couple of minutes ago, and every declared runner must have a jockey booked for it by one o’clock today. Right now, he’ll be busy calling his jockeys and the trainers again, concluding things and getting the jockeys properly booked in on the Racing Admin website. So we know where he is without using the tag.
‘Anyway, if I leave the tag switched on for too long and it moves about only in sync with someone else’s phone, it has an inbuilt way of realising that and it will put a message up on that phone to warn the owner that they’re being tracked. It will also start making a noise to alert them where it is. That’s why we must be patient, and only use it in very short bursts.’
‘You seem to know a lot about it.’
‘I read a news report on the internet about these tracking tags. Seems that some people were complaining that they were being stalked using them.’
‘And they are exactly right,’ Chico said. ‘We’re stalking Mr bleedin’ Valance with one, all right, just like a Highland stag.’
‘I didn’t realize you were into deer hunting,’ I said.
‘Worked on an estate one school summer holiday, didn’t I? Way up in Scotland as a ghillie’s mate. Years ago now. Toughest work I’ve ever done, draggin’ dead stags down off the hills. But the sooner we get Valance into our crosshairs and pull the bleedin’ trigger, the better.’
If only it were so simple.
* * *
As expected, Meeru started the first race at Hexham as the betting favourite, and his starting price was even shorter than had been predicted, at just nine-to-four.
Marcus Capes had called me again at five past twelve.
‘The gaffer doesn’t know about the stop.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Absolutely. He reckons that, with a victory here today, we should step Meeru up a class, perhaps two classes, maybe even go for the Swinton Handicap at Haydock next month, that’s a Class One. And the gaffer says that I could ride him there too. He’s really excited by the prospect and so am I. The Swinton Handicap has a purse of over a hundred grand. That means big money for me if I won it.’
‘So you’re going to win today if you can?’
‘Dead right, I am.’
I remembered back to when I’d first started out in my own racing career and how excited I had been at the prospect of riding a really good horse such as Meeru. There was no feeling like it. I just hoped Marcus’s enthusiasm to win would last until the actual running of the race and he wouldn’t have had, by then, second thoughts, or third, fourth or fifth thoughts, or even thoughts of pulling up or purposely falling off.
At ten minutes to one, Chico and I went into the sitting room and tuned the TV to the correct racing channel for Hexham.
‘Shall we see where Mr Valance is?’ I said.
‘Good idea.’
I switched my phone’s ID to Marina’s and turned on the tag. Immediately the map with the small blue circle appeared.
‘Where is he, then?’ Chico asked.
I spread my fingers on the screen to expand the details.
‘The tag is in the Crown Plaza Hotel in Harrogate, probably hanging in the cloakroom while Valance is having lunch with a friend.’
‘Shame it doesn’t tell us who the friend is,’ Chico said.
‘No doubt it will be someone who can safely vouch for his exact whereabouts at precisely one o’clock.’
I remotely switched the tag off again.
‘We’ll try again later. Now let’s watch the race.’
Meeru was among the eight runners that jumped off from the two-mile start as the starter dropped his flag, bang on time.
Hexham is an undulating oval track of about a mile and a half round, so the start was near the end of the back straight.
With only a circuit and a bit to race, and a mere eight flights of hurdles to negotiate, the initial pace was strong. Marcus settled Meeru in just behind the leading pair as the field made the stiff climb up towards the home straight and another flight, before passing the winning post for the first time at a good, fast gallop.
After two more flights in the straight, they swung left-handed and downhill. Over the three hurdles in the back straight, Meeru began to show his class, stepping up the pace and taking the lead as the horses went into the dip before turning for home and up the steep rise to the final flight and the finish.
There were good reasons why the racecourse bookmakers had made Meeru the short-priced favourite. Not only did he have the winning form from his last race at Wetherby, but the handicapper had been unusually generous in only asking him to carry ten-stone-eight. With Marcus’s five-pound allowance as a novice rider, that weight was brought down to ten-stone-three, when the top-weighted horse was carrying a stone and a half more.
As a result, Meeru made easy weather of the hill, sweeping up into the straight with a lead of five lengths from the nearest of those struggling behind.
Just the final flight of hurdles to negotiate.
I held my breath.
