Bloodline

15

‘What did you say?’ Austin Reynolds said.

‘I asked how often Clare stopped horses for you.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Oh, yes, I think you do,’ I said.

I had watched him intently as the VT of the race had been shown and there had been a distinct smirk of satisfaction on his face.

I was in no doubt whatsoever that Austin Reynolds had known exactly what would happen to Tortola Beach in that race at Doncaster, and that he had been delighted by the outcome.

‘Did you lay Tortola Beach to lose?’ I asked.

‘No. I told you, I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he said, but he looked worried and sweat had appeared on his brow.

I thought back to what had been written on that white envelope in Clare’s desk: AS AGREED, A.

Had the ‘A’ stood for Austin?

‘And did you pay Clare two thousand pounds for stopping him?’

That shocked him. I could tell from his eyes.

It had been a bit of a guess on my part but I had clearly hit the bull’s-eye.

‘You can’t prove anything,’ he hissed.

‘You think so, do you?’ I said. ‘I wonder if the police can get fingerprints from twenty-pound notes. Or DNA from the stuck-down white envelope they were handed over in.’

He went quite pale.

‘And were you also sleeping with her?’

‘What?’

‘Were you having an affair with my sister?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I wasn’t.’

I was tempted to believe him on this point. He had been genuinely surprised by the question and I didn’t really think that he was Clare’s type, in spite of the fact that she tended to fall for older men. But Austin Reynolds was very much older, some twenty-five years older, and he didn’t much give the impression of being a great Lothario.

‘What are you going to do now?’ Austin asked miserably.

‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘At least, nothing just yet.’

‘So what should I do?’ he said.

‘Whatever you like,’ I said. ‘Running all your horses to win might be a good start.’

He looked at me with uncertainty in his eyes, mixed with a touch of hate and contempt.

‘But what about the money?’ he asked.

‘What about it? You surely don’t want it back?’

‘Not that money,’ he said. ‘The other money.’

‘What other money?’

‘Look, stop playing games with me.’ I thought he was close to tears. ‘I’m talking about the ten thousand you’ve asked for.’

‘I haven’t asked you for anything,’ I said. ‘I was aware that Clare had purposely stopped Tortola Beach from winning but I only realized that you also knew when I watched you looking at the race just now.’

‘Oh, God,’ Austin said. ‘Then who is it?’

‘Who is what?’ I asked.

‘Who is blackmailing me?’

At that point, rather inconveniently, Lisa arrived from the scanner and walked over towards us.

‘Aren’t you both coming for breakfast?’ she asked.

‘We’ll be there in a minute,’ I said. ‘Austin and I are just discussing the running of his horses.’

She looked at Austin. ‘Did Mark tell you that I said you should get a new car?’

‘I’m sorry I was late.’

‘Yeah, you’re a bloody nuisance,’ Lisa said.

She had a well-earned reputation for believing that it was she who was doing the favour for the guests who agreed to come on her programme, rather than the other way round. And she wasn’t against giving them a hard time if they didn’t do as they were told.

‘I said to be here by seven thirty, not twenty to nine.’

‘I couldn’t help it,’ he whined. ‘The battery was flat. I had to wait for the AA. I got here as soon as I could.’

I bet he was now wishing he hadn’t bothered to make it here at all.

Austin managed to escape from my attentions by saying he was going to the gents on our way to breakfast, and then disappearing altogether.

I didn’t mind too much. I knew where to find him. For a start, he would be with Tortola Beach in the parade ring before the third race later that afternoon.

‘So how come you got yourself strangled?’ Lisa asked as we tucked into bacon and eggs in one of the grandstand restaurants. ‘Whoever did it couldn’t have been much cop if you’re still here to tell the tale.’

‘Oh, thanks a lot,’ I said. ‘I tell you, I’m damn lucky not to have been murdered.’

I explained to her in detail how I had crashed my car in order to survive and how I’d spent half the night in Addenbrooke’s hospital.

At last, Lisa started to take me seriously. ‘Have you any idea who it was?’

‘None,’ I said. ‘And I’ve no idea why, either.’

I decided not to mention anything to her about Mitchell Stacey. The more I thought about it the less likely it seemed that he had been involved. Strangulation from behind just didn’t seem to be his sort of thing. But I suppose I couldn’t be sure.

‘Were you serious when you said it might have something to do with the murder of Toby Woodley?’

‘I really don’t know,’ I said. ‘Was it just coincidence that there were two “racing” attacks only two days apart, and I was present at both of them?’

‘Coincidences do happen, you know,’ Lisa said. ‘And Toby Woodley was such an awful little creep that there must have been a shedload of people queuing up to kill him. Me for one.’

‘He may have been an awful little creep but his death was still horrible. And no one deserves to be stabbed in the back.’

‘Oh, please,’ she mocked. ‘Don’t make me cry. Toby Woodley deserved everything he got.’

‘You’re a hard woman, Lisa. You might think differently if he’d died in your lap.’

‘Why, did he die in yours?’

‘As a matter of fact, he did.’

She was surprised. ‘I’d heard a rumour that you’d helped to give him CPR but I didn’t really believe it.’

‘All true, I’m afraid,’ I said. ‘Guilty as charged. Not that it did him any good. He bled to death, and quickly too. Very nasty.’

‘Do the police have any idea who did it?’

‘Not that I’m aware of,’ I said, ‘but they’d hardly tell me, anyway.’

‘Probably someone who got fed up with his bloody sniping. I don’t believe that man ever wrote a single word of truth in that rag of his.’

‘Do you remember that piece he did in the summer about a trainer laying his horses on the internet and then ensuring they lost?’

‘Remember it!’ Lisa said with irritation. ‘We did a segment about it on the show. Even had Woodley on as a guest because he promised me he’d reveal who it was on air.’

‘And did he?’ I couldn’t remember it, but I’d been abroad on holiday in late May.

‘Did he hell! It was a total waste of time. One of my worst ever shows. Little creep just sat there grinning like the Cheshire Cat, making promises he never kept. I reckon he simply made it all up. Load of old tosh. The bastard made me look like a fool.’

So that was why Lisa hated him so much.

‘And, madam, what were you doing on Wednesday evening last at nine o’clock?’ I mimicked a policeman holding a notebook.

‘Ha, ha,’ she said, forcing a smile. ‘I was at home, officer, watching The Apprentice on television, and I have witnesses to prove it.’

I thought about Austin Reynolds. Had he been the trainer in the story? Had Toby Woodley, in fact, been much closer to the truth than Lisa, or anyone else, had imagined?

‘You don’t think that story had anything to do with his death, then?’ I asked.

‘Do you?’

I could hardly say yes without backing it up with some sort of evidence and I didn’t really want to do that. Lisa had an uncanny ability for smelling out a story and the last thing I wanted was to put her on the scent of Clare and race fixing.

‘I don’t know,’ I said tamely, ‘but there must have been some motive. People don’t just stab someone for no reason.’

‘Don’t they?’ she said. ‘Haven’t you watched the news recently?’

Lisa lost interest in our conversation and started talking to the show’s director on her other side.

I sat there thinking about Austin Reynolds and what he had said about being blackmailed. Someone else must have known about his involvement with the race fixing.

Had it been Toby Woodley? Was that why he’d been killed?

Where, I wondered, had Austin Reynolds been at nine o’clock last Wednesday evening? Could he have been in the car park at Kempton races, murdering Toby to save having to pay his blackmail demands?

But that didn’t make any sense. Not half an hour ago, when I’d confronted him, Austin had clearly thought that it must have been me who was blackmailing him. So why would he think that if he’d believed Toby was responsible, and to the point of murdering him?

No. There had to be a fourth party involved. At least. And that was assuming Toby’s death had indeed been something to do with the race-fixing story in the first place, something that was by no means certain.

I used my mobile to call Detective Chief Inspector Perry at ten o’clock, as he’d requested.

‘How are you feeling?’ he asked.

‘Tired,’ I said. ‘I didn’t get to bed until four, and I was up again at six thirty.’

‘I heard from the hospital that they sent you home. Where are you now?’

‘Newmarket racecourse,’ I said. ‘I’m working here and will be for the rest of the day.’

‘Doing what?’ he asked.

‘I present the racing on television. We’re covering Newmarket this afternoon.’

‘Is that why you asked me last night if I followed racing?’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I thought you might have seen me if you did.’

‘Sorry, no.’ He didn’t sound very sorry. ‘Is your voice better?’

‘It’s a lot better now than last night, thank you.’ But I was glad I wasn’t commentating. ‘Did you find any fingerprints in my car?’

‘Masses of them,’ he said. ‘We now have to find out if any of them belong to our strangler. We’ll do a computerized criminal records comparison first, but we may need to eliminate anyone who’s recently been in the back of your car.’

I thought about Nicholas and Brendan, and also the paramedic. All three of them had been in the back after the attack, to say nothing of the firemen who’d cut off the car roof.

‘How about the rope?’

‘A search of the area revealed nothing. He must have taken it with him. Maybe it was a scarf or something.’

‘You said you wanted a witness statement,’ I said.

‘Yes, please,’ he replied. ‘I’ll send my sergeant over to take it now.’

‘How long will it take?’ I asked.

‘That depends, Mr Shillingford, on how much you have to say.’

‘How much do you want me to say?’

‘Everything that is relevant. Especially what you can remember after going out to your car.’

‘I have a production meeting here at eleven o’clock and I’m going to be pretty busy after that until we go off-air at four twenty. Can’t I just write out a statement rather than have your sergeant take it down? I could do it now on my laptop and e-mail it to you.’

‘Could you print it out and sign it? And also have your signature witnessed? My sergeant will then collect it in about an hour.’

‘No problem,’ I said. ‘I’ll leave it in the racecourse office.’

‘Right. Do that. If I need anything further I’ll leave a message on this number.’

‘What about my car?’ I said. ‘What happens to that now?’

‘The forensic boys are still going over it. They’re apparently now looking for material fibres.’

I laughed. ‘I don’t think the inside of that car has been cleaned out since I’ve had it, and that’s about eight years. There must be handfuls of material fibres present, and dog hairs, sweet papers and God knows what else.’

‘Forensics will bag everything just in case it’s needed later.’

‘Then what?’ I asked.

‘I suppose it’s then yours to take away, but it’s rather badly bashed in at the front and it has no roof. I saw it this morning in the compound. It would cost more to repair than a car of that age is worth, and you know what insurance companies are like, it would be better for them to write it off completely.’

But not, of course, better for me. I would end up with a paltry sum from the insurers and no car. I sighed. Was it time to get a new car as well as a new house? How about a new girlfriend?

Next I called the number that Emily had given me at the party. She answered at the second ring.

‘I thought you might be asleep,’ I said.

‘I should be,’ she replied.

‘Did you watch the show?’

‘I only saw the last bit of it. I now wish I’d stayed with you instead of coming back here with Angela. But I think she was glad I didn’t.’

‘And how are all the sweet young things this morning?’

‘Hungover, mostly. The party may have ended prematurely, thanks to you, but if Angela thought that had stopped them drinking, she was much mistaken. They must have had bottles stashed away somewhere. Half of them are still incapable of walking properly.’

‘That’s because of their high heels.’

She laughed. I liked that.

‘What are you doing for the rest of the day?’ I asked.

‘What would you like me to do?’

‘How about coming to the races?’

‘Love to,’ she said.

I was suddenly very excited.

‘Great,’ I said. ‘Can you be here at twelve thirty? I’ll meet you outside, where you drive in. Just follow the signs.’

‘OK, I’ll be there. See you later.’

‘Oh, Emily?’ I said.

‘Yes.’

‘One more thing.’ I paused.

‘Yes?’ she encouraged.

‘If you like,’ I said nervously, ‘you could bring an overnight bag.’

‘OK,’ she said slowly. ‘I would like. Very much.’

I went to the Press Room with my computer to type out my witness statement for Chief Inspector Perry. Not surprisingly, with almost four hours to go until the first race, I was the only member of the press there.

It took me about forty minutes to complete the statement, reliving the horrors of the previous night, and trying to express them in words. But, try as I might, I couldn’t recall anything at all that I thought would help in identifying the strangler. I even closed my eyes and tried to evoke his smell but there was nothing.

I could remember far better what had happened after I’d sat down in my car than before. I suppose that was bound to be the case as before had been rather mundane, while after had obviously not, if one could possibly describe being propositioned by a beautiful woman for sex as mundane.

I remembered that all right, and it made me smile in anticipation. But I decided against putting it in my witness statement, although it was perhaps the real reason I hadn’t even considered my safety and security as I’d gone out to my car. Suffice to say, my mind had been elsewhere.

I used the printer in the Press Room to print out the statement and was about to go in search of someone to witness my signature when Jim Metcalf walked in.

‘Hi, Jim,’ I said. ‘What brings UK Today’s star reporter here so early?’

‘Boredom,’ he said. ‘I got fed up waiting in the hotel. I stayed up here last night. I’m doing a feature on Peter Williams and I was out on the Heath with his string at seven this morning.’

‘Clare reckoned his colt Reading Glass is a good prospect for next year’s Guineas.’

‘Possibly,’ said Jim, ‘but he still needs to grow a bit behind. And Peter’s got some other good young colts that will certainly shine next year as three-year-olds. He’s so good at not over-racing them at two and burning them out. That’s what I’ll be writing about.’

‘I’ll look forward to reading it.’

‘It’ll be in the paper next Saturday,’ he said. ‘To coincide with Future Champions Day.’

I still had my witness statement in my hand.

‘Jim, could you do me a favour?’ I asked. ‘I need someone to witness my signature on something.’

‘Sure,’ he said. ‘Is it your will?’

‘No,’ I said, laughing. ‘It’s a witness statement for the police.’

‘What did you witness?’ he asked.

I was suddenly not at all sure that this had been a good idea. But I’d already told Lisa, so it was hardly a secret.

‘Someone tried to kill me last night,’ I said.

‘Not Mitchell Stacey?’

I was stunned. I just stood there with my mouth hanging open.

‘How...’

‘Come on, Mark, I’ve known about you and Sarah Stacey for ages. Worst kept secret in racing. You’ve hardly been that discreet, going out openly to pubs and restaurants and the like. I know for a fact that you went to the theatre in London together in August to see that revival of Oklahoma! while Mitchell was up at the sales in Doncaster. I have my contacts.’ He tapped the side of his nose, just as Toby Woodley had done at Stratford.

I was quite surprised that my private life should have been of such interest to him. And I didn’t much like the thought that I’d clearly been watched without my knowledge.

‘Did Toby Woodley also know about us?’

‘I don’t know, but any racing journalist worth his salt should have been able to find out.’

‘But Woodley never wrote anything about us in the Gazette.’

But was that what he’d been going on about at Clare’s funeral? Had he actually known about Sarah and me but his editor had prevented the story being published in the paper so soon after Clare’s death?

‘Maybe he didn’t know, then,’ said Jim, ‘but I’d be surprised. Most of what he wrote was rubbish and speculation, but there was usually a glimmer of truth in there somewhere, and he did have an amazing knack for sniffing out real stories.’

‘Yes,’ I said, ‘and how exactly did he manage that?’

‘I expect he used good old-fashioned journalistic techniques like the rest of us — hiding in the undergrowth with a powerful telephoto lens, paying the police for information and, of course, hacking into other people’s phone messages.’

‘Isn’t phone hacking illegal?’

He looked at me as if I was an idiot. ‘Of course it is, and so is speeding on the motorway, but we all do it. At least, we did before all the fuss.’

‘Is that how you found out about me and Sarah?’ I asked.

‘No. As a matter of fact, it wasn’t.’

‘So how did you, then?’ I pressed.

‘You don’t want to know,’ he said slowly.

‘Yes I bloody do.’

He didn’t say anything.

‘Come on, tell me,’ I said aggressively. ‘How did you find out?’

‘Clare told me.’

‘Clare?’ I said, surprised. ‘She can’t have done. She wouldn’t have.’

‘Well, she did,’ Jim said.

‘When?’

‘A long time ago. I don’t think she meant to tell me. It just, sort of, slipped out. She swore me to silence.’

‘How come she was even speaking to you in the first place? I thought she despised all journalists.’

‘She didn’t despise me.’

I wondered if Jim had been one of the string of unsuitable older men that Clare had bedded.

‘Were you sleeping with her?’ I asked.

‘That’s none of your business,’ he replied.

‘I think it is,’ I said, staring him in the eye.

‘OK. I was,’ he said. ‘But it was a couple of years ago now, and it only lasted a month or two.’ He laughed. ‘Only until Clare realized the error of her ways and dumped me.’

So Jim Metcalf wasn’t the ‘new man’ that Clare had been so flattering about at our last dinner.

‘But I still loved her enough,’ he went on, ‘to keep her confidence about you and Sarah Stacey. But it amused me to watch you both.’

‘Well, for your further amusement, and information,’ I said, ‘Mrs Stacey and I are no longer an item. It’s over. Finished. I’ve also moved on.’

‘But was it Mitchell who tried to kill you? I hear on the press grapevine that he’d found out about your affair and I, for one, wouldn’t want to be on the wrong end of that temper.’

‘No, you’re probably very wise,’ I said, remembering my encounters with him in the racecourse car parks. ‘I don’t know if it was him but I doubt it. Whoever it was went to great lengths to remain hidden, and that doesn’t smack to me of Mitchell’s methods. He’s more of a confrontational sort of guy.’

‘So how did this person try to kill you?’

‘On the record or off it?’ I asked.

‘Either way,’ he said. ‘You choose.’

I handed him my witness statement and he read it through from start to finish.

‘Blimey,’ he said. ‘It really was attempted murder.’

‘It sure was,’ I agreed.

‘I never realized being a racing journalist could be so dangerous, what with that creep Woodley getting himself murdered.’

‘The police seem to think that might have been a robbery that went too far.’

‘What was stolen?’ Jim asked.

‘It seems his briefcase is missing.’

‘Ah, the famous Woodley briefcase.’

‘What’s famous about it?’ I asked.

‘Don’t you know? He’d always go berserk if anyone went near it in the press room. That’s partly why he was so unpopular with the rest of the racing press. He treated that briefcase as if it was a bloody baby. He was obsessed by it.’

‘What was in it?’ I asked.

‘God knows,’ said Jim. ‘Probably just his sandwiches.’

‘Somebody must have thought it was valuable if they killed him for it.’

‘I can’t imagine why,’ said Jim, laughing. ‘I’d have happily killed him for nothing.’

‘I wouldn’t say that if the police can hear you.’ I thought back to my interview with Superintendent Cullen. I hadn’t done myself any favours telling him that I hadn’t liked the victim.

I looked at the clock on the wall. I was late for the production meeting.

‘Jim, could you witness my signature? The police will be here soon to collect it.’

I signed the paper at the bottom, and Jim added his signature alongside as the witness.

‘So, can I use any of this?’ he asked, pointing at my statement.

‘Why not?’ I said. ‘It can’t do any harm.’