Bloodline

17

‘Are you going to sit there all day? I’m thirsty.’

I turned round to find Emily standing provocatively in the kitchen doorway and, unlike me, she obviously had no qualms about being naked in this house.

She walked over and ran her fingers through my hair. ‘Are you coming back to bed, or do I have to go and play with myself?’

‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I’m just coming.’

‘What are you looking at, anyway?’

‘Oh, nothing,’ I said, starting to fold the paper, but Emily was already reading it over my shoulder.

‘Oh my God!’ she screamed. ‘It’s a blackmail note. Who sent you that?’

‘No one,’ I said.

‘And what was it that you did on purpose?’

‘It wasn’t sent to me,’ I said. ‘I found it in the freezer.’

‘In the freezer? Where?’

‘In amongst the ice. It was taped to the inside of the hopper with this DVD. Clare must have hidden them in there.’

‘Were they sent to her?’

‘I assume so.’

‘Who by?’ Emily asked. ‘And what was it that she did?’

‘It can’t have been very much, not if two hundred pounds is all the blackmailer asked for. Perhaps the DVD will give us a clue.’

‘Oh, yes,’ she said breathlessly. ‘How exciting.’

Excitement wasn’t the first thing that came to my mind but I was intrigued nonetheless.

‘There’s a DVD player in the sitting room,’ I said. ‘Let’s go and see.’

Emily ran upstairs and then quickly reappeared wearing one of Clare’s dressing gowns, while I loaded the disc.

I was a bit apprehensive as I pushed the play button. Did I really want to know what Clare had been up to? And, in particular, did I want Emily to find out as well? But it was too late to stop now. I had to see, and there was no way I was going to get Emily to go back upstairs and wait for me in the bedroom while I had a quick look at the DVD on my own. She was perched on the edge of the sofa in eager anticipation, bouncing up and down gently like a child waiting for Christmas presents.

I thought it quite likely that the DVD would contain a recording of a race, but I was really surprised that it was the one at Wolverhampton the previous April when Clare had ridden Brain of Brixham into second place while mistaking the camera-support pole for the winning post.

‘What’s so special about that?’ Emily asked, obviously disappointed not to have seen some more salacious footage.

‘Nothing,’ I said.

‘So what’s she supposed to have done on purpose?’

‘I presume it was that she didn’t win.’

I played the film through again and explained to Emily what had happened.

‘But how can you blackmail someone for making a silly mistake?’

‘That’s a very good question.’

I went up the stairs a little to retrieve my shoes and trousers from where they had been discarded earlier.

‘Where are you going?’

‘I need my laptop. It’s in your car.’

I went out to get it, and then looked up on the Racing Post website to see who trained Brain of Brixham.

Why was I not surprised to discover that it was Austin Reynolds?

Time, I thought, for me to go and ask him some more questions.

In spite of my protestations, Emily came with me.

‘For a start,’ she said. ‘I need to drive my car. You’re not insured for it.’

I thought I probably was through my own insurance, but I could see that there was no way I was going to convince her not to come.

She drove through Newmarket, then out on the Bury Road towards Austin Reynolds’s training establishment, where she parked on the gravel driveway in front of his mock-Georgian mansion.

‘Please wait in the car,’ I said to Emily firmly. ‘It will be difficult enough to get him to talk to me alone. He certainly won’t do so with someone else listening.’

Grudgingly, she agreed and sat rigidly holding the steering wheel while I went to ring the front doorbell.

‘I don’t want to talk to you,’ Austin said, carelessly opening the door before he saw who it was. ‘Leave me alone.’

He tried to close the door again, but I had my foot up against it.

‘I only want to ask you a few questions.’

‘I haven’t got time,’ he said. ‘We’ve got the Ingrams staying and we’re having a small celebration here this evening. In fact, I thought you were the caterers arriving. Come back tomorrow.’

Mr and Mrs Joshua Ingram were the owners of Tortola Beach.

‘Perhaps the Ingrams might be interested to know why their horse didn’t win at Doncaster in August.’

‘I thought you said you weren’t blackmailing me.’

‘I’m not,’ I said.

‘That sounded like blackmail to me.’

‘It will only take a few minutes.’

He thought for a moment. ‘Go round to my office. Down the side.’ He pointed to his right. ‘I’ll come and let you in there.’

Reluctantly, I removed my foot from his door and he closed it.

‘Down the side,’ I shouted to Emily, and she drove down behind me as I crunched over the gravel.

Austin Reynolds’s office was attached to the back of his house, looking out towards the stable-yard beyond, and he was already standing at the external door, holding it open.

‘Who’s in the car?’ he asked.

‘Just a friend.’ I was suddenly very glad that Emily was with me. This felt a bit like walking into the lion’s den.

I followed Austin into his office. There was not a lion to be seen.

‘What do you want?’ he asked, sitting down behind his large oak desk.

‘I want to know who is blackmailing you.’

‘So do I.’

‘But you must have some idea.’

‘None,’ he said. ‘All I received were notes.’

I removed from my pocket the piece of paper that I’d found in Clare’s freezer and laid it out on the desk in front of him.

‘Were they like this?’ I asked.

He looked at it briefly and nodded. ‘Pretty much, except mine accused me of laying horses to lose.’

‘Did they arrive with DVDs?’

‘The first one did.’

‘How many have you received?’ I asked.

‘Three.’

‘And what did you do about them?’

‘Paid up,’ he said. ‘At least I did for the first two. Whoever it was didn’t ask for very much, so I paid.’

I was amazed.

‘Except now,’ he said, ‘I’ve been asked for more and I don’t like it.’

‘What do you mean?’

He looked at his watch and stood up. ‘I’ve got to go and get changed.’

‘Not yet,’ I said forcefully, pointing a finger at him. ‘Answer my questions first.’ He sat down again heavily. ‘What did you mean by being asked for more?’

‘It was that bloody race at Wolverhampton,’ he said angrily. ‘I wish I’d never run the damn horse.’

‘Brain of Brixham?’

‘Yes.’

‘But surely that was a genuine error on Clare’s part?’

‘Yes, it was.’

‘So why are you being blackmailed over it? Why didn’t you just go to the police?’

‘Clare wanted to,’ he said.

‘So why didn’t you?’ I asked. He said nothing but just sat looking down at his desk. ‘Was it because you had indeed layed the horse to lose?’

He looked up at me. ‘Not a lot,’ he said. ‘In fact, I’d thought old Brainy would run really well so I had a big bet on him to win. Too big, really. Then I started to have cold feet about it, especially when he seemed a bit off colour on the morning of the race.’

‘So you layed him on the internet?’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Though not using my own name, of course. And just to limit my losses if he didn’t win.’

Austin and I both knew that trainers laying their own horses was strictly against the Rules of Racing, and would be punished by a lengthy ban from the sport.

‘I didn’t lay the full amount. I still stood to lose a lot if Brainy didn’t win.’

That probably wouldn’t have made much difference to an enquiry.

‘It was very stupid,’ he said. ‘I know that.’

‘But not as stupid as arranging with Clare to stop Tortola Beach at Doncaster.’

‘That was all her idea,’ he said. ‘When she found out I’d layed Brainy at Wolverhampton she said there was a much better way of stopping a horse winning, one that nobody would ever discover.’

Except me, that was.

‘So did Clare pay the two hundred pounds?’ I said, pointing at the note.

‘I paid it for her to stop her going to the police,’ Austin said miserably, ‘along with two hundred from me. That bloody mistake of Clare’s has cost me a fortune, what with the loss of prize money and my big bet, not to mention the blackmail.’

‘How about the second note? When did that come?’

‘About six weeks ago.’

‘Asking for the same amount?’ I asked.

‘No, it was a thousand that time.’

‘Did Clare get another one too?’

‘Yes,’ Austin said. ‘Also for a thousand.’

‘And did you pay that for her as well?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘I told her to pay it out of the money I’d given her for losing on Tortola Beach.’

She obviously hadn’t done that, not if the two thousand I’d found in her desk had been the same money. I wondered if she’d paid it at all.

‘But you paid?’

‘Yes,’ he said gloomily.

‘And you still didn’t go to the police?’

‘I couldn’t, could I? Not when I’d paid up once before.’

‘And not when you’d also layed Tortola Beach to lose.’

‘That was only a bit,’ he said. ‘I couldn’t do too much, could I, or it would have been suspicious.’

‘But why on earth would you stop a horse if you weren’t making much from it?’

He looked the picture of abject misery, a stark contrast to when he had led his victorious horse into the winners’ enclosure earlier that afternoon.

‘Clare was adamant that we should do it. She seemed to act like it was a game. I told her not to be so bloody silly but she said that she would give it a go anyway, whether I wanted her to or not.’

‘So you agreed?’

‘Yes.’

‘But why then did you pay her two thousand pounds if you didn’t make much out of it?’

‘It was like a bet between us. I told her she could have half what I made if she pulled it off without there even being a stewards’ enquiry. She claimed it was easy and that she’d done it before, but I didn’t believe her. I really didn’t think she could do it, but boy, did she prove me wrong. It was brilliant. I’ve never seen anything like it in my life.’

My stupid brilliant sister, I thought. Competitive to the end. It hadn’t been the money that had been important, it had been winning her bet with Austin.

‘You said you’ve now been asked for more.’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I had another note yesterday morning demanding ten thousand.’ He again looked close to tears. ‘I can’t afford that sort of money.’

‘Show me the note,’ I said.

He opened the top left-hand drawer of the desk and removed a single sheet of paper, placing it down in front of me.

It did look remarkably like the one I’d found in Clare’s freezer, but it had one very significant difference. The amount of ten thousand pounds had had the last zero added by hand. When it had been printed it had read just one thousand. The blackmailer had obviously decided at the last minute to seriously up the stakes.

‘If it had been for just a thousand like last time,’ Austin said, ‘I’d probably pay it. But ten grand is completely out of order.’

I thought that even one thousand was out of order.

‘When did you say this arrived?’

‘Yesterday morning,’ he said. ‘In the post.’

‘Where’s the envelope it came in?’

He took an envelope out of the drawer and placed it on the desk. It had been addressed in the same printed small capital letters as the note, and the postmark showed that it had been posted on Thursday, even though I couldn’t read from where.

‘Have you had the payment instructions?’ I asked.

‘Not yet.’

‘How did you hand the money over before?’

‘I was told I had to place used twenties in a brown envelope and then leave it under my car in the Owners and Trainers car park at Doncaster races, up against the inside of the back wheel.’

‘Didn’t you watch to see who collected it?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘I was told not to. Anyway I had a runner in the first and I had to go and saddle it.’

‘You could have got someone else to watch.’

He stared at me in disbelief. ‘Oh yeah! Tell me, who was I going to get to watch the package without telling them exactly why?’

‘How did you get the instructions?’

‘They also came in the post,’ he said. ‘They arrived the day before I had to leave the cash.’

‘Did Clare get the same instructions?’

‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘The first time I just put a note in with my payment to say that I was including hers.’

Crazy, I thought.

‘And was it the same drop method both times?’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Except the second time was at York, not Doncaster.’

‘And you’ve heard nothing else?’ I asked.

‘Not until yesterday morning, although there were those bloody pieces in the Gazette this week. I nearly shit myself when I saw that headline on Tuesday.’

‘Why? Did you think it was written about you?’

‘What would you think?’ he said.

‘But it didn’t say anything about the horse’s trainer being involved.’

‘It did last May when there was that piece about a trainer laying his horses on the internet.’

‘Was that you?’ I asked.

‘I’ve no idea,’ he said. ‘But it was still much too close for comfort.’

‘Was the article printed in the paper before or after you paid the first two hundred?’

‘After,’ he said definitely. ‘I remember clearly that the first note arrived on my birthday, and that’s the twenty-fifth of April. It was not much of a birthday present, I can tell you.’

At that point a neat little woman opened the office door and put her head through the gap.

‘Austin,’ she said in a cross tone, ‘will you please come and look after our guests.’

‘Just coming, dear,’ Austin said, standing up.

The neat little woman removed her head and closed the door.

‘Please go now,’ he was almost pleading with me.

‘OK,’ I said. ‘But let me know when you receive the payment instructions.’ I smiled at him. ‘Then we can try and catch the bastard, and without involving the police or the racing authorities.’

‘Why are you doing this?’ he asked. ‘What have you got to gain?’

‘I’m trying to find out why my sister died. Your secrets are safe with me as long as Clare Shillingford’s good reputation remains intact.’

Emily was still waiting for me in her car.

‘I was about to send in the cavalry,’ she said as I climbed in beside her. ‘You’ve been ages.’

I looked at my watch. I’d actually been in Austin’s office for only half an hour. Somehow it had seemed longer.

‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘It was important.’

‘How important?’ she asked. ‘Is that man the blackmailer?’

‘No,’ I said, ‘he isn’t.’

‘Then who is?’

I sighed. ‘I wish I knew.’

Dammit, I thought. I’d been so busy asking Austin about the blackmail notes that I’d forgotten to ask him about the running of Bangkok Flyer at Lingfield on the day Clare had died.

That race had been the start of all of this. Would Clare have died, I wondered, if I hadn’t witnessed that race and confronted her at Haxted Mill?

Why oh why hadn’t I answered my telephone that night?

Emily started the car engine. ‘Where to now?’ she said.

‘I like you being my driver,’ I said with a forced laugh, trying to put my guilt and self-pity back in their boxes.

‘I can think of better things I’d rather be of yours.’

‘Good,’ I said, smiling genuinely. ‘Let’s go back to Clare’s cottage.’

‘Great idea,’ she said. ‘That champagne will be nice and cold by now.’

‘Tell me all about it,’ Emily said as we snuggled down together on Clare’s sofa with the bottle of chilled champagne.

‘About what?’ I asked.

‘About why your sister was being blackmailed, and why finding that note suddenly meant we had to go and see that man.’

‘Austin Reynolds,’ I said.

‘That’s the one.’

How much did I want to tell her? How much could I trust her? I hadn’t even known her yet for twenty-four hours. But she had seen Clare’s blackmail note. Was it not better to tell her something rather than have her ask other people?

‘It’s all nonsense, really,’ I said. ‘Clare was being blackmailed for something she hadn’t even done.’

‘In that race?’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘All Clare did was confuse the position of the winning post. It was a genuine mistake but someone thinks she did it on purpose.’

‘So what’s the problem?’ Emily said. ‘ “Publish and be damned.” If she did nothing wrong, I can’t understand how she was being blackmailed.’

Nor could I, but things weren’t that simple.

‘And, anyway,’ Emily said, ‘it surely can’t matter any more, now that she’s dead.’

‘The man I went to see is also being blackmailed, and he’s very much alive.’

Her eyes opened wider in delight. ‘It’s just like something on the television.’

Yes, I thought, but who’s writing the script?

‘So what has the man done?’ Emily asked eagerly. ‘He can’t be being blackmailed for the same mistake that Clare made.’

‘No, he’s not. But he did do something that was wrong,’ I said. ‘He’s the trainer of the horse and he placed a bet that it wouldn’t win that race.’

‘So? What’s wrong with that? I thought that betting on horses was not only legal, it was almost compulsory.’

‘Racehorse trainers are allowed to bet that their horses will win a race, but not that they will lose it. It would be too easy for them to make sure a horse didn’t win by simply not training it properly or giving it too hard a gallop too close to the race.’

‘But surely that’s not serious enough to be blackmailed over.’

‘The maximum penalty for a trainer betting on his own horse to lose is a ban from all racing for ten years. It is a very serious offence.’

‘Well, then the man’s an idiot,’ Emily said. ‘And perhaps he deserves it.’

There was a lot of sense in what she said, but the whole story would come out and Clare was bound to be implicated. And, after the Daily Gazette articles on Tuesday and Wednesday, her memory would be tainted for ever.

‘Are you going to inform the racing authorities?’

‘No,’ I said. ‘Not if I can help it.’

‘Why not?’

I refilled our glasses while I thought through my answer.

‘My sole aim is to discover why Clare died. Everything else is irrelevant. I couldn’t care less whether Austin Reynolds loses his training licence, his reputation and his big house. He’s been a fool, but I don’t think he’s a real crook.’

I paused and sipped my champagne.

‘But I really do care that Clare was driven to kill herself and, quite possibly, the blackmailer might have been doing the driving. So I want to know who is demanding money from Austin Reynolds, and me going to the racing authorities and telling them what a naughty boy Austin’s been will not help. The blackmailer would simply walk away.’

‘He can’t be much of a blackmailer anyway,’ Emily said.

‘Why not?’ I asked.

‘What blackmailer worthy of the name asks someone for two hundred pounds?’ She laughed. ‘That’s a joke amount. Two thousand, at least, or maybe five. Not so much that you drive the victim to the police, but enough to make it worth your while.’

‘I didn’t know you were such an expert on blackmail,’ I said.

‘There’s lots of things you don’t know about me,’ she said, cuddling up and putting her hand down between my legs.

‘No, hold on,’ I said, pushing her hand away and sitting up straight. ‘How come you know so much about blackmail?’

‘Mark,’ she said. ‘Don’t be so serious. I know because I read Agatha Christie books and watch murder mysteries on the television, that’s all.’

I leaned back next to her.

‘Blackmailers in those stories always ask for a lot. But, I suppose, that’s why they usually get murdered. If they only asked for a little bit, no one would bother to murder them, they’d just pay.’

Exactly as Austin Reynolds had done, I thought. Was that why the amounts had been so small?

‘I saw a film once,’ Emily went on, ‘about an American high school where one of the pupils sends blackmail notes to every one of his year group demanding a single dollar or he would inform the school principal that they had cheated in their exams.’

‘What happened?’ I asked.

‘Nearly all of them hadn’t cheated and they just threw the notes away, but four members of the group actually had, and those four each gave him the dollar.’

‘So?’

‘The blackmailer then knew which of his classmates had cheated, and he then demanded more from them. Pretty clever, eh?’