Find Them Dead

40 Saturday 11 May

Meg had to read the note twice. Was she dreaming? Had the bookie written it? What did he mean by it?

Her stomach heaved with sudden fear. She turned, barged past the steward, back out of the enclosure gate, then knelt and threw up on the grass.

‘Are you OK, madam?’ a kindly male voice behind her asked.

‘God,’ said a disgusted, haughty female voice. ‘Don’t people know how to behave any more these days? I mean, really. This is a race meeting, not a chavs’ day out.’

Ignoring both, and the commentary over the speakers announcing they were under starter’s orders, she ran, stumbling her way back through the crowd towards the bookies.

‘It’s Spartan from Blue Dancer, Alcazam, Made of Honour, then Colin’s Brother, Gemini, What-a-Boy, Gunslinger.’ The commentary rang out, echoing, across the entire racecourse. Increasingly, people were stopping whatever they were doing and listening.

‘Made of Honour is a faller. It’s now Spartan from Blue Dancer, Alcazam making ground, then Colin’s Brother, What-a-Boy, Gunslinger on the rails.’

To Meg, as she hurried on, it was just noise, it meant nothing, her bet forgotten. To her relief there was no queue now for Jack Jonas. The bookie was tapping an electronic device.

‘Excuse me,’ she said, breathlessly, as she reached him.

He looked up at her, blankly.

‘I placed a bet with you a few minutes ago,’ she said.

He shook his head. ‘Sorry, darling, no more bets, the race has started.’

‘No, that’s not what I want to talk about. I placed a bet — £150 — on Colin’s Brother, do you remember?’

‘I’m sorry, darling.’ His tone was turning increasingly unpleasant. ‘Don’t think you heard me the first time. I said, no more bets.’

‘I don’t want to place another bet. I want you to explain this.’ She held up the slip of paper.

‘Look, clear off, lady, I’m busy.’

‘You gave it to me, underneath the betting slip,’ she persisted.

He made a show of studying it for some seconds then shook his head. ‘Never seen it before in my life.’

‘I’m telling you, you gave me this — with my betting slip.’

‘And I’m telling you, darling, I ain’t never seen this in my life. Are you sure you placed your bet with me?’ He stared hard at her and jerked a finger to his right. ‘Wasn’t with any of them?’

She stared equally hard back at him. ‘No.’ She produced the ticket bearing his name. ‘I put a £150 bet with you on Colin’s Brother. Don’t you remember?’

‘Darling, I’m a bookmaker, not a bleedin’ circus Memory Man.’ He looked back down at his electronic device and tapped keys on it.

Conversation over.

Meg continued to stand there, fighting off tears. ‘Please help me. Maybe it was your assistant — the guy sitting behind you?’

‘Beg pardon?’ he said, without looking up from his device.

‘Someone put this note with the betting slip — ticket — whatever. Could it have been your colleague? Shall I ask him?’

Jack Jonas looked up, suddenly, his face full of menace. ‘Colin’s Brother you bet on?’

‘Yes.’

‘Each-way or win?’

‘To win.’

‘Wouldn’t have mattered.’ His expression morphed into a smug smile. ‘Came fourth, you’d have lost anyway. Now stop bothering me before I call security.’

‘Call them,’ she challenged, standing her ground.

‘You sure?’

‘I’m very sure.’

‘Before I do, darling,’ he sneered, ‘let me just tell you that vomit down the front of your jacket really doesn’t become you... Not a good look at a nice race meeting.’ He nodded at her badge. ‘Had a fancy lunch in the owners’ enclosure restaurant, did you? A bit too much of the posh sparkles? Happens all the time. Know what I suggest?’

She faced him off.

‘You’re pissed. I suggest you get out of here, before I get security to throw you out. That would be really undignified.’