Dead Reckoning

by Glenis Wilson

  ‘See you late morning tomorrow, then, Mike. I’ll take my own car to Leicester. I’m not sure where I’ll be going after racing.’

  ‘Fine by me. See you then, Harry. And for God’s sake, take care.’

  I grinned as I took my leave. ‘You bet. Nothing’s going to stop me getting back in the saddle tomorrow.’

  Back at the cottage, I opened up the boot and took out the plastic bag containing Fred’s things. No point leaving them in the car now – there’d be no time today to get them over to the hospital. And I didn’t want them perfuming the car if I left them inside any longer. I fully intended to deliver them to the hospital but it wasn’t as if the bag contained any necessary drugs and, when push came to shove, my own problem had to be sorted first. Right now, my problem was Aunt Rachel.

  I opted for the main road route instead of the scenic one and pulled up on the drive behind their car. I got out and pushed the doorbell. Uncle George answered, exclaiming with pleasure at seeing me again.

  ‘Come in, Harry. There’s tea in the pot. Reckon you must have smelt it brewing.’

  ‘Thanks.’ I waited until we were seated in the lounge before I explained why I was back so quickly. ‘I really wanted to speak to Aunt Rachel.’

  ‘Oh, that’s a shame. She’s gone to see a film with her sister, Lucy.’

  My irritation rose a notch. ‘When do you expect her home?’

  ‘I’m sorry, not until after dinner tonight. Can I help?’

  Even before he’d offered, I knew I couldn’t grill him about the flowers. They were a very personal offering from Aunt Rachel to my mother. I doubted if he would know about them either.

  ‘Don’t think so, Uncle George. I’ll have to catch her some other time.’

  ‘She’s really taken up by the kittens. It was a darn good idea of yours to give her them for her birthday.’

  ‘Just as long as she’s happy, that’s OK. I didn’t intend to dump them on you.’

  ‘No, no, to be honest, Harry, I’m very grateful. At the moment they’re flat out asleep in their basket. But there’s something worrying Rachel – well, you saw her reaction yourself – and having Toddy and Trixie is helping to take her mind off whatever it is.’

  ‘Good. She certainly reacted badly. But actually, Uncle George, it’s not the reason I’m here but I seem to have found out the cause of her distress.’

  ‘You have?’ He sat bolt upright. ‘You must tell me. Especially as she’s not here at the moment so she won’t find out. I need to know, Harry.’

  ‘OK, calm down, it’s to do with Mike’s party.’

  ‘Yes, I know that.’

  ‘Well, not the party as such but the fact that woman, Lizzie, is to be there as guest singer.’

  He leaned forward, his gaze never leaving my face. ‘Go on.’

  ‘I think there’s some history between them. How, I don’t know. But Aunt Rachel’s worried that it will all come out in public. I’m hoping to find out a great deal more myself tomorrow night and other things as well.’

  ‘You in the middle of another one of your sleuthing jobs?’

  ‘Unfortunately, yes, I am.’

  ‘Hmmm …’ He tapped his chin with a forefinger. ‘Why am I getting the feeling that Rachel could be deeply involved?’ His gaze sharpened. ‘She is, isn’t she, Harry?’

  ‘Don’t really know, Uncle George. But I’m expecting to wrap it up in the next couple of days. If I don’t, it’s not going to happen.’

  ‘And you’ll tell me, when you find out?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He sighed and sat back. ‘We’ll leave it there for now. But you’ll be calling to see Rachel herself, will you?’

  ‘Have to, I’m afraid. Anyway, won’t keep you. I’m glad the kittens are helping.’

  ‘So am I. They were a complete surprise.’

  ‘What was it you bought for her birthday? You said that was a surprise as well.’

  ‘Haaa, yes, I picked it up last Saturday. I went over to collect it from Victor. Lives at Skegness, you know.’

  ‘Hmm, yes, lovely place.’

  ‘Oh, it is. Saddler’s Rest is a beautiful big house facing the sea. Well, I’d already placed an order with him some time ago and he rang and said it was ready if I’d like to collect it. He took me down the garden – stretches right down to the beach, you know. He’s got a workshop built at the bottom, windows looking right out over the beach and sea. Smashing place to work, if you can drag your eyes away from the view.’ He chuckled. ‘And the walking stick’s a real beauty, with a handle all carved in the shape of a Labrador dog’s head. We had one, you know, years ago – a yellow bitch called Honey.’

  ‘I can tell she’s going to love your surprise too, Uncle George.’

  ‘I hope so, son, I hope so. I want to make up for all she’s lost.’

  I stood up. ‘Have to push off now, Uncle George, things to do.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  He walked out with me to my car. ‘Come again any time.’

  ‘I will, bye, Uncle George.’

  I may not have got the answer I’d been hoping for from Aunt Rachel but Uncle George had unknowingly given me a gem of information and I drove home in a state of suppressed elation. The information was a vital piece of jigsaw on its own, but not only that, it also connected up to a great many other pieces.

  The picture was emerging. I couldn’t wait to see the whole thing.

  TWENTY-NINE

  The Midlands had escaped a frost last night, just. It was still damnably raw and cold with spits of sleet in the wind this morning. However, thankfully, there was no threat to racing at Leicester later today. But, conversely, as I parked in a space at the far end of the hospital car park, my hands were slick with sweat.

  An opening night performance couldn’t have caused more butterflies to flutter. In a way this was similar; I had to put on an act and convince the staff I was Jake. It only needed a suspicious nurse and my number would be called.

  I lifted Fred’s bag from the boot, locked the car and put the keys into my pocket beside my mobile.

  Queuing at the reception desk, I sought the right words that would gain me admission to Fred’s bedside. Abject grovelling, I decided, was the way forward.

  ‘I’m so sorry – I was prevented from coming yesterday with my father’s belongings.’

  ‘And your father would be?’

  ‘Fred Smith, he came in the night before.’

  She consulted the computer. ‘Ward Three, straight down the corridor, turn left at the end then second right.’

  I found Ward Three, door firmly closed to repel boarders, notices stuck up everywhere exhorting everybody to squirt alcohol cleanser on to their hands to prevent the spread of germs. Obediently, the instructions carried out, I pressed the button and waited … and waited … and the door was, eventually, opened by a nurse.

  I got my apologies in first. ‘I’m so very sorry, I know it’s not visiting hours but I have my father’s belongings here.’ I raised the noxious plastic bag. ‘I was hoping I could just see him for a few minutes. It was impossible for me to get here yesterday during visiting hours …’ I ran out of entreaties.

  The young nurse opened the door wider. I slipped through before she could change her mind. She pointed to a corridor further down with individual doors leading off.

  ‘Visiting isn’t restricted.’

  ‘Oh.’

  She didn’t have to say anything else, nor that the rooms were set aside for end-of-life patients.

  ‘He is lucid just at the moment but it won’t last, I’m afraid.’

  I thanked her, walked down the corridor and opened the door with Fred’s name on it. Guardrails, firmly locked into place, were raised on both sides of the bed for safety. Fred lay, lost in the middle, eyes closed, packed around with loads of pillows. A tiny frail form waiting to be released from his woes. At least, thank God, he was no longer in pain and could slip away peacefully. My conscience took heart from that. I stuck th
e plastic bag inside his locker and straightened up to see his eyes following my movements.

  ‘Hello, Fred. Just brought your bits and pieces, specs, slippers, et cetera.’

  He gave a low, acknowledging grunt. Followed by the hoarsely spoken words, ‘I’m … dying.’

  ‘I’m very sorry …’ I shook my head. ‘And I’m sorry I had no choice but to bring you into hospital. Jake wanted me to.’ Well, it was true, I suppose.

  ‘Good boy … Jake …’ It took a very great effort for him to get the words out.

  ‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘But don’t try to speak – save your strength.’

  His fingers convulsively clutched at the hem of the sheet.

  ‘Can’t die … must … must tell you … wasn’t Jake.’

  ‘What are you trying to tell me?’

  ‘Need to … confess.’ His voice was weak and wavering.

  With a sickening jolt to my solar plexus, I knew what he was about to say. Had suspected it, hoped to heaven I was wrong. But knew hopes were useless. And when Jake found out, my chances – and Annabel’s – of continuing to draw breath were nil.

  However, a man was dying here; this was his last chance to make peace with his conscience – and his Maker. If he didn’t tell me, there was no one else to listen.

  ‘Wait a bit, Fred.’ I took my mobile from my pocket. ‘Nobody will believe just my word – there’s got to be proof.’

  I switched the phone on and hoped the mobile would be able to pick up his words.

  ‘What is it you’re confessing to, Fred?’

  ‘Mur … der … I did it.’

  ‘You’re confessing to a murder, Fred, is that what you want to do?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘OK. Now just tell me the person’s name.’

  I waited to hear what I’d already worked out.

  ‘Alice,’ he whispered.

  ‘Do you mean Alice Goode?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why, Fred? Simply confessing isn’t enough. The police need proof.’

  ‘Jo-Jo … my daughter.’

  I nodded. ‘Because Alice introduced Jo-Jo to Louis Frame; she was in his car when it crashed. And they were killed. Is that why? If she hadn’t met him she wouldn’t have died?’

  ‘Yes … yes.’

  ‘But it was a while ago. Why now?’

  ‘Jake … slept with her … saw him leave.’ His eyes closed in exhaustion.

  I could barely make out his words but I put them into a coherent sentence.

  ‘You’re confessing to murdering Alice Goode because she introduced Jo-Jo to Louis Frame and then Jake slept with Alice. Is that why?’

  His fingers clutched at the sheet. ‘Yes … yes.’

  ‘Fred, I don’t like to pester you but I need something more. Do you understand? The police want concrete proof.’

  I could see he was all but spent but I knew he wanted the same result I did. If I didn’t get it now there wouldn’t be a second chance.

  ‘The fag …’ he began.

  Slowly, cruelly laboriously, speaking one word every few seconds, he gave me the proof – concrete proof. It blew me away. And I recorded every word he said.

  Life had improved immeasurably by the afternoon. Not wishing to face any more exploding bombs, I’d temporarily shelved going over to see Aunt Rachel. I’d have to face her before tonight’s party but that was OK. I needed all my concentration right now for my racing.

  The weather had given the raw start to the day the elbow, sleet was now a memory and a weak yet cheering sun had broken through the clouds, lighting up the race meeting at Leicester. And having been given a clearance and fit to ride decision, I was now changing into white breeches inside the jockeys’ changing room. The valet held out my body protector. I slipped into it and fastened the front zip before putting on my silks.

  ‘Good to see you, Harry.’

  ‘Thanks. You’re not half as glad as I am.’

  ‘Hmm, no rides, no pay.’

  ‘True.’

  ‘Say, did you hear about Dunston, the box driver?’

  ‘I knew his son was on remand and was found dead.’

  ‘Yeah, we all reckon that must have been what did it.’

  ‘What’re you going on about?’

  The other jockeys in the three o’clock were all beginning to troop out. I picked up my helmet and whip.

  ‘Only topped hissen, didn’t he.’

  ‘Get away!’ My head jerked round. ‘How?’

  ‘Chucked hissen off Flamborough Head. He lives up near Bridlington, well … he did.’

  ‘No,’ I said slowly. ‘I didn’t know. Are you sure it wasn’t an accident?’

  ‘No, reckon he meant to do it. Left a note. Said something to the effect that all the people he cared about were on the other side and he was going to jump off and join ’em.’

  And I’d thought the day had improved. Just showed how gullible I was. The valet’s words had shaken me but I needed to push the gruesome scenario out of my mind and concentrate on riding my half-a-ton of horseflesh. Half my mind elsewhere wasn’t going to cut it.

  Lord Edgware was standing with Mike and Darren, the stable lad, in the middle of the parade ring. I walked across and joined them. I touched the edge of my cap briefly. He beamed at me from all of his six-foot-four advantage.

  ‘Sound in wind and limb … and head?’ he chuckled.

  ‘Yes, thank you, sir – fully fit.’

  ‘So what are the chances for Penny Black?’

  ‘He should come in the frame.’

  ‘And you’ve put blinkers on him.’ Lord Edgware turned to Mike.

  ‘Well, it certainly sharpens him up for the race; can’t get distracted so easily.’

  The familiar words ‘Jockeys please mount’ were called and Mike flipped me up into the saddle. I found the irons and shortened up the reins.

  ‘Bring the old devil back safely, Harry, and yourself. Winning comes second to that.’

  ‘Yes, Your Lordship. Do my best.’

  And as the starter’s tape flew high, the joy thrilled through me as we jumped away. I knew the horse was as excited and keen to run and win as I was. But very often, safety and winning didn’t come together in harmony. The intrusive thought crept into my mind that I’d heard of one pending death, one death that had already occurred and I didn’t need a third to complete the hat-trick.

  Penny Black, however, was a skilful jumper, needing little prompting on approaching fences. With ears pricked, snorting his pleasure loudly through wide, flared nostrils, the blinkers kept him focussed on the fence immediately in front and not sidetracked by horses to his side. We kept a steady, fluid pace four back from the leader and flew the fences as they came at us. With three left to jump, I took him into third place and he cleared the next two beautifully. It was now or not, and both of us were keen to go for it. I kicked him on at the last brushwood fence and he sailed over, gaining two lengths and landing smoothly, passing the second horse and chasing the leader. With hands and heels, I pushed him along and he responded, reaching forward with his head and neck. As the post flashed by we were a short head in front.

  Joy flooded through me. What a way to earn a living. I wouldn’t swap it for any other job on earth.

  Back in the winners’ enclosure, Lord Edgware‘s face was one big smile.

  ‘A wonderful race, Harry, well done.’ He patted Penny Black’s hot, sweaty neck. ‘Well done, well done.’

  Mike and I exchanged wide, satisfied grins. Keep the owners happy. Keep our jobs.

  I unbuckled the saddle, pulling it away from the horse’s steaming body, the smell of hot horseflesh filling my nostrils as I folded the girths over my arm and headed for the weighing room. A first ride and a winner – life was very sweet.

  And it continued to be sweet. I rode White Lace in the three thirty and she showed the rest of the horses how to do it over hurdles. Chloe was ecstatic when we walked into the winners’ enclosure and went into the first spot.

/>   ‘That was wonderful, Harry.’ She laughed up at me as I took my boots out of the irons and dismounted. The rest of the cheerful crowd agreed with her and clapped enthusiastically.

  ‘Great to have you back riding, Harry,’ one man shouted.

  I’d no idea who he was but raised a hand in acknowledgement of the goodwill.

  ‘If tonight’s party goes as well, you’ll have everything sewn up by tomorrow,’ Mike said, beaming.

  I flashed him a glance as I unsaddled. ‘You reckon?’ He didn’t know what I knew.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ he said expansively, ‘every faith in you.’

  I went to weigh in. A few minutes later, now dressed in my normal clothes, I had to disappoint Chloe.

  ‘Sorry, but no, I can’t stop for a drink. I’ve got things to do before the party, best crack on.’

  ‘What a shame,’ she pouted.

  ‘Have a drink with me when I get to Mike’s tonight.’

  She perked up. ‘Yes, I will. I’ll hold you to it.’

  I left her with Mike and drove away from the racecourse.

  Without ringing in advance, I went to see Aunt Rachel. This time she was in.

  ‘Harry, oh, do come in. Have you come to see the kittens?’

  Without waiting for my reply, she opened the door to the lounge and both ginger bundles tumbled out. Their comical gambles brought a smile to my face. It had been a long time since Leo had acted like that.

  ‘Keeping you busy, Aunt Rachel?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’

  I bent and scooped them up but their fluffy, innocent persona lasted about three seconds flat before their tiny claws were unsheathed and they were struggling and kicking to be put down.

  ‘Ouch!’ I said, laughing. ‘They’re tigers in disguise.’

  ‘Here,’ Aunt Rachel said, ‘put some of this on your scratches, Harry.’

  I reached for the tube she was holding out.

  ‘It’s aloe vera. Very good at healing skin irritations. It’s the only product that promotes cell growth.’

  ‘Thanks.’ I rubbed a little on to my hands. The smell was exactly the same as that on the warning letter. Annabel had been right.