Deadly Odds

by Jean Chapman

‘But that’s not connected with gang warfare and international drug dealing,’ Cannon said.

  ‘No,’ Paul agreed, ‘but Charlie says Spracks has an interest in a young man who is living with him at Morbury Hall.’

  ‘Oho!’ Hoskins exclaimed. ‘So that’s the way the wind blows.’

  ‘This young man is a keen rider, competes in the same events young Archie Granger is doing so well in,’ Paul informed them.

  Hoskins put three mugs of strong tea on the table, all three sat sipping in silence as they considered the implications of this information.

  ‘Archie has just the one horse,’ Hoskins said, ‘it’ll break his heart if anything happens to her.’

  ‘Jess is a lovely mare,’ Paul said, ‘we all have plans for her.’

  ‘But men like Spracks always have to win at everything, big or small,’ Hoskins said grimly, ‘I’ve seen ’em.’

  So have I, Cannon thought, recalling a gang leader who had smashed in the head of one of his men with a snooker cue because he had beaten him at the game – and Spracks made a practice of preying on his fellow villains, wanting their illegal gains as well as his own.

  ‘Somehow or other they have to win, be top dog,’ Hoskins stated.

  ‘Not if I can help it,’ Cannon muttered.

  CHAPTER 10

  ‘Not if can help it,’ Cannon repeated the words to himself as he drove home.

  Alamat was restocking the bottle shelves behind the bar and Bozena emptying the glass-washing machine when he walked in. Both stopped work and looked anxiously at him.

  ‘I know where he is,’ he told them, ‘don’t worry.’ He forced a smile.

  ‘He comes back?’ Bozena asked.

  ‘He has things he needs to do.’

  ‘With those hands!’ she exclaimed.

  Cannon shrugged.

  ‘Mr Betterson upstairs with Mrs Liz,’ Bozena told him sternly, ‘he waits for you.’

  ‘Good,’ he said, ‘we’ll soon sort it all out.’

  He started upstairs, knowing he had made that wild statement because of the worried looks on the couple’s faces. He heard a sceptical ‘Huh!’ from Bozena, and Alamat called, ‘Police brought him in patrol car,’ as if that added to the seriousness of the situation.

  ‘Ah! Here’s the man we really need,’ Betterson greeted him affably enough as he entered the lounge, but the DI looked tired, stressed, as he went on. ‘Pity you’re not still in the force. What we desperately need is a man who knows Austin and the way he works as well as you do.’

  ‘In or out, I’d still go a long way to cover Austin’s back,’ he answered, ‘and to nail this Spracks.’

  ‘Pity I can’t send you over to the States after him then.’

  The trip abroad had come quickly, but the tone of Betterson’s voice alerted Cannon. ‘Something gone wrong?’ he asked.

  ‘The FBI lost track of Austin and Spracks as soon as they landed at JFK,’ Betterson said, accepting a coffee from Liz. ‘It was smart work. The two of them went into the locking facilities in a men’s washroom. Minutes later, the FBI chaps stationed outside saw two men of similar build, wearing the same clothes, carrying identical hand luggage, leave. These were the men they followed – but it was not Spracks and Austin.’

  ‘So the substitutes must have been waiting in arranged cubicles with similar gear – clever, detailed planning,’ Cannon commented. ‘And these men?’

  ‘Knew nothing beyond being told it was a stunt to avoid a troublesome wife, with a handsome payout for their time and trouble. But Austin left a message biro-ed on the toilet wall. “Target – Kentucky Derby”.’

  ‘The Kentucky,’ Cannon repeated, his brain retrieving a mishmash of information: a song, ‘My Old Kentucky Home’; Louisiana, the blue grass state; horses; horse farms; horse racing and the Kentucky Derby said to be the most exciting few minutes in flat racing. ‘That’s soon, isn’t it?’

  ‘First Saturday in May every year, just weeks away. Spracks plans to make a big killing there.’ Betterson paused and tutted. ‘Not the best way of putting things. What I mean to say is that the main trouble is that he will not be the only “Big Man” there. Could be the battle of the Titans by the time the opposition is assembled. There’s one guy that makes ’em all tremble, known as “The Harvester” – should be called “The Grim Reaper.”’

  ‘“The Harvester,”’ Liz said. ‘Paul overheard the name at Morbury.’

  ‘You do know it was Austin who…?’ Cannon asked, gesturing making marks on a wall.

  ‘His writing’s been confirmed, images sent back to this country. So, as I know, the UK end …’ Betterson paused, drew in a deep breath and exhaled sharply. ‘I’ve been seconded to the Met for the duration of this operation, while an officer who knows Austin, his appearance, his methods – probably not half as well as you do – is being sent to the U S of A.’

  ‘I could pick him out in any crowd,’ Cannon muttered quietly.

  ‘What about Paul’s wife and child?’ Liz asked. ‘Spracks’s people have all Paul’s details.’

  ‘And yours,’ Betterson reminded her, ‘so be watchful. One of the reasons I’m here is to let you know that Chief Inspector Helen Jefferson is officially off the scene, and she and the child safe – in a safe house. Tell Paul, word of mouth from someone he trusts will reassure him much more than official messages.’

  ‘Not unknown for me to nip into Hoskins’s cottage with bits and pieces from the kitchen,’ Liz said. ‘I’ve also been thinking of taking some of my painting and sketching materials over to Paul. He’ll be better with something to occupy his mind. I can do everything at the same time.’

  ‘Knew I could rely on the two of you … as always,’ Betterson was saying as there was a knock and Alamat called to them.

  ‘Police car is back, a sergeant waiting downstairs.’

  ‘So, duty calls,’ Betterson said, stood and straightened himself up to his full six foot four. ‘My bag’s in the car and I’m straight off to Scotland Yard, wife’s not best pleased.’ He pulled a rueful face as he held out his hand to Cannon. ‘Take care of yourselves,’ he said, ‘and keep an eye on Charlie Brown, won’t you? He’s an angry man, we don’t want him going off the rails.’

  They listened to Betterson call to Alamat and Bozena as he went through the bar, and seconds later they heard car doors slam.

  ‘Withholding evidence?’ Liz suggested. ‘Not telling him Charlie Brown was not still here.’

  ‘No,’ Cannon admitted, ‘and he’s not with Hoskins, either.’

  ‘What!’ Liz exclaimed and sat down again. ‘I thought for sure … and that’s why you didn’t say anything. So we’re in charge of a man we’ve lost. You’d better ring the Grangers to see if he has arrived there.’

  ‘I’d rather go. What about you and I drive over now?’ he suggested. ‘We could have a general look around, see what’s going on.’

  ‘You mean you want your old Met partner back,’ she said.

  ‘Well, with Helen and Betterson away, there’s no one else.’

  ‘Now if I was Spracks…’ she began.

  ‘You wouldn’t be just throwing a tea towel.’

  When they arrived, he saw that Manor Farm had known better times, much better times, had probably been The Manor when the main house had been built in Tudor times. It had been extended to one side to make an L-shaped building; but all needed a coat or two of paint, some of the wooden windows needed replacing, and the slate roofs of the outbuildings sagged, making Cannon wonder about the underlying timbers. He guessed it was probably a listed building so plastic windows and lighter roof tiles would not be allowed. More problems for a hard-pressed farmer.

  Cannon drove into an enclosed yard made by the long side of the house extension on one side and a row of stables, barns and open hovels the other. There was already a tractor, and the horse box he had been in at Morbury, parked there.

  There was a side door through a small enclosed yard. He knocked, and as the door opened, the smell of
baking bread was accompanied by a bonnie, flush-faced woman with faded blonde curls.

  ‘Mrs Granger? John Cannon from The Trap public house in …’

  ‘Reed St Clement,’ she supplied, her gesture inviting him in. ‘I’ve heard all about you.’

  ‘Baking bread, Mrs Granger,’ he said. ‘I could eat a crust of that!’

  ‘Chrissie,’ she corrected. ‘If you’re still here when it comes out of the oven, you shall, with some butter straight from our dairy.’

  ‘I’ll be here,’ he promised.

  Chrissie laughed and as the frown that seemed permanently etched into her forehead disappeared, she looked ten years younger. Then she told them in a great rush, ‘Charlie Brown’s here, a friend drove him, and he seems to want to stay – which is fine – but I said he should let you know.’

  ‘Why we’re here of course, it’s one of the things we needed to reassure ourselves about …’ Cannon began. ‘I understand you’ve known him for some time.’

  ‘We’ve known Alan Hoskins and the Browns …’ She paused as if to give passing respect to Joe Brown. ‘… since our Archie was at junior school.’

  ‘Charlie’s angry and upset,’ he said, ‘we don’t want him doing anything stupid.’

  ‘Not surprising he’s upset,’ Chrissie said fiercely, ‘first Tilly – and those two should have married years ago – and now his father. Are the police any nearer finding these murderers?’

  ‘I think they are doing their best,’ Cannon said.

  ‘And Charlie’s hands, how is he managing?’ Liz asked, diverting the conversation.

  ‘He keeps wanting to take his bandages off.’

  ‘Ah! He mustn’t,’ Liz said.

  ‘I’ve told him, in no uncertain terms,’ Chrissie said. ‘He won’t be shoeing any horses for a bit, that’s for sure, but he has just walked up to the gallops with my husband to watch our Archie give his horse a bit of a work out. Think he wants to take over where Tilly left off …’ She paused to swallow the lump that had come into her throat. ‘She would have wanted that.’

  ‘I understand you’ve had other problems, incidents,’ Cannon gently prompted.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Look, I can safely leave the oven for an hour. Would you like to walk up to the gallops? I can show you some of the things that have happened as we go.’

  The incidents were a burnt-out barn still with some of the blackened remains of a year’s hay feed for their animals inside. ‘We thought we’d get it all clear before now, but once the eventing season starts, things get left.’

  The next was more recent, a broken hasp on a shed. ‘Our quadbike was stolen a few weeks ago. We’ve had no more news of that, and the insurance people – they’re taking their time …’ She dismissed them with a sniff. ‘But it’s missed, saved a lot of time getting around the farm.’

  Then she showed him a new section of roadside fencing. ‘It was deliberately broken down, that’s where our cows got out, nearly caused a bad accident – that would then have been our fault of course.’

  Now she pointed out a steep hill with hedges running all the way up. She led them through a gate and they found themselves between the two substantial hedgerows. ‘We left this originally as a wildlife strip, but now we let the sheep in to keep the grass down, and it doubles as a training gallop for Archie.’

  ‘That’s really steep,’ Cannon said. ‘I do a bit of running, but that is a bit …’

  ‘You just wait until you see Jess, there’s nothing that horse likes better than a good uphill run, her power’s in her back quarters, that’s what Tilly said makes her a potential champion, and if this artist friend of yours does sponsor us, it will make such a difference. It’s Archie’s dream to have an eventing yard, take horses in livery, even to ride for other top event horse owners.’ She paused and shrugged. ‘A bit of sponsorship might give us heart to carry on.’

  Cannon could see how he could be contributing some of his pub’s profits, but was not sure how a building society logo could be done by a man who was supposed to be dead, but made no comment as they reached the open-ended shelter.

  Here, Archie was just being given a leg up on to the mare by his father. Charlie Brown was standing to one side watching with interest, but looked somewhat abashed when he saw Cannon and Liz.

  ‘Just came to see if you were OK,’ Cannon told him.

  ‘We felt responsible,’ Liz added.

  ‘Responsible?’

  ‘We took you home with us from the hospital and …’

  ‘Yeah. Yeah, I’m sorry,’ Charlie said. ‘If I could have written a note, I would have. I’ve got a lot on my mind.’

  ‘We’re here to help if we can,’ Cannon said.

  ‘It’s good to see you again,’ Steve Granger called over, and stood back as Archie set off.

  ‘Just how far is it up that hill?’ he asked.

  ‘A mile,’ Steve Granger answered, ‘a straight mile.’

  ‘Look at them go,’ Chrissie said proudly.

  It was awesome to see the horse powering ever faster uphill, seeming to devour the ground under its hooves with positive pleasure.

  ‘Wow,’ Liz breathed.

  ‘That’s some horse,’ Charlie murmured.

  Cannon recalled seeing the magnificent animal straddled on the fence at Morbury and heartily wished he could feel there was no further threat to this horse and rider. He intended to ask Archie Granger if he knew anything of the young man who lived with Spracks at Morbury Hall.

  Then, as all watched the horse pounding away, diminishing uphill, there was a change, a dramatic change. The horse threw up its head as if unexpectedly confronting a barrier, an obstacle it had not seen. Then it jumped … leapt … cat-leapt … throwing itself up, hind quarters screwed to one side, over something certainly none of the onlookers could see.

  Was it just a shadow? A tall tree casting a long dark outline on the grass? Cannon had heard of a horse jumping a shadow once and losing not just a race but its life.

  Jess’s leap was enormous, and so was the twist, Archie had no chance of staying in the saddle, and he sailed unceremoniously over the horse’s right shoulder.

  Cannon was in front as the four of them ran up towards where Archie lay, and now he saw what the horse had avoided.

  ‘Look out for the wire!’ he shouted back. ‘There’s a wire!’ He spread out his arms to indicate where a taut wire had been stretched across the gallop as he ran to kneel by Archie.

  Chrissie ran on towards her son, not seeming to have heard Cannon’s warning. He saw her husband catch her arm and point, heard the agonized cry as Chrissie saw the wire positioned at a height to do maximum injury to horse and rider.

  ‘He’s winded,’ Cannon said as Chrissie fell to her knees, ‘give him room, time to get his breath, then we’ll see what’s what.’

  Archie could barely pull breath into his lungs, but shook his head and asked, ‘Jess?’

  Cannon looked up the hill after the horse who was completing the gallop alone. ‘I think you can safely say she’s fine.’

  ‘But you nearly weren’t,’ Charlie shouted. He had gone over to one of the high hedgerows bordering the gallop, parting branches. ‘Can you see this?’

  ‘Don’t touch anything,’ Cannon shouted urgently, ‘and don’t trample the ground, there could be forensics and there has to be footprints.’

  Charlie stood stock still.

  ‘But look!’ he exclaimed. ‘Just look! It’s like a professional job, great metal tripods like … like … circus performers’ tightropes – or volleyball … or …’

  ‘And it all looks new,’ Cannon said.

  ‘Specially bought for the job, with a nice matte green wire so it didn’t glint in the sunlight,’ Steve Granger added bitterly.

  ‘No chance on any other horse,’ Archie gasped.

  ‘A death trap,’ Charlie Brown finished, ‘another bloody death trap!’

  CHAPTER 11

  The horse was caught and taken back to her stable
unhurt. When the police arrived, they agreed with Charlie, death, or injury, had certainly been intended, and had grimly and carefully gone about the business of examining the whole area, taking casts of footprints.

  Sergeant Morris, the local beat man, who had obviously known the Grangers for years, said forensics would later remove the wire and supports for more intensive examination at the laboratories. He added there was no need for them to stay out on the hillside.

  ‘Just be round the house and buildings so we can find you when we’ve finished here,’ he said.

  Chrissie followed her husband and son. Cannon lingered and as he had hoped, Charlie stayed.

  ‘I wanted to have a word,’ Cannon began.

  ‘I’m sorry I crept out of your place, must have upset that Boz …’

  ‘Bozena and Alamat. Well, we all have our reasons for doing things,’ Cannon said enigmatically. ‘I didn’t want to talk about that. I wondered if you could tell me anything more about a young man who lives at Morbury Hall and competes in this eventing.’

  ‘Jonathan Beale,’ Charlie said immediately, ‘and that’s about as much as I know. I’ve wondered about him. He comes to the events in a brand new horse-lorry, huge great blue and silver thing, with Team Jonathan emblazoned on its sides.’ Charlie shook his head. ‘Bit of a mystery. Young Archie would know him better than any of us, seen him talking to him several times at events, and Steve would have passed the time of day with the young dandy.’

  ‘Dandy?’

  ‘Well, his riding clothes are like his vehicle, the best on the market bar none. A lot of money has gone into everything he has.’

  ‘The opposite to Archie then.’

  ‘Very much so, just one of the things Tilly and I were trying to help with … keeping the Grangers’ costs down, worked for a time – when the playing field was level.’

  ‘Chrissie showed me some of the things that had been done,’ Cannon said, ‘but one thing I can tell you is that Spracks is definitely in America at the moment.’

  ‘Maybe so, but I can tell you Jonathan Beale is certainly entered in next week’s event at Owton Bassett.’ Charlie pulled a programme from his back pocket. ‘And he’s in the same events as Archie.’