‘So you have no idea what’s coming in here?’
‘No. It’s an obvious but very effective precaution against malpractice. Of course, it’s absolutely essential that the system is incorruptible, and I’m glad to say that there’s never been a failure.’
I nodded my head, and asked him, by way of small talk, what were the oddest drugs he’d detected in his time.
‘Well, of course, these days, it’s very seldom anyone bothers to use anything to stop or stimulate a horse because they know it will be routinely detected. From time to time they try masking with other substances, but I don’t think anyone’s got away with it for years.’
‘What sort of stimulants did they use, when they still thought they could get away with it?’
Dr Poulton seemed to savour the question with a pursing of his thin lips. ‘All sorts of things,’ he said, ‘most of which wouldn’t have made a lot of difference anyway. Quite commonly they’d use cocaine, administered through the mouth or nostrils, or caffeine, which can be injected. But it’s a long time since anyone used either.’
I left Newmarket and drove home, turning over what Poulton had told me. On the face of it, he was right; the system was fool-proof as we’d always been told and confirmed our conclusion that whatever Toby was doing, he wasn’t doping the horses he’d napped. The best hope of discovering the secret of his success must lie on the race-course itself.
To my annoyance, when I phoned Toby’s line for his nap the following morning, it was running at Haydock.
But as I’d decided to log all the attendances I could of other parties at the affected races, the more distant ones were almost more significant. The northern tracks had their own followers, and it took a lot to get a southerner up for a normal day’s racing.
I had to use the digital camera myself, as discreetly as I could, especially when I was down near the start. The race-courses had stringent rules about who was and who wasn’t allowed to take pictures on the course itself.
At the back of my mind was the thought that I could always claim the protection of Lord Tintern and the Jockey Club if anyone remonstrated with me. At the same time, I didn’t want to be conspicuous by photographing without an official badge.
Chapter Nine
I arrived back late and exhausted on Tuesday night but was in the office first thing next morning.
Just after nine, Matt arrived, looking annoyed and perplexed.
‘What’s happened?’ I asked.
‘I can’t believe it, but Toby’s jacked in his tipping line.’
‘What? You must be joking!’
‘I’m not. I just phoned the line and the message says that, as of today, there’s no more service.’
With my mind racing between frustration at losing the Jockey Club job and speculation about Toby’s reasons for suddenly abandoning a large, easy income, I picked up the phone and dialled his London number. A machine answered; I didn’t leave a message. I tried the number at Yew Tree Lodge. Not even a machine answered.
I was still stunned by the news. ‘I can’t understand it – he was making an absolute fortune. I can’t see Toby giving it all up for no reason. Somebody must have put him up to it.’
Matt nodded slowly. ‘That’s what I’d have said.’
‘But who?’
Matt shrugged. ‘And how?’
‘I wonder if he’s okay?’ I said, surprised to find myself suddenly concerned for Toby’s welfare.
‘If he’s gone out of business, the Jockey Club won’t need us to carry on our investigation,’ my partner said flatly.
‘I should think they’ll still want some kind of report to justify the money they’ll have to pay us.’
‘Maybe,’ he said, unconvinced. ‘We might as well get hold of the tapes from his cottage and the flat. I could do it,’ he added unexpectedly. ‘I’m meeting up with Sara from Chapman’s office for a drink this evening.’
‘No,’ I said. ‘I’ll do it. I might catch Toby if he’s in and find out what’s happened.’ I also had plans to be in London.
Matt didn’t object and we arranged to meet at six that evening at my sister’s place to update each other.
As I drove up the M4, I rang Jane.
‘Any sign of Toby?’ I asked when she came on the line.
‘No, and you’re not the first to ask.’
‘I’m sure I’m not. I hope he’s okay.’
‘Why shouldn’t he be?’ Jane asked sharply.
‘You know Toby. It seems very strange for him to close down a lucrative line without a bloody good reason.’
‘I also know that he was getting worried about it. So do you. I think he’s probably decided to call it a day and take a break, though he normally phones to let me know when he does. The blasted bookies must be happy, at least.’
I agreed with her, extracted a promise that if she heard from Toby she’d tell him to contact me, and rang off.
I found a place to park right outside the building where Toby’s flat occupied the second floor. I phoned his number but there was still no reply. Two minutes later I was pressing the button marked ‘Porter’.
When he arrived, I blagged my way into the building, retrieved the tape from the recorder hidden behind the fire-hose under the stairs, and left.
I arrived at my sister’s house shortly before six. I hadn’t expected Matt to bring Sara with him, but when they turned up together, he said they were having dinner later, and he wanted me to hear from her directly what she’d just been telling him.
I sensed that Sara was already regretting her indiscretion but had let herself get caught up in Matt’s urgency to find out what had happened to Toby.
We sat around the table in the basement office, but Sara couldn’t sit for long. She gratefully took the drink I offered her and started to walk up and down the room.
‘I shouldn’t be telling you this,’ she started. ‘But after what’s happened . . .’
‘Come on,’ Matt said quietly. ‘No one’s ever going to know it came from you.’
‘They’d better not,’ she said, and took a deep breath. ‘Yesterday, Toby Brown napped a horse that opened in the morning at ten to one. Of course, a pile of money went on it in the first few minutes, and every one pulled it in to fives then twos. The small firms were all phoning, desperate to unload some of it. It won, of course. Matt knows because he backed it.’ She glanced at him with marked fondness. ‘Right after that, Leslie, the finance director, came in to see Harry. He was white as a sheet. He told Harry they were going to have to do something, and spelt out what the firm had lost on Toby’s naps over the last three weeks.’
‘How much was that?’ I asked.
‘Over ten million.’
‘Bloody hell!’ I said, looking at Matt, who nodded.
‘I know,’ he said, ‘it sounds incredible, but you can believe it. The punters are hardly bothering with the other races now.’
‘That’s right.’ Sara nodded. ‘I heard Harry shouting, “How much longer can we go on losing like this?” And Leslie said no more than a week, or they were going to have to realise some assets.’ Sara shrugged. ‘I don’t know the state of their balance sheet from day to day, but I should think it very likely they’ve swallowed up all their cash reserves and cranked up their borrowings to near the limit.
‘It’s a very tricky situation. You see, the profit from the betting shops is what paid for the hotel chain. Historically, they’ve consistently made a lot of money – until now, that is. But if they decided to sell the shops, they’d have to sell them very cheap because of the losses they’re making; and if they didn’t sell, and Toby’s run continued, they would go bust.
‘They’ve had buyers knocking at their door for most of the individual hotels, and several for the group as a whole. I guess the UK hotel market is still undersubscribed.’
‘That’s why they can charge such ridiculous prices,’ I said, nodding.
‘But Harry wouldn’t let that happen. Don’t forget – he came w
ith the hotels.’
‘So what did he do?’
‘He came out and asked me to arrange a meeting yesterday afternoon with the chief executives of the other three big bookmakers. I made damn’ sure I was around when they got there. I didn’t hear everything they said, but the gist of it was that they were going to deal with Toby. They reckoned they had no other choice.’
‘How were they going to deal with him?’ I urged.
‘I’m afraid I don’t know. I missed the details; they clammed up when I was in the room.’
I looked at Matt. ‘What do you think it means?’
‘Could be anything. Did you get the tape from his flat?’
‘Yes, but I haven’t listened to it yet.’
‘Have you talked to Tintern?’
‘No,’ I admitted. I’d been trying to put it off until I had something constructive to report. I couldn’t help thinking that we should find Toby before we spoke to Lord Tintern. ‘Let’s play the tape first,’ I said, hoping that might reveal something.
I pulled the small cassette from my pocket and slotted it into a DAT-deck.
It looked from the amount of tape used as if about an hour of material had been recorded since Matt had placed the mikes there four days before.
On the Saturday evening there had been a short conversation in the flat – more of an argument – with another man whom Toby referred to as Link. I didn’t recognise the nasal London voice but it was clear that whoever it was resented the fact that Toby had arranged to have dinner with other people that evening.
I remembered that he had said he was holding some kind of a party on the Saturday night and for a moment I thought we were going to hear the whole event on tape, but it soon became clear that there had been a change of plan and he was going to the other people’s house for dinner.
The banging of a door marked the end of that conversation; we assumed this was ‘Link’ leaving. After that, there was a quick one-sided phone conversation in which Toby arranged to have dinner at Le Caprice, rather than at anyone’s home. We got the impression he was talking to a woman, but no names were used.
At what the recorder logged as 8.15 on Monday morning, we heard Toby make a call, recording the day’s message for his tipping line. From that, we realised he had been away all Sunday.
Then there was nothing until Tuesday evening, when the recorder was activated by Toby playing very loudly a recording of Rigoletto. This lasted a frustrating twenty minutes before the phone rang when the music was switched off. We heard him answering.
‘Toby Brown here . . . Oh yes? How can I help you? . . . What about it? . . . If we come to an arrangement, it’ll cost you a lot of money . . . All right, as long as you know. Where would you like to meet? . . . Let me write that down . . . Fine, I’ll see you then.’
The next sequence must have occurred just a few minutes later, obviously to an answerphone. ‘Hello, Link? It’s Toby. I’m sorry, we’ll have to cancel our meeting this afternoon. I’ve made an appointment I’ve got to keep. I’ll speak to you later.’
From what Sara had overheard in her boss’s office, she was fairly sure that Harry Chapman had made contact with Toby; it sounded like the meeting which we’d just heard him arranging.
There was nothing else on the tape.
Matt looked at me moodily. We’d learned frustratingly little. And we had no clue to where Toby had gone, or where he was now.
I picked up a phone and dialled all his numbers again. This time, his mobile number answered with a message. I left my name and contact number, and begged him to get in touch as soon as possible.
I was encouraged; last time I’d tried the mobile, it had been switched off. That it was now in answering mode suggested Toby was still in circulation.
Matt, dispelling his gloom, took Sara off to have dinner. I agreed to keep myself on stand-by in case Toby phoned.
I settled down in front of a convincingly real fake log fire in my sister’s comfortable, quaintly old-fashioned drawing room on the first floor of the house and watched the early news on television.
I was just thinking about phoning Emma when my mobile rang.
I grabbed it. The caller’s number hadn’t been displayed. I punched ‘yes’.
A male voice I didn’t recognise asked if he was speaking to Thames Valley Protection Services. I told him he was.
‘It’s David Dysart here, of Wessex Biotech. I’ve been dealing with Matt James.’
‘You’ve come through to his partner, Simon Jeffries.’
‘Simon, how are you?’ The voice had the hearty confidence of a man who obviously thought he knew me.
‘I’m fine, thanks. But, forgive me, Matt told me you and I had met . . . I’m sorry to say I couldn’t remember where.’
Dysart laughed. ‘At least you’re honest. I’ll tell you exactly where it was – a party given by Lord Tintern a year or so ago at the In and Out. I think you were a guest of that lovely daughter of his.’
I remembered the party well, and Dysart vaguely now. ‘Yes, of course,’ I said. ‘How do you know Lord Tintern?’
‘He’s an old friend. His venture capital fund took a stake in our company last year – not a large one, about seven percent.’
‘I didn’t realise that, though I know quite a lot more about your company now.’
‘And our personnel.’
‘Yes,’ I agreed guardedly.
‘Brian Griffiths was rather upset by your visit. I think possibly I made a mistake asking you to go to his home, but anyway he’s accepted it now. The reason I’m phoning was to tell Matt to continue with his investigations. I’d put him on hold for a while, thinking I was making more trouble than was necessary.’
That was the first I’d heard of it; I was glad I’d fielded this call. I reassured Dysart that we would take great care not to antagonise any more of his staff unnecessarily and he rang off sounding as if he’d believed me.
I thought about Dysart for a while after that. I found I could recall his face quite clearly now: a youngish-looking forty, ungreyed dark blond hair, with the eager, unsophisticated manner of an entrepreneurial scientist. Clever, bold and imaginative, I wondered why he was a friend of Gerald Tintern’s.
My phone rang again.
‘Simon?’
I recognised Toby’s voice at once and my pulse raced with relief.
‘Toby! How are you? We’ve all been worried shitless.’
‘Have you?’ He sounded surprised but grateful. ‘I’m sorry. I thought it would be best if I took off for a few days after the line closed.’
‘I’m not surprised, but what happened?’
There were a few moments of silence before he answered, ‘Simon, there was a lot of money at stake, you know.’
‘That’s obvious. So, are you going to tell me about it?’
‘I’d rather not talk now.’
‘I understand, of course,’ I replied, trying to disguise my impatience. ‘Where are you?’
‘Mother says there are still reporters hanging around the cottage, so I’m staying with some friends – out of London. I just thought I’d let you know. My mother seemed to think you were keen to get hold of me.’
‘Yes, thanks. And, listen, if you get any problems that Matt and I can help you with, just ask.’ Again, he didn’t answer at once. I guessed he was weighing up my motives. ‘After all, you and I go back a long way,’ I added, cringing at my own insincerity.
‘Yes,’ he said, accepting my offer at face value. ‘Thanks, I will.’
Chapter Ten
The following afternoon, as the last light was fading, I parked outside the grand but graceful red-brick front of Ivydene House.
The front door was opened by Filumena, the dark woman who had brought us coffee the Sunday before. I was struck by how exceptionally good-looking she was and couldn’t help thinking that her duties in the household must be broader than merely domestic.
She smiled warmly. ‘Good afternoon, Mr Jeffries. I’m afraid Lord T
intern is at the keeper’s cottage,’ she said in fluent English with a hint of an Italian accent. ‘But he knows you’re coming so I take you to his study.’
She showed me across the chequer-board hall and ushered me into a small library. ‘Coffee?’ she asked.
‘Yes, please.’
She left me in the handsome room, not quite closing the door. I walked round behind Tintern’s large walnut desk to look at a vista which led the eye up a fine avenue of chestnuts to the sweep of the chalk downs beyond, glimmering pink in the dying light. I admired the scene for a moment then turned to face the desk which dated, like the house, from the time of Queen Anne. Two telephones and a pen rack stood on the far side of the polished surface.
Guiltily, I found my eyes swivelling down to the shallow stack of papers lying on a large leather-cornered blotter.
I glanced at the door and listened for a moment before turning over the first few pages. There were letters about Jockey Club business, House of Lords arrangements, confirmations of transactions from stock brokers. Nothing that seemed of major importance to such a busy man as Tintern.
I was just shuffling the papers back into place when I heard a car crunch across the gravel in front of the house.
I walked briskly from behind the desk and sat in an armchair with a copy of the Field in my quivering hands, in time for the housekeeper to come back to the study with the promised cup of coffee on a tray.
As she went out, I heard footsteps in the hall and Tintern came in. I stood up to hold out a hand, which he shook perfunctorily before going to sit behind his desk, in front of the pile of papers I’d just been inspecting.
He put both hands flat down on either side of the pile, gazing apparently at the top sheet, evidently suspicious that I’d been prying.
After what seemed like minutes but was probably only four or five seconds he looked up and his eyes bored straight into mine. I couldn’t help quaking a little as I awaited a rebuke.
Abruptly, he smiled. ‘It was good of you to come, Simon,’ he said, turning on the charm.
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