Tip Off

by John Francome

  ‘You didn’t see him then?’ Lincoln crowed with relief.

  Matt didn’t register any reaction for a moment. ‘Listen, you nasty little piece of shit . . .’ He stood and walked round the table, grabbing the collar of the quivering man’s shirt at the throat and twisting it as he brought his face close up to Lincoln’s. ‘If you want to get out of this stinking dump alive, just start telling me what happened.’

  I stayed silent, praying that Matt wouldn’t lose his cool and blow everything we’d achieved.

  But from the look on his victim’s face, it seemed as if he was having the right effect.

  ‘Okay, okay,’ Lincoln whispered hoarsely as the pressure on his throat increased. When Matt relaxed it a fraction, he went on with a gasp, ‘I knew someone was fixing it for Toby’s naps and I knew it wasn’t him – he hated cheats. You didn’t have to be no rocket scientist to work out someone was doping the horses and getting away with it. Either they had a new masking agent,’ he paused, ‘or someone was swapping the samples. The geezer with the camera stood out like a sore thumb. Who takes pictures of horses with a bloody great zoom lens when they’re almost near enough to touch them?’ He looked around at us with beady eyes and underlined my discomfiture at having missed such an obvious pointer. Matt and I were supposed to be the smart ones, but this dirty, ignorant little crook had been sharper than the pair of us.

  ‘So, who’s the guy you’re tumbling?’ Matt took an envelope from his jacket and pulled out a photograph which he held in front of Lincoln’s nose. ‘Is this him?’

  Lincoln nodded slowly. ‘He’s the one.’

  ‘What’s he called?’ Matt snapped.

  ‘Tresidder,’ Lincoln sighed, ‘but it’s not him who’s paying me.’

  ‘No,’ Matt agreed. ‘What did you organise with Tresidder?’

  ‘Nothin’. But I reckoned he had to be getting the tests rubbished, so I went down to the Equine Forensic place, and when I saw Greeves, I knew I’d seen him talking to Tresidder at the races one time. Then I remembered that poncey photo in Toby’s toilet – all them army types – and I knew I had ’em. And despite Greeves’s toffee-nosed bullshit I could tell he was boracic.’

  ‘When was that?’

  ‘Just after . . .’ Lincoln stopped.

  ‘After what?’

  ‘After Toby died.’

  At that moment, Dougie’s large, ginger head appeared around the flimsy panel door.

  ‘The girl’s just seen someone coming up.’

  Matt clicked on his radio. ‘Emma? Give me a description.’

  ‘Tall, big anorak, trapper cap, ear-flaps down. Sorry, couldn’t get a look at his face.’

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘Just going up the stairs . . . second floor, now.’

  ‘Okay,’ Matt whispered. ‘We’ll assume he’s coming here.’ He turned to me. ‘You, me and Larry can wait in here. Dougie, close the front door but leave it on the latch, then get ready to get behind him with Jack if he does come in.’ While Matt was giving the orders, he deftly taped Lincoln’s mouth and bound his wrists and ankles to the chair.

  As Dougie silently carried out his instructions, we heard firm, metal-capped footfalls echo along the open landing, incongruous in this place of shuffling trainers. They slowed as their owner checked the numbers of other doors on the landing and finally stopped outside number 16.

  There was a brief pause before the handle turned and the door was slowly pushed open.

  In the kitchen we saw none of this, but we heard the steps carry on across the rubber-tiled floor of the hall, until the kitchen door, too, was slowly opened.

  He saw us the same moment we saw him. He tried to back away, but I could see in his eyes he knew it was a waste of time. Dougie and Jack had already moved in behind him, locking on to each arm with two hands.

  Slowly they propelled the tall, lean frame back under the blinding light of the single naked bulb in the grimy kitchen.

  Dougie moved round so that he could see our captive.

  ‘Bloody hell!’

  I looked at the man and smiled to see him.

  ‘Hello, Gerald,’ I said.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Lord Tintern’s fury showed only in the slightest twitch of his stony face.

  No one moved, apart from Lincoln, wriggling his wrists inside the heavy adhesive tape Larry had used to bind him while we waited to hear what Tintern was going to say next.

  ‘What the hell are you people doing here?’ His voice echoed harshly in the bare room. ‘I thought I’d made it quite clear you were off the job? Your presence here is utterly out of order. If it prejudices our own enquiries, believe me, you’ll pay for it.’

  ‘Just a minute, Lord Tintern,’ Matt said quietly. ‘Would you mind telling us why you’re here?’

  Tintern turned to look at him with an expression of scorn. ‘What on earth do you mean? You must know perfectly well why I’m here. But in case you’ve just blundered in with half the story, I’ve come to pick up the bar-codes that Captain Greeves used in order to undermine certain dope tests.’

  ‘Yes – horses running against Connor McDonagh’s naps, and Toby’s before that.’

  ‘Of course,’ Tintern said witheringly. He gave Lincoln a disparaging nod. ‘This man offered his service – at a price, needless to say – to acquire evidence that will be vital in bringing the culprits to book. He’s been acting on behalf of the Jockey Club so if you people want to retain your licence to operate, I suggest you release him – PDQ!’

  Larry looked at Matt who, after a moment, gave a quick nod.

  No one spoke while Larry noisily unpeeled the thick plastic tape. When he had finished, Lincoln smirked, stood up and stretched his arms. ‘Thanks, Guv,’ he grunted at Lord Tintern. ‘They scared the shit out of me, I can tell yer. I got to go to the toilet.’ He started towards the door into the hall. I instinctively moved to block his way.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ Tintern snapped. ‘Let him go.’

  ‘Dougie, check the bathroom before he goes in,’ Matt ordered. ‘He might have a gun in there.’

  I took a deep breath and stepped aside to let Lincoln pass and go through one of the doors off the hall. He banged it shut behind him and bolted it.

  Dougie stood in front of it, clenching his fists with frustration.

  Nobody in the room spoke for the next few moments. If Lord Tintern was feeling the pressure, he gave no sign of it. He stood in the middle of the small, stuffy room, ramrod straight, with a display of authority that defied us to challenge him again.

  It was Matt who broke the silence. ‘Lord Tintern,’ he said with studied calmness, ‘I take it you know what’s been going on at the Equine Forensic Lab?’

  ‘Yes. I regret to say that someone I placed in a position of trust has let me down. It was because I thought he was totally honest that I recommended Rupert Greeves for the job at the lab, but it seems he couldn’t resist the temptation to supplement his income by shamelessly abusing his position.’

  ‘But how did you discover that?’

  ‘When I dispensed with your services, my fellow stewards demanded that one of our internal people was put on the job.’ Tintern paused and looked disdainfully at each of us. ‘He established very quickly what was going on, despite your interference at Newbury, and was able to put us on the right track.’

  ‘Has he made any progress with finding Toby’s murderer?’ I asked.

  Tintern walked across to the grimy window and wiped it cursorily with one hand. He turned to me with an icy stare. ‘The police tell me they’ve found no evidence or motive to suggest foul play. It’s very unfortunate, and of course I’m desolate for Jane, but if you lead the kind of life Toby did, that’s the sort of thing you must expect.’

  I was working myself up to a reply when there was a clatter from the hall. Matt darted from the kitchen and found Dougie tugging at the bathroom door.

  ‘What’s happening?’ Matt snapped.

  ‘I think h
e’s gone out of the window!’

  ‘Larry, come and help,’ Matt barked. They hurled themselves at the door which caved in flimsily at the first impact of their shoulders.

  There was no one inside the narrow bathroom. The single frosted window was open and swinging on its hinges. Larry didn’t wait to be told; he carried on through the narrow aperture, though with a lot more difficulty than the slight-framed Lincoln must have had.

  I ran out of the flat behind Matt, who was trying to reach Emma on his radio as he went. ‘Emma . . . Emma? Come in, for God’s sake! Lincoln’s done a runner! Have you seen him?’ I guessed from the sagging of his shoulders that Emma hadn’t. ‘Shit!’ he confirmed. ‘Keep your eyes peeled for him.’

  He released the ‘talk’ button and turned to Dougie and Jack, coming through the doorway of the flat. ‘Okay, you two, get after him on foot. We’ll back you up by car.’

  We all ran to the top of the stairs and were skidding and clattering down the concrete steps, when I stopped, catching Matt’s arm. ‘Tintern’s still in the flat,’ I grunted, and ran back up two flights to the fetid apartment and through to the kitchen.

  The small room was conspicuously empty now. I pulled out my radio to raise Emma, thinking as I did that she didn’t even know who it was she’d watched coming up earlier.

  I couldn’t get anything back from her. I hunted in the other rooms, drew a blank, and ran out of the flat, this time banging the door shut behind me.

  I found Matt three storeys below, leaning over a concrete balustrade with a pair of binoculars in his hands, scouring the ill-lit roads and alleys on the ground. ‘I don’t know what’s happened to Tintern,’ I said.

  ‘Don’t worry about him – we can always find him. It’s Lincoln we need now.’

  Matt and I made our way back to our cars, checking in with Dougie and Larry who’d fanned out from the estate but hadn’t seen a sign of Lincoln, and I still couldn’t raise Emma.

  She got me as I was about to climb into my car. ‘Si? Thank God! I had him – he was ducking south through the streets, then I lost him down the tube station, I’m sorry. He hasn’t come back out, but I don’t know if he got on to a train or if he’s still lurking down there. I’ve completely lost him!’

  ‘Okay,’ I sighed. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll get Dougie to meet you at the station.’

  Furious and frustrated, Matt started to call in the others, unwilling to accept that if we’d lost Lincoln in these circumstances, the chances of finding him again now were worse than negligible.

  ‘My father?’ Emma gasped. ‘Not that he . . .’ She stopped abruptly, conscious of what she was saying. ‘What on earth was he doing in that horrible, sleazy place?’

  We were in our basement in Notting Hill, holding a post-mortem on the failure of the operation.

  ‘He’s part of it,’ I assured her.

  ‘How can you be so certain?’ Matt asked. ‘I mean, for a start everything he said was totally plausible. And, anyway, what was in it for him?’

  ‘I think we ought to ask him that ourselves.’

  ‘Sure,’ Matt said sarcastically. ‘We could ring him: “Would you mind, Lord Tintern, if we came over and continued the interview we were carrying on earlier in the council flat of a blackmailing rent-boy in one of the nastier regions of North London, just before you legged it?”

  ‘Emma,’ I said, turning to her, ‘he doesn’t know you were with us this evening. Could you ring him and find out where he is?’

  She nodded and picked up the phone. She dialled Tintern’s London office and got through to his secretary.

  Thirty seconds later, Emma put the phone down triumphantly. ‘She doesn’t know where he is now, but he’s got an appointment with Jane at Wetherdown at nine o’clock tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Good,’ I said, ‘that gives us time to look in and see how Nester’s doing.’

  ‘Simon,’ Matt protested, ‘you haven’t got time to think about horses in the middle of an operation like this.’

  ‘What else can I do? And even when we’ve resolved this whole thing, Nester’s still got to run in the Champion Chase in two weeks.’

  Matt shrugged to show his incomprehension of my priorities. ‘Just don’t blow your chances of talking to Tintern tomorrow. I’d come too, but I think he’d be less evasive if it was just you.’

  Esmond Cobbold seemed to have put down roots at the de Morlays’. We found him in the thick of the family, doing magic tricks for the children, having just healed an ailing ferret.

  He came out with us to look at Nester. He had completed three sessions with the horse and miraculously, it seemed, the heat had gone from the horse’s leg.

  ‘It’s perfectly possible, dear boy, that it would have gone anyway. Any little strain could have caused the problem – it may have had absolutely nothing to do with the original damage.’

  I thought the old healer was being too modest but it seemed churlish to argue. ‘You’ve still earned that second bottle of Margaux,’ I said. ‘I’m sure if you hadn’t come, the horse would still be hobbling.’

  ‘Barring accidents, he should be all right for the Champion Chase next month.’

  ‘Are you seriously going to ride him yourself?’ Emma asked as we drove from the de Morlays’ to Wetherdown.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Even after last time?’

  ‘You may see some improvement,’ I said modestly, not wanting to raise my own hopes too high. ‘And, anyway, he’s my horse.’

  Jane was some way back to normal, though still comparatively muted. She was clearly pleased to see us.

  ‘I’m making some dinner for Frank. There’s enough for you two if you haven’t eaten?’

  I suddenly realised we’d had nothing since Larry’s pizzas, which seemed like days ago.

  While she was cooking, Emma poured us drinks, and I told Jane what had been going on and some of my theories about Toby’s death.

  When he arrived, Frank seemed pleased to see us, too.

  ‘Hello, Emma!’ He kissed her warmly, and his eyes lingered on her proudly. I wondered when the issue of their true relationship was going to be aired openly at last. ‘You did brilliantly at the meeting this morning,’ he went on. ‘You were in a difficult position, and I’m afraid you really wound old Gerald up.’

  ‘You’re not a bit afraid,’ she laughed. ‘And nor am I. Have we had any communication from the board and shareholders of Salmon Leisure?’

  ‘Nothing yet. I wonder how they’ll react?’

  As they were speaking, an idea began to take form in my mind. It occurred to me that Harry Chapman might benefit from a more intimate knowledge of the share structure of the King George Hotel Group, which I would be happy to provide.

  The following morning, I went to Wetherdown early and rode out first lot on Baltimore. I came back with Emma, just in time to see Lord Tintern climb out of his Mercedes.

  He showed no pleasure at seeing either of us. I guessed he was wondering how much I’d told Emma about what had happened at Lincoln’s sordid flat the evening before.

  In the presence of his daughter, his trainer and all the other people milling around the yard, Lord Tintern acted towards me with impressive restraint. He admired Baltimore whom I was putting away. ‘That’s what you should concentrate on.’ He laughed indulgently. ‘Stick to riding hunter-chasers. Not too competitive and a lot of fun for an amateur. You ought to sell that good horse of yours back to me. Morally speaking, of course, I don’t think you have any alternative.’

  ‘Morally?’ I queried, curbing my laughter.

  ‘I sold him on the grounds that he was terminally lame.’

  I couldn’t suppress the laughter this time. ‘Well, now he’s very fit and I’m determined to ride him myself in my own colours. Then, of course, I’d consider an offer.’

  It was Tintern’s turn to laugh. There was a nasty edge to it. ‘Ride him yourself? For my own sake, I hope you do.’

  I nodded. ‘Purple Silk will stand an even bet
ter chance of winning, then, won’t he?’

  Tintern lowered his voice and leaned towards me. ‘Now then, Jeffries, you and I must talk in private somewhere. Perhaps Jane will lend us her office for a few minutes before I look at my horses? There’s something you should know about Rupert Greeves.’

  I winked at Emma, who waited as we walked across the lawn and let ourselves in through a French window to Jane’s office.

  ‘So, what should I know about Greeves?’ I asked as I closed the door behind us.

  ‘If you’re thinking of talking to him again, I’m afraid you’d be wasting your time.’

  Inwardly, I groaned. It wouldn’t help our case at all if Greeves had disappeared as well, especially with Tresidder already missing and a tricky search ahead for Steve Lincoln.

  ‘Why? Has he left his job?’

  ‘He’s left everything – permanently. His wife found him dead in the garage at ten o’clock last night. He was hanging from a cross beam.’

  ‘Good God!’ I exclaimed. ‘Just like Toby.’ And gazed straight at Tintern.

  He didn’t blink. ‘Similar, yes, though Greeves left a note.’

  ‘Unlike Toby,’ I added.

  Tintern seemed to have a ready answer for every question I put to him. As we talked, I was sure he was involved but knew I still couldn’t prove it. So did he.

  ‘Listen,’ he said, frowning, ‘let me tell you now, once and for all, I don’t want to hear that you or your bumptious partner are having anything further to do with this case. I’ve told you we have our own people on it now and don’t want their considerable prowess hampered by a crowd of bungling amateurs. You saw what happened last night when you tried to get too smart – you lost your man. Fortunately, I know where he is and our own people can carry on the investigation despite your interference.’

  I was sure he was lying but didn’t argue.