Running Scared (The Eddie Malloy series Book 4)

by Richard Pitman

  By the time I got into bed, hindsight and whiskey had dulled things enough to bring a smile. I lay in the dark thinking the world wasn’t that bad at all and that it would be a hell of a lot better if Kari Parsons were beside me.

  Not that I’d be able to do anything.

  Despite the alcohol, I didn’t sleep for a while. I was convinced there had to be a thread running through all this, a common denominator. Within minutes of waking next morning, it came to me.

  50

  Sitting at the small table by the window with pen, pad and a mug of coffee I put Bill Keating’s name at the top of a page and Broga Cates’s at the bottom, wrote England by Bill’s and Barbados by Broga’s. I stuck Conway right in the middle of the page then started jotting down words: brain scan, heroin, murder, boats, burglary, threats, horses, dead horses . . .

  That’s where I stopped. No blinding flash, just a connection, tenuous maybe but something worth looking at.

  Bill and Broga were both linked to dead horses. Broga’s had been killed deliberately.

  So why not Bill’s?

  I sat back, chewed my pen, vaguely aware of the clip clop of hooves below in the sunlit yard. Following my earlier theory that Conway had not killed Bill Keating, that he’d been neatly framed with the planted crowbar and brain scans, I decided to assume that Conway was not the killer.

  No matter how long or how obliquely I thought I could not come up with another suspect, a different motive and that led to the next natural assumption: Bill Keating had not been the target.

  Simple.

  But we knew the exhaust had been deliberately damaged, the tailgate was closed, the engine switched on so there was only one answer left - the intended victims must have been the two horses.

  Bill had thought he’d switched off the engine before going into Amy’s party. He had blamed the fact that he’d forgotten on his recent troubles. But he had planned to set off straight after the party so there was every chance he’d left the keys in the ignition. Those horses might well have been dead by the time Bill returned to the horsebox and he’d been overcome by fumes when he went in to check on them, or had one of his blackouts.

  It made sense. Bill would never have killed the horses. Anyone out to kill Bill and make it look like suicide would have known that and could have made a much more convincing case if they’d set the horses free.

  I now had two links: dead horses and phone threats from the same man.

  So who was behind it?

  Someone who’s involved in trying to screw Broga Cates. Someone who didn’t mind killing a few more horses in the process. Made a point of it in fact as part of the campaign.

  One problem was the two horses with Bill didn’t belong to Cates.

  Who did own them, then? Whoever it was might have been the first target.

  That had to be the next step. I got up, called McCarthy, left a message on his answerphone then tried his mobile number. No response.

  I couldn’t hang around waiting for Mac. I rang Cathy Keating. We got the pleasantries over with and I told her I was following up on a reported sighting of Conway. I didn’t like lying to her but if Bill’s death was to be raked over once more, I wasn’t sure how she’d take it.

  Last time we’d met, I had felt she’d wanted to put it all behind her and try to forget. I had little doubt she’d welcome the news that Bill’s death had been nothing more than a grim coincidence, an accident, but until I could prove it I wasn’t going to raise her hopes.

  Still, she sounded uneasy. I said, ‘Cathy, all I need to know is who owned the horses that were in the box that evening.’

  ‘What’s that got to do with it?’

  ‘Maybe nothing, it’s just a hunch that might lead us to Conway.’

  ‘I can’t remember. Bill picked them up, did all the paperwork. ‘

  ‘Who was the trainer he was supposed to be taking them to?’

  ‘Can’t remember. Sorry. Pete Curland will know. Bill collected the horses from Pete.’

  ‘Okay, thanks. I’ll call him.’

  ‘Will you stay in touch?’

  ‘Sure. Can you keep this under your hat until I come back to you?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll call soon.’

  The problem with contacting Curland was that he might be involved somewhere. I wouldn’t phone him unless I had to. I was sure Mac had the info I wanted if only I could get in touch.

  By 2 p.m. he still hadn’t rang. I tried his number again. He answered. I said, ‘Why didn’t you call me? I left a message on your machine.’

  ‘I’ve just got home, been shopping with Jean. I am supposed to be on holiday you know. Where’s the fire anyway?’

  ‘I need to see you, need some information.’

  ‘So what’s new?’

  ‘Come on Mac, you can spare me an hour. I’ll drive down.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Now.’

  ‘Forget it! I’m going fishing.’

  ‘I’ll come with you.’

  ‘You’ll scare the fish.’

  ‘Okay, get me some information and I’ll leave you in peace for the day.’

  ‘What information?’

  I told him.

  He moaned in frustration. ‘Eddie, tell me you’re not back on this Conway thing again?’

  I was getting frustrated with his stonewalling each time Conway came up. ‘Mac, what is your problem with Conway? Don’t you want this whole business sorted out?’

  ‘I told you, leave it to the police, it’s a murder inquiry.’

  I was tempted to tell him it wasn’t any more. ‘So what? If we can help them out we—’

  ‘Eddie! Listen, Conway is bad news for the Jockey Club. When the papers got wind of those tapes of yours last time the coverage wasn’t exactly relished in Portman Square. It all seems to be dying down. We’d like to leave it that way.’

  ‘I’m sure you would so you’ll appreciate hearing that I don’t think Conway killed Bill Keating and if you can just help me out with some information I might be able to prove it.’

  ‘Eddie . . . oh, it’s pointless talking to you, when do you need this for?’

  ‘As quickly as you can get it, three at the latest.’

  ‘Give me half an hour.’

  He rang within the deadline. ‘The horses were called Killian and Cartographer, unraced two year olds. They were bought as yearlings in America by a bloodstock agent who must have sold them on to the only registered owners, a private company, though he could have been acting on a direct commission from them.’

  The horses were well bred and each had cost a substantial sum, a total of five hundred and twenty-five thousand guineas. Why would anyone want to kill two such valuable animals before they’d even set foot on a racecourse?

  ‘Did the owners have anything else in training?’ I asked.

  ‘I’m having that looked at. As I said, they were owned by a small private company. We need to do some digging.’

  ‘Mac, can you think of any other horses that’ve died in say the past year in something that could look like an accident?’

  ‘I wouldn’t say I can off the top of my head, but there’d be no real reason for my department to know, especially if it’s accidents we’re talking about.’

  ‘It was just a thought. Would you mind asking around, quietly?’

  ‘You’re giving me bad vibrations on this, Eddie.’

  ‘That’s not what The Beach Boys told me when I met them.’

  ‘Very funny. I’m going fishing. Goodbye.’

  I had to find out more about the company that owned Killian and Cartographer.

  The obvious way was to speak to the trainers who’d had their horses. The trouble was that the first time I’d made a few calls asking discreet questions about Bill Keating these bastards got to know about it within hours so they had some very close connections.

  They thought I was out of the picture and I wanted to keep it that way as long as possible so I had to b
e very careful who I spoke to.

  Pete Curland, their last trainer was no more than an acquaintance of mine and I couldn’t be sure how he’d react to a direct approach. I wished Charles were here; he could have called Curland and asked questions on my behalf. I went downstairs to find Padge. He was holding a horse while the farrier shod him. As I appeared in the doorway of the stable, he smiled long and hard, silently milking the nutcracking moment from the previous evening.

  I said, ‘What did you do for amusement while I was away, Padge?’

  He laughed and I could tell by the way the big farrier grinned that he too had been let in on the joke. I said, ‘When you’re finished I could do with a favour.’

  With a mock groan he said, ‘I told you, I’m not rubbing that cream on it again.’

  ‘Very funny. I’ll be up in the flat.’

  51

  Padge told Curland that Charles had asked him to get a reference for a prospective new owner and gave the name of the Company that owned the dead horses.

  Curland remembered the company but said he’d never met anyone personally. The horses had been sent to him direct from the bloodstock agent and the only contact he’d had was with a secretary. They’d paid bills promptly and asked simply for a monthly report on the horses’ progress.

  Curland didn’t think the horses seemed likely to match up to their price tags though he said he was confident of winning a couple of small races with them. He told the owners this in his third monthly report and a day later, the horses were removed.

  As far as he could remember, they were supposed to go to Claude Kenton in Yorkshire. Padge rang Kenton and tried the same line.

  Kenton could only confirm that the horses never reached him and that he too had only dealt with a secretary for the company that owned them.

  We carried mugs of tea out into the late afternoon sunshine. I was moving reasonably well now, almost managed to share the sack that covered Padge’s perch on the wall but settled for leaning against it.

  The words on my pad upstairs ran through my mind, the two links, phone threats, dead horses ... a third link began to form. Apart from the trauma of the incidents in Broga Cates’s case, the real sufferer had been his insurance company.

  Insurance.

  Padge rolled a cigarette. He said, ‘Where is the pleasure in owning horses, especially ones you’ve paid a nice few quid for, if you don’t even speak to the trainer?’

  ‘Maybe they weren’t in it for pleasure. Business.’

  ‘Not a very successful one then when your assets get gassed.’

  I smiled at him. ‘Unless you’re heavily insured.’

  ‘Well they couldn’t insure them for much more than their purchase price, could they?’ Padge said.

  ‘Maybe not but let’s suppose you are in it strictly for business. You buy an expensive yearling - Cartographer cost them three hundred and fifty thousand guineas - insure him for say four hundred thousand allowing for some improvement by the time he gets on a racecourse, then send him to a decent trainer, someone who can give you a fair assessment of his potential.’ Padge was listening hard. A magpie rushed down, landed in the tree above us and cocked his head almost as if he wanted to hear the rest of it too. Padge glanced up, saluting the bird out of superstition and said, ‘Go on.’

  I said, ‘Now we all know most trainers will try to convince an owner his geese are sure to turn out as swans, but supposing it’s some faceless company and they tell the trainer it’s a business deal for them and they want an honest assessment. If they get that, they promise the trainer more horses.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Suppose the trainer says he’s bloody good, you’ve got a bargain or even, he’s well up to standard you’ll easily make a profit, great. You race him, hopefully win a few quid then send your investment off to stud.’

  Padge grinned. ‘A bit over-simplified, Eddie.’

  ‘I know, but the trainer’s on a hiding to nothing if he bullshits them, and if he’s a fair judge, which Curland is, he’ll be right more often than not. On the other hand supposing he says, you’ve bought a bit of a pup here, we’ll win one or two small races with him but there’s no way you’ll get your cash back.’

  Padge’s face told me he was weighing things up.

  I said, ‘Now just to be certain, if your first trainer tells you they’re useless, you move the horse on for a second opinion. As soon as you’re confident you’ve made a mistake how do you recover your money?’ The smile spread slowly and the sun glinted in Padge’s blue eyes. ‘Off the insurance company.’

  ‘Correct.’ I felt almost elated.

  ‘But you couldn’t do that more than once.’

  ‘Why not? Why the hell not? You just use a different company each time.’

  ‘Nah, they’d soon spot it.’

  ‘How? Horses are dying every week; limb injuries, twisted guts...they’d just be chalked up as another statistic.’

  ‘Be in the papers, surely?’

  ‘Why? They’re unraced; nobody knows of them, they’re just mid-range expensive. Stay well below the million mark and you’d hardly raise a flicker of interest.’

  ‘You might be right.’

  ‘Worth working on, isn’t it?’ I was excited.

  Padge smiled again. ‘Wouldn’t like to try to stop you.’

  I was on a roll now.

  52

  I called Cathy. She said, ‘Twice in one day, to what do I owe the pleasure?’

  ‘Sorry Cathy, I’m sort of thinking on the hoof here, still following up this Conway thing.’

  ‘Did you find out what you wanted about the dead horses?’

  ‘I’m a bit wiser than the last time we spoke, that’s why I’m ringing you again. Did you have any hassle from the insurers of those horses?’

  ‘I didn’t claim on my insurance, the horses’ owners had insurance, and the company paid out.’

  ‘Yes but didn’t they try to counter claim you for damages?’

  ‘They’d have to have proved negligence which it obviously wasn’t. It was—’ She faltered.

  I said, ‘It’s okay, I know what you mean.’

  ‘No, I’m okay.’ She composed herself and continued. ‘As the verdict was suicide, it was deemed a deliberate act. They accepted there was nothing I could have done to prevent it.’

  ‘You don’t happen to remember who they were? The insurance company?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘I think I’ve got a letter somewhere. Want to hold? I can call you back?’

  ‘No. Fine. I’ll hold.’

  A couple of minutes later she returned. ‘Beckett and Kelly.’

  ‘Sound more like flyweight contenders at Belfast Town Hall. Got their number?’

  She gave me it.

  ‘And who signed the letter?’

  ‘K. Castle. Keith, if I recall correctly. A very nice man. Oh, hold on, I’m sure he left a card. I think his home number was on it.’

  I held again and got the number.

  ‘Thanks Cathy.’

  ‘Can I expect another call tomorrow?’

  ‘Every chance.’

  ‘Eddie, you sound excited about this.’

  ‘Well, I suppose I am a bit. Another close friend of mine is in trouble and links with Bill’s case have started to pop up. It’s early days.’

  ‘Should I be preparing myself for anything?’

  I silently chided myself for not being able to mask my exuberance. Bill’s widow could hardly be expected to share it. ‘I don’t believe so, Cath, not for any bad news anyway.’

  ‘As soon as you know something will you come and tell me?’

  ‘Of course.’

  She hesitated then said quietly, ‘Ring me if you need anything else.’

  I called Keith Castle. He wasn’t in. His wife asked if I’d like to leave a message. I said, ‘I need to speak to him urgently. Can you tell him it’s about Killian and Cartographer?’

  I left my number.

  Next, I rang Bro
ga in Barbados and explained my theory so far. I sensed he was unsure as to how impressed he should be. ‘Sounds brilliant but where does all the shit that’s been happening here tie in?’

  ‘I’m not sure yet but at least we’re sort of up the first three rungs of the ladder.’

  ‘The way my luck’s been we’ll fall off near the top but keep kicking.’

  ‘Your investigators turned anything up on Phil Campbell yet?’

  ‘Not a thing so far. Phil looks as clean as the proverbial whistle at the moment.’

  That wasn’t what I’d been hoping for. ‘Your guys got much more to do on it?’

  ‘They reckon they’ll finish for Tuesday morning.’

  ‘Any chance of putting some of your people on the trail of this private company that owned Killian and Cartographer, try and find out who owns the company?’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do but if they’re set up in the same way as that Horsefeeds mob in Newbury, the packing case lot, then it’ll be a waste of time.’

  ‘It won’t, Broga, it might be another very solid link.’

  He agreed and I gave him the company details as Mac had passed them to me. ‘How long will it take?’ I asked.

  ‘Christ knows.’

  ‘Put your best guys on it, Broga.’

  ‘You wanted my best guys doing Phil Campbell, how many best guys do you think I’ve got?’

  I laughed. ‘Hire some more.’

  There was nothing else I could do till this guy Castle called me from the company who’d insured Killian and Cartographer.

  It was the next morning before he did though he apologized saying he’d got home late and didn’t want to risk disturbing me. He couldn’t meet me today but was happy to talk on the phone.

  I explained about my friendship with Bill Keating and told him something of my involvement since. ‘Now various things have happened which make me think that the deaths of those two horses were not an accident.’