by Joe McNally
‘And you don’t know why these people are after him?’
‘No.’
‘How did you know where to find him?’
‘His girlfriend had an idea where he was.’
‘Does she know who’s trying to kill him?’
‘She doesn’t even know he’s been injured.’
‘A very secretive fellow this Mister Harle.’
I put my elbows on the desk and leaned toward him. ‘Detective sergeant Cranley, the two men I told you about might very well be walking through the door of the hospital right now. I’ve signed Harle in under a false name, but they’re clever and they won’t take long to find him and when they do they’ll probably finish what they started.’
He clenched his jaw and his nostrils flared.
‘If Harle dies before your men get there I will kick up the biggest stink in the press that you have ever smelt. My visit here is logged at your main desk. You yourself have made notes of what I’m here to ask for. Now, it’s your choice. If I turn out to be wrong on this at least it won’t cost a life. If you’re wrong it will.’
His face reddened and his next words came through almost gritted teeth. ‘Which hospital is he in?’
‘Cheltenham General.’
‘Ward?’
‘Intensive care, under the name James Malloy.’
He got up almost kicking the chair aside. ‘Wait here,’ he growled.
Twenty minutes later he came back looking no calmer. He didn’t bother sitting down. ‘Have you given your address and phone number to the desk sergeant?’
I nodded. ‘You can go,’ he said.
I stood up. ‘What about Harle?’
‘What about him?’
‘Are you going to give him protection?’
‘I don’t discuss my plans with members of the public.’ He baited me with a little cold smile.
‘Only because they talk more sense than you do.’
His smile disappeared. He was being a bastard because I’d scared him into protecting Harle. We both knew it. I walked past him and headed home with the definite feeling that DS Cranley was the type of man to bear a grudge.
Sometimes I wished I could keep my big mouth shut.
15
I skipped breakfast and went straight to the hospital. I wanted to see what Cranley’s idea of protection was and I nursed a faint hope that Harle might be fit enough to talk.
The ward sister told me a policeman had been with the man she now understood was called Harle, all night, though the patient had not yet regained consciousness.
The young constable sitting by the door of the small ward looked weary and bored. When he saw I intended to stop by the door he stood up.
‘Good morning,’ I said.
‘Morning, sir.’
‘I’m Eddie Malloy.’
‘Uhuh.’
‘I brought Mister Harle in.’ He wasn’t impressed. ‘It was me that arranged protection for him. I spoke to DS Cranley last night.’
‘That’s right, sir, he told me.’
I put my hand on the door. He gripped my wrist. ‘I’m afraid you can’t go in there, sir.’
I looked up at him. The grip stayed tight. ‘I’ve cleared it with sister, don’t worry.’
‘It’s nothing to do with sister, sir, with respect.’
I let go the handle and he let go my wrist. ‘Who is it to do with then?’ As if I didn’t know.
‘DS Cranley, sir. No one is to see Mister Harle until we have a chance to take a statement from him.’
‘But ...’
‘DS Cranley did mention your name in particular, Mister Malloy,’ he said with finality.
I took a couple of steps back, trying to conceal my anger. I didn’t want Cranley to have the pleasure of hearing I’d blown my top at the first obstacle. ‘Okay. Do you know if Cranley’s on duty just now?’
The constable looked at his watch. ‘Shouldn’t think so, sir. You’d get him around two this afternoon.’
‘Thanks for your help, constable.’ I turned and started down the corridor.
‘Don’t mention it, sir. That’s what we’re here for.’
Very funny.
I stayed in town and rang McCarthy. He was at a meeting, try again in an hour, his secretary said. I had a feeling this wasn’t going to be my day.
McCarthy was free when I rang back. ‘Mac, things are starting to get complicated.’
He read my tone immediately. ‘What’s happened, Eddie?’
‘I’ve had to bring the police in.’
‘Why?’
‘To give Harle protection. You were right. It was a bad idea to drop it on the racecourse that he was out. Even an idiot would know he had to be in the nearest hospital. There was no way I could stay with him day and night, so I had to go to the police.’
‘I won’t say I told you so. Did you mention us, The Jockey Club?’
‘No. I told him Harle was a friend.’
‘Who did you speak to? Maybe I know him.’
‘God help you if you do. Detective sergeant Cranley.’
‘Never heard of him.’
‘Lucky you, he’s a major pain in the arse. He’s already stopped me from seeing Harle. The police want a statement as soon as he’s conscious. God knows what he’ll tell him.’
‘Eddie, listen, you will have to try and keep us out of this.’ The stress he was feeling came through in each word.
‘I’ll do my best, Mac.’
‘If you do anything to embarrass us ...’
‘Mac! I’m having a bad day and it’s just started. Don’t wind me up. I’ve told you, the last thing I want to do is involve you. Now take my word for it and let’s leave it at that. If the shit hits the fan, just tell them I’m nothing to do with you. I’ll go along with that.’
‘Okay, Well, wait ... we’ll see. Just keep me fully informed, will you?’
‘As and when I can, Mac. Did you find anything out about Mrs Gordon’s claims?’
‘Not yet. I haven’t had time. And this Harle stuff complicates any conversations I have with them now. I need some time to think.’
‘Fine. Look, I might be at Roscoe’s place tonight. I’ll check tomorrow’s declared runners at noon. Roscoe’s got two entered at Wetherby, if they run he’ll travel up this evening and ...’
‘Don’t tell me any more, Eddie. Just keep in touch and don’t mention Racecourse Security Services to the police. Goodbye.’ He hung up. I banged the phone down and swore.
Several coffees and a car wash later I went into a quiet little betting shop and checked next day’s racecards: Roscoe’s were running. I felt a short unexpected thrill – tonight’s visit was on.
But first, much as I knew I was probably stirring up trouble, I was determined to confront Cranley. At five past two I was tapping on the enquiries desk at the police station. The desk sergeant returned. ‘I’m afraid Detective sergeant Cranley can’t see you just now, Mister Malloy, he’s rather busy.’
‘When will he be free?
‘He said if you’d like to take a seat for an hour or so he’d try to fit you in but he can’t promise anything.’
Bastard. ‘I’ll come back at three.’
Cranley himself was standing at the enquiries desk when I returned. He looked up, smiling sarcastically. ‘It’s Mister Malloy! To what do we owe the pleasure of today’s visit, Mister Malloy? Don’t tell me ... you’ve caught all those villains you were after, haven’t you? Are they outside in the car? Would you like me to send some men?’
‘What I would like is five minutes of your time, detective sergeant.’ I was determined to keep calm.
‘Five minutes! For a famous crime-buster like you? Certainly. No problem. Come this way.’
He led me into the same room we’d used last night. We both sat down. His smile had gone and the sneer was back.
‘I’m not here for a shouting match,’ I said. ‘All I want is reasonable access to Alan Harle.’
‘What for?’
&n
bsp; ‘Because he’s my friend. I’m entitled to see him.’
‘Why would you want to see him?’’
‘Because I’m interested in his welfare.’
‘Oh don’t worry about that, we’re taking good care of him. That was what you marched in here demanding last night, was it not? That we take care of him?’
I stared at him. ‘Why are you making things difficult for me?’ I asked.
He smiled his cold little smile again. ‘Because I don’t like you, Mister Malloy. Because I doubt your motives. Because you think you’re a real clever bastard.’
I fought back the rising anger.
‘Would I be right to doubt your motives? He asked. ‘Why were you trying to find Alan Harle?’
‘I told you, he’s my friend, I was worried about him.’
‘Very noble. Was that the only reason?’
‘Yes.’
‘What were you doing in Newmarket yesterday morning?’
I hesitated. ‘I had business there.’
‘What kind of business?’
‘Personal.’
‘Did you visit anyone there?’
‘Yes.’
‘A Mrs Gordon, by any chance?’
‘What if I did?’
‘What did you talk about?’
‘Nothing that would interest you.’
He smiled. ‘You’re lying again, Mister Malloy. See, that’s another thing I don’t like about you, you’re a liar.’
Once again I was beginning to regret my haste in coming here. ‘It was me who found Mrs Gordon’s husband after he’d been killed. I was as much entitled to go and see her as I am to see Harle.’
‘You’re not entitled to interfere with police business and that’s what you were doing in Newmarket and that’s what you’re trying to do here and I am not having any of it.’
‘How am I interfering?’
‘Because you told Mrs Gordon you’d catch her husband’s killer and Mrs Gordon passed that on to my colleague in Newmarket in no uncertain fashion. In fact, she raved and ranted so much at them in the station yesterday afternoon that she almost got herself locked up.’
‘Maybe if they’d done their job properly ...’
‘Don’t get yourself in deeper than you already are, Mister Malloy. I am looking at this whole case and if I can find anything at all to nail you with, it will give me great pleasure.’
‘You’re in charge of it personally, are you?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Well, I haven’t got much to worry about then, have I?’
His acne got redder. ‘Listen, Malloy ...’
‘I’m finished listening.’
We both got up. ‘And you’re finished with this stupid crusade or whatever the hell it is,’ he said. ‘What is it, Malloy, all this amateur detective stuff? Because you found Gordon’s body and the police haven’t caught anyone yet? Is it some personal vendetta to embarrass the police?’
‘You don’t need me to do that, you manage fine yourselves.’
I walked past him to the door and out along the hall. He followed, calling after me. ‘Listen, Malloy, stay out of this from now on! If you don’t you’ll end up back in prison, believe me. That’s a personal guarantee!’
The doors swung closed behind me on his whining voice.
16
Roscoe’s house was in darkness. I had parked the car in a lay-by half a mile away and cut across fields and fences on foot to reach the stables. The house stood separate from the stable block and the lads’ hostel.
Dressed in my best burgling clothes and wearing soft silent boots I crept toward the front of the house and stopped at the main entrance. It was like a porch with an American-type screen entrance guarding the main door.
The front was long with three windows either side of the porch. Stopping, I leaned against the wall and listened. The wind rustled the hedges and pushed clouds across the moon. Away in the stable-yard at the back a dog barked; another answered, louder and longer. Then they were quiet. Turning to the porch I was through both doors and in Roscoe’s hallway in less than a minute.
I stood waiting for my eyes to adjust. Shafts of half-light came through the windows when the clouds passed the moon and I caught shadowy glimpses of the shape of the hall.
Although I had a flashlight I only wanted to use it when absolutely necessary. I started walking but the crepe soles on my shoes came off the floor at each step with the sound of sticky tape being peeled. I took off the shoes and carried them.
Passing the dark shapes of furniture against the walls, I was ten steps from the door at the bottom when I froze mid-stride, the breath I’d just taken locked in my lungs.
Someone was standing in the corner by the door. He was small, narrow and motionless. I waited, letting the breath trickle slowly through my nostrils, hearing my heart beat, feeling the adrenaline racing ... I was aware of my eyes straining, staring in complete concentration.
More than a minute passed. Neither of us moved. I could not hear him even breathe. The doubts crept in. Bringing the flashlight up quickly I pointed it at his eyes and pressed the button. A shiny painted face smiled back at me. A life-size statue of a jockey wearing red and blue silks. When the tension rushed out I almost laughed.
I looked round the rooms, paying more attention to the study and the library than the others, but I found nothing you wouldn’t expect to find in a trainer’s house.
Trophies, photographs, paintings and bronzes of horses, copies of The Racing Calendar, entry forms, bills, vet’s certificates for two new horses, expensive writing paper and a gold pen. On his desk, ironically, was a glossy brochure showing burglar alarms. Two separate systems had been ringed in ink and marked ‘cottage’ and ‘house’. I wondered if the cottage was Harle’s place.
I found nothing that linked Roscoe to anything other than training racehorses. I sat down at his desk for one final check through his papers and that’s when the phone rang and scared me half to death.
After three rings an answering machine clicked on setting off Roscoe’s rather monotonous voice asking callers to leave a message after the tone. The tone bleeped. I waited. An accented voice, the anger barely subdued, said, ‘Roscoe! Who the fuck is running this show? I want a meeting and I want it fast!’
He hung up. The machine clicked and the tape rewound. I sat there in the darkness smiling as I wondered what had upset the caller, the normally calm Gerard Kruger.
Standing by the porch door I let the night air cool my face. Sweat ran from my armpits down my ribs. Moving along the wall to the corner of the building I listened before cutting across the narrow road. All was quiet. The wind had dropped. The sky was clear.
I vaulted the fence into a small apple orchard waking a pair of wood pigeons who flew off in panic, their wings slapping like rifle-fire, and I quickened my pace through the orchard into the meadows. They were grazing fields and empty of livestock though the grass was fairly short. I jogged in the direction of the car, casting a short bobbing moon-shadow as I went.
My mind was buzzing. Just when it had looked like I’d get nothing on Roscoe, Kruger’s phone call had implicated him. Roscoe had to know something about Harle’s abduction.
Slowing to a walk as I reached the lay-by I was breathing quite heavily. I needed more exercise.
An owl hooted as I opened the car door. And good night to you too I thought as I slid into the seat. Leaning over I opened the glove compartment and put the flashlight inside. When I straightened up someone in the back seat pushed a cold metal tube under my ear. It pressed against my jawbone and my heart almost burst through my shirt.
The courtesy light was still on. I looked in the mirror; he was wearing a dark balaclava with two eye-holes and no mouth-hole. Someone sat silent beside him.
‘Reverse,’ he said. The voice was even, calm. I started the engine, switched on the lights and as I turned to look through the rear window he moved the gun from my right ear to the same position behind my left. My heart was
hammering but I’d handled the initial shock. I reversed the car into the road, facing the way I had come.
Sliding the gearstick to neutral I waited for directions. He moved the gun back to its original position.
‘Drive.’
I slipped into gear and drove, trying to force my mind to work on the problem, to analyse it, suggest a solution. But it kept veering off. How did they know I was here? Had they followed me? How long have they been watching me?
I tried to be conversational. ‘Where are we going?’
No answer.
We were less than a mile from the main road when a warning light showed on the dashboard. The temperature gauge was in the red section and climbing. I clutched at the straw. ‘We’re overheating badly,’ I said. ‘We’ll have to stop.’
‘Stop,’ he said in the same level voice. Pulling in to the side I switched off the engine.
The back door clicked open and he began sliding out, but the gun stayed in contact with my skin. He stood outside now, though his hand was still inside holding the gun against my neck.
‘Get out.’
He stayed behind my door so I couldn’t bump him as I opened it. I stepped out. His friend got out the other side. The gun went to the nape of my neck. ‘Open the bonnet,’ he said. I thought I detected a West Midlands accent but couldn’t be sure.
‘The lever is inside the car,’ I said. He nodded to the other one who got in the driver’s door and fumbled under the dash till he sprung the lock. I walked to the front, released the catch and opened the bonnet.
‘Prop it up,’ he said.
I felt for the metal supporting rod and fitted it. The radiator hissed steam from tiny openings.
‘Put a hand on each wing,’ he said.
I did so slowly, wondering what the hell he was up to. He changed position behind me, moving slightly to the right. I sensed him switching the gun to his left hand but it never lost contact with the upright hair on the back of my neck. I could just see him reach inside his army-style jacket and bring something out. I couldn’t see what it was.
