by Joe McNally
‘It’s been a while since we spoke. I’d planned to travel to Catterick and see you, but the rain put paid to that.’
‘What can I do for you?’
‘Well, I’m hoping we can do something for each other, but it’s best talked about face to face. Mobile networks can be very public places. Are you in the north at the moment?’
‘I’m in the north west.’
‘Could we meet for lunch?’
‘That would be difficult. I’m setting off soon to travel south. I could meet you tonight near Lambourn.’
‘That would be helpful. Where and when?’
‘You’re welcome at my house. About eight-thirty?’
‘That’s fine. What’s your postcode?’
56
Mave settled in the passenger seat. They’d bought a soft woollen blanket in racing green. Mave liked to travel wrapped up. She was still trying to shake off the nocturnal habits she’d built up over years working on her programme. As soon as they left the winding coastal roads, she’d nod off.
Eddie had expected an argument from her when he’d told her his plans. But she accepted everything. Reluctantly, Eddie knew. But she’d promised to let him take charge, and she wouldn’t go back on her word.
They were on the way to Newmarket. Eddie’s sister Marie had said she’d welcome female company for as long as Mave needed somewhere to hide out. It would be an experience for Kim too. Eddie knew Mave would get on well with him.
After ten miles on the M6, Mave dozed off. Eddie glanced across, happy to see that sleep had wiped the worry lines from her face, and reminding him how easy it was for humans to adapt. Eddie had grown used to seeing Mave frowning, and had forgotten how calm and confident she’d looked when they’d first met and her ‘project’ was the focus of her life.
Whoever wanted the programme would now want Mave. Nina was still favourite in Eddie’s book, and she’d dump Sonny and send someone with no emotional attachment. Somebody who she believed would be able to handle Eddie. She’d have learned a sharp lesson from her partnership with Jonty Saroyan…maybe he was a promising co-conspirator and no doubt he was a talented photographer. But he was not a hard man, and Nina would know a hard man was what she needed. Eddie found himself smiling at the thought. He leaned to look full-face in the rear-view mirror just to see himself smiling.
Ever since that first lawless pursuit of Gerard Kruger all those years ago, Eddie’s appetite for danger had never faded. It was different from the risks that came with riding steeplechasers every day. In doing that, Eddie was invariably trying to catch someone, another jockey, another horse, before the ever-closing, relentless deadline of the winning post.
With this, someone was trying to catch him at exactly the same time as Eddie was trying to catch them. For the most part, neither knew where the other was. In this case, Eddie didn’t even know who the other was. But that would reveal itself. Or Eddie would reveal it. The latter would be the safest option. But Eddie didn’t mind either way.
As he passed the road sign that told him he was entering The Valley of the Racehorse, Eddie checked the odometer. He’d set it to zero on leaving Mave’s place that morning, heading on the long road southeast. Then he’d come west toward home, Lambourn…385 miles. Driving down into the valley, it was cold and wet and dark. Eddie hadn’t spoken to McCarthy in a couple of days, and he had an hour in hand before his meeting with Broc Lisle. Eddie took the narrow road toward Mac’s house. Maybe Mac could offer a clue about what Broc Lisle wanted.
But his place was in darkness. High on the downs, in the car on Mac’s drive, the wind sucked and blew. Eddie dialled Mac’s number: voicemail. ‘Happy New Year, Mac. I’m parked outside your house. The noise you can hear is the wind trying to spit me back out onto the road. I’m heading home. It’s half-seven. Give me a call.’
It was much calmer in the dip of the soft cone of woodland where Eddie’s house sat, the trees filtered the power of the night wind, raising noise, but leaving an unusual stillness in the air as Eddie got out of the car.
Slight as she was, Mave’s absence seemed to leave a big hole in the house. Eddie noticed it each time she’d come and gone. The longer her stay, the bigger the void when she went. So Eddie did what he always did to try to fill the gap in his heart, he built a fire. By the time he heard the engine of Lisle’s car, the fire flames were putting on a show and the water in the kettle was hot.
Lisle chose coffee, and complimented Eddie on finding such a quiet place to live. ‘Do you feel safe here?’ he asked as Eddie steered him toward the Snug and the welcoming fire.
‘Why do you ask?’
Lisle smiled. ‘Just my old training kicking in, I suppose. We were taught to evaluate everything, constantly. Your life becomes a never ending risk assessment.’
‘No bad thing, I suppose,’ Eddie said. ‘Take a seat. You might be best at the far end of the couch until the fire dies down a bit.’
Lisle put his coffee mug on the low table and took off his coat. ‘Just sling it over the back of the couch,’ Eddie said.
Lisle settled, leaning forward, elbows on knees, cradling the coffee. ‘I’m impressed by your lack of curiosity,’ he said.
‘Everything comes to he who waits.’
‘If only.’
Eddie watched him. That square-jawed, serious face took shape, the one Eddie was so used to seeing on TV, and he waited for Broc Lisle to put down his coffee. Lisle did, and Eddie allowed himself a small self-congratulation. TV directors had taught Lisle to use his hands a lot when explaining things and when he crossed into that mode, Eddie had guessed habit would prime his limbs for full theatrical effect.
He said, ‘Remember Jonty Saroyan, the guy who couldn’t be found when we needed to question him about your involvement in that betting caper?’
‘I do.’
‘Can you recall when you last saw him?’
‘I can recall it exactly, and it’s not changed since I recalled it the last time you asked me.’
‘I forget what you told me. Forgive me.’
‘You’re forgiven. I last saw him with a hangover…his, not mine…at a house he shared with a woman called Nina Raine. A place near Chaddesley Corbett, south of Birmingham.’
‘When was that?’
‘July. Late July.’
‘Can you recall when you last saw him on a racecourse?’
‘I never saw him on a racecourse. Or, at least, I never noticed him. He saw me though. Try Barney Scolder, the reporter. He did the deal for the pictures with Saroyan. I think. Nina Raine might have been driving things, rather than Saroyan. I believe he was more a puppet. Or a Muppet, depending how kind you want to be.’
‘Well. He’s a dead puppet. And he’s been dead for a long time.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Because I saw him yesterday. Saw his corpse. There wasn’t much left of him.’
‘Murdered?’
‘We don’t know yet. No obvious signs of assault.’
‘Who found him?’
‘The maintenance man who does the servicing at Haydock Park. Mister Saroyan was in the boiler room. On the floor, below the boiler.’
Eddie’s first thought was for Mac. Haydock was a JCR course. ‘I think you’ve got yourself a proper man on a mission here, Mister Lisle. He’s done all he can to get JCR to shut down their tracks, and even when they give in and do that, he still won’t let up on them. Who told the maintenance man to check the boiler so soon after JCR announced a suspension of racing?’
‘Nobody. It was the scheduled six-monthly check by an independent contractor.’
‘And nobody goes into that boiler room in between checks?’
‘Not formally, no.’ Lisle opened his hands for the tenth time since he’d put down the coffee. Eddie realized Lisle was watching him with some kind of expectation. Eddie said, ‘Apart from the fact that Saroyan was one of a pair who were trying to blackmail me, why are you telling me this?’
‘I’m investigating the case. That’s my
job. I know you won’t take it personally when I say you had a strong motive for Saroyan to stay missing.’
Eddie laughed. ‘Sorry…I’m not mocking you, but how does a man not take a statement like that personally?’
Lisle smiled and opened his hands again, this time in concession. ‘Fair point.’
‘Look, I’m sure Jonty Saroyan had a family or loved ones somewhere, and I’m sorry for them. But if anything, this exonerates me, don’t you think? I mean, someone is on what looks like a mission to rip JCR apart. He’s killed three jockeys and it now looks as though he might have killed Saroyan. If Saroyan was into blackmail, what else was he into? How did he get mixed up with the guy who’s blitzing JCR? Any sign of an association between Saroyan and Jordan Ivory or with any of the dead jockeys?’
‘It’s early days.’
‘That’s one of those straw-clutching comments, Mister Lisle. A Buley special. And what about him? Wouldn’t Nic Buley have a motive for damaging JCR? I know they use their influence pretty quietly, but they’re the biggest racecourse group in the sport. They must have had some say in firing and hiring at the BHA.’
‘Motive perhaps. Guts, no.’
‘Ah, a personal opinion? At last! Join the club. Anti-Buleying we should call it.’
Lisle smiled. ‘Very good, Mister Malloy.’
‘You guys ought to look out too, on the off chance Buley found some guts and decided to take revenge. He wouldn’t have killed Kellagher or the others, I grant you that. But he could have hired someone to do it. That would not have troubled his conscience in the slightest. And once he’s done with JCR, maybe the BHA will be next.’
Lisle remained impassive. He said, ‘Do you mind if we return to Mister Saroyan?’
‘Return away, Mister Lisle. There’s nothing more I can tell you. Have you spoken to Peter McCarthy?’
‘I have a meeting with him tomorrow.’
‘He’s one of the good guys. I know you got his job, but he stepped out of that voluntarily because he knew what was going to happen if that case went to court too soon.’
‘So I hear.’
Eddie looked at him. ‘You were the patsy, Mister Lisle. Buley’s patsy.’
Lisle nodded. He didn’t look upset. ‘I don’t do politics. Another part of my training. My job description was clear enough, and that’s all I care about.’
‘You don’t do politics and you don’t do failure.’
He smiled. ‘You remembered.’
‘I did. And I admire your capacity for not being seriously pissed off at your employers for playing you as a mug.’
He shrugged. ‘People say and do things on the spur of the moment. If I commit to something, I like to see it through. If it does get to a stage where I’m no longer wanted, then at least I can say I never quit.’
‘Once a soldier…’ Eddie said.
Lisle nodded. Eddie said, ‘I’m sorry there’s nothing I can help you with, but if I can offer you one piece of advice…trust Mac. He’s a good man. I’m afraid he does do politics and he does do failure, but he doesn’t enjoy either. He doesn’t do resentment, and he’ll help you all he can. And you’ll be helping him, which makes me wonder why the BHA are back into this? With JCR being bombarded, all the pressure’s off you guys. How come you’re back in it?’
‘As I said, I don’t do politics. Let’s just say that Marcus Shear accepts that the BHA and JCR should stand shoulder to shoulder here.’
‘Well, if Shear accepts that, rest assured his true motive will jump up and kick you in the balls sometime soon. And it’ll be laughing hysterically and yelling "You don’t do politics. Eh!"‘
He smiled and stood and reached for his coat. ‘Thanks for your time, Mister Malloy. I needn’t tell you that the police will want to speak to you too given the blackmail stuff with Saroyan.’
‘Well, they know where I am.’ Eddie walked him to the door.
Lisle buttoned his coat, and reached to shake Eddie’s hand. Eddie said, ‘I hope you get more out of your meeting with Mac tomorrow than you got from me.’
‘I got what I expected. Confirmation that you’re a decent man with no sides to you. Often that’s worth quite a lot.’
‘Thanks. And you seem pretty decent yourself. I’d go so far as to say honourable.’
‘That’s kind of you. That increases my confidence that you’re a very good judge.’ He smiled warmly.
‘Tell me this…would you say that honourable men should sometimes be dishonourable if the circumstances demand it?’
‘Highly hypothetical. Any specifics?’
‘Would you say that a man who’d signed a non-disclosure agreement covering a betting software programme should always honour that commitment?’
He watched Eddie in the gloom of the porch. ‘I would say so, yes.’
‘And would you describe Nic Buley as an honourable man?’
‘I think I made it clear what my personal feelings are about Mister Buley. Can I ask what prompted your initial question?’
‘Curiosity.’
‘Isn’t that what prompts every question?’
Eddie smiled.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘if there’s ever anything you feel I can help with, give me a call.’
‘Formally or informally?
He straightened his coat collar. ‘I’ll leave that up to you.’
57
Eddie tried contacting Mac again. Since JCR had taken Mac on, it was almost as though whoever was behind all this had really turned up the heat, as though Mac was the target rather than JCR. Eddie left him a much shorter message this time, then he called Mave and told her about Jonty Saroyan.
‘Oh, God! Poor man! So much for him having disappeared to Australia.’
‘Can you remember who suggested that, the Australia trip?’
‘We spoke to a few people when we were trying to track him down…I don’t recall. Maybe Sonny will. Have you spoken to him?
‘Not yet.’
‘Jeez…I wonder how Nina will take this. She’s got to feel some level of guilt, hasn’t she?’
‘Why would she? She’s hardly the type, for a start. And it was Jonty who ran out on her and left her penniless, so she says.’
‘Still, he was her partner.’ Mave said.
‘Her slave, more like, before Sonny. Question is now, did Jonty come to his senses and leave, as she claimed he did, or did one of these deals they were doing backfire?’
‘What deals?’
‘Well if they were blackmailing me, what else were they up to? Maybe they thought the racing game was easy meat. Whoever’s after JCR knows racing inside out. He, assuming it isn’t Nina Raine herself running riot here, is a serious criminal, which keeps bringing Jordan Ivory back into the frame, and maybe Jonty and Nina tried to hit him for something.’
‘So why kill Jonty and leave Nina alone?’
‘Because after she made the mistake of getting directly involved in my blackmail, she decided to stick Jonty’s head above the parapet and keep hers down.’
‘How did he die?’
‘They don’t know yet. Or they’re not saying. JCR’s problem is that whoever’s behind this is not letting up. They’ve suspended their operations. He hasn’t suspended his.’
‘This is getting crazy, Eddie.’
‘You said it. Have you heard from Sonny?’
‘Not a word. Nothing since that last horse lost. It’s the first time in my life he hasn’t rang to wish me Happy New Year. I know you think she’s changed him, Eddie, but that worries me.’
‘That he hasn’t called?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why don’t you call him?’
She hesitated. ‘It wouldn’t feel right.’
‘Mave, you did everything you could to give Sonny what he wanted. Why do you think he’s going to be angry with you?’
‘I don’t think he will…I suppose I’m just afraid that he will.’
‘Because that would mean he’d changed.’ It was a statement.
‘And if he’d changed, you might have reached the wrong conclusion about who burgled your house?’
‘That would be the least of my sadness, Eddie,’ she said quietly.
‘I’m sorry, Mave. But you need to call him. Jonty was mixed up with Nina. He’s dead. Sonny’s mixed up with Nina. You haven’t heard from him at New Year, for the first time in your life.’
‘Oh, don’t even think that, Eddie! I’ll call him now!’
‘Mave! If you speak to him…don’t tell him where you are.’
‘I won’t.’
‘He might ask.’
‘Eddie!’
‘Okay. Okay. Ring me when you’ve spoken to him.’
Eddie tried to remember if he’d ever told Sonny about Marie and Kim. He wondered if Mave had ever mentioned them to Sonny, and his impulse was to call her straight back. He stopped himself…There were a million combinations of possibilities in this now, now that Jonty had closed the circle and established a link between Eddie and Mave and whatever was going on with the JCR vendetta.
58
Sonny sat in darkness on the bleached roof terrace of the grubby apartment in the back streets of Istanbul. He had acclimatized and had gone from marvelling at the locals wearing sweaters to buying one himself. He wore it now, its tie-dye multi colours which had promised so much at purchase, helping his mind drift easily to the late 1960s, to youth and vigour, mocked him on this winter evening.
His phone rang, and he watched Mave’s name, bright in the gloom, and he set the phone on the cheap plastic table to let it ring out to voicemail. Then he picked it up again. ‘Jolene.’
‘Uncle Sonny. Are you all right?’
‘As all right as I’m ever going to be, Jo.’
‘Happy New Year.’
He closed his eyes and his face creased and frowned in shame. ‘God! I’m so sorry! How could I forget to call you? This New Year of all New Years, after everything you’ve done. I’m sorry, Jo. Happy New Year.’
‘It’s okay. It doesn’t matter. So long as you’re alive and kicking.’
