by Joe McNally
‘You mean will I open a window, since it’s on my side?’
‘Oh, so it is!’
I got up and reached through the curtains and slipped the latch.
‘Thanks,’ Mave said, ‘we’ll sleep better with fresh air.’
‘If I’d suggested opening the window, you’d have said it was a subliminal reaction after hearing that foul stuff about Vogel.’
‘You could well be right, Mister Malloy.’
‘You going to be okay delving into that sort of crap?’
‘I’ll be fine. I try to leave my emotions this side of the keyboard.’
‘Let’s see what turns up and we can go from there, eh?’
‘I’ll be okay. I’m just wondering how Ben found out so much so quickly.’
‘Well, I don’t want to set you up for a challenge, but Ben says his techie guy is Bull Goose Hacker. None better, according to Ben.’
‘I didn’t hear you defending my honour?’
‘Thought it best not to get you into a pissing contest…figuratively speaking.’
She turned, ‘Think I couldn’t win a pissing contest?’
I laughed. She said, ‘I’d bet my urethra against any man’s.’
‘You haven’t got a urethra!’
‘Since when?’
‘I thought they were men only things?’
‘Well, they’re not. And allied to my pelvic floor, I’d take any man on.’
I smiled at her, ‘You’d need to get into a funny position.’
‘Handstand. Floor flex. Squirt. Job done.’
I laughed again, ‘You’re a hell of a woman!’
‘And don’t you forget it!’ she wagged a finger at me.
We lay flat and quiet for a few moments. I said, ’So, you don’t mind putting aside your work to help Ben out with Vogel?’
She sighed, ’The work I’m doing’s meaningless, Eddie. Same old, same old. Can’t wean myself off it.’
‘You’re still developing the betting software? I thought you were building a new game?’
She said, ‘It was a large chunk of my life. It was supposed to be my holy grail.’
‘But you did it. It worked. You made millions. I know that’s not particularly what you wanted, the money, but you proved yourself.’
‘I know. But things change a tiny bit everyday. Every race result brings a grain that could hold new information.’
‘But it’s of no more use to you now than information on how to live on Mars. You’re done with it. You were certain of that when we moved here.’
‘I know. Funny the things you become certain about when you’re in danger.’
I thought of the mountaineering stories I’d read, and the epic journeys. Mave was right. When things are at their absolute worst, a man will swear that all he really wants is home and family, and if he can be delivered from whatever danger he is in, he’ll stay safe forever. Then, after six months of home life, the thirst returns.
I said, ‘Second thoughts, then?’
‘Maybe. Not so much about the decision, but about how I took it. I can’t go back to using the information the system’s spitting out, I know that. It’s just that I shouldn’t have gone cold turkey.’
‘I think you miss that little clifftop eyrie of yours more than anything else.’
‘I lie here sometimes when you’re asleep, remembering the sounds of the waves and the wind.’
I turned, my head still on the pillow. She turned to face me. I said, ‘If you were back there, now, you wouldn’t be humouring me by lying in bed trying to reset your body clock, would you?’
‘I’d be at my desk, listening to the weather and the keyboard clicking.’
The darkness hid the longing in her eyes, but her voice betrayed her. I said, ‘We can go back there.’
‘You said the other day a man can never go back.’
‘I know. Maybe a woman can.’
She made a sound that was half laugh, half sob, ‘You said “we”. You’re a man.’
‘Ahh, but I wouldn’t be going back, would I? We never lived there together.’
‘What about Kim, and Marie and Sonny?’
‘We can visit. It’s barely a hundred miles…by crow.’
She smiled, ‘We’ll see.’
We lay quiet again.
‘If you want to get up and go to your desk, I don’t mind,’ I said.
‘The clicking will keep you awake.’
‘It’s a lullaby to me now, Mave.’
‘Man, you can be positively poetic at times.’
‘That’s alliteration, isn’t it?’
‘It is.’
‘Between you and Mac, you’re educating the hell out of me.’
‘We’d never do that intentionally. I’m sure I speak for Mac, there, too.’
I pushed her gently with my foot, ‘Away to your work, woman.’
She rolled gracefully out and got to her feet, ‘Aye, aye sir.’
‘Log in to my email, will you, and see if Ben has sent those links on Vogel? Or would you rather leave that until daylight?’
‘If it’s there, I’ll make a start. See you in the morning.’
‘You will, Miss Judge, you will.’
27
I rose early to make breakfast for Mac. Mave was still at her PC and I learned that she had not been the only nighthawk. Vogel had been flitting from site to site, unaware Mave was following him. She looked happy.
I sipped black coffee and said, ‘If anyone saw us and wanted a bet on which one had had a full night’s sleep, you’d be odds-on favourite.’
‘My natural zest will always top that groggy Malloy morning mope.’
‘You’ve got a massive advantage, though, you don’t have to shave…well, not yet, anyway.’
She smiled and rubbed her jaw like Desperate Dan.
‘Tell me about Vogel,’ I said.
‘Not much to tell. He drifts around these forums like a bit of a lost soul looking for some kind of recognition, some fulfilment. He’s just an aimless wanderer who’d like people to think he’s an action man. My bet is that the guy is harmless.’
‘Was the stuff Ben’s bloke found as bad as he said?’
She shrugged, ‘More sad than bad, I’d say.’
‘But worth mentioning to Vita Brodie?’
‘It’ll do no harm.’
When Mac left for Aintree, I called Ben, and told him what Mave had found. He said, ‘Always good to have a backup source. Mave’s found him on sites I couldn’t get to. You going to call her ladyship?’
‘I think you should do that, Ben. You did the digging.’
‘How do you think she’ll take it?’
‘I don’t know. She seems pretty tough. I suppose we should check with Dil first.’
‘Want me to call him?’ Ben said.
‘I need to speak to him anyway about Aintree. I’ll mention it and see what he advises.’
Dil advised that Vita Brodie ought to be told face to face, and we arranged a meeting in her box at Aintree at eleven. I asked Dil to make sure an entry badge was left for Ben to collect at the Owners and Trainers entrance. Dil said, ‘What about his Press badge?’
‘They took it off him years ago. This job should help him get it back.’
The four of us sat in the quiet, glass-fronted box at the top of the grandstand. The morning sun lacked strength, and mist lay low on Aintree’s 270 flat acres making the Melling Road the outer limit of what we could see.
Vita’s brief nod and cold smile dismissed the catering staff, who had the knack of opening the heavy door just enough to ghost away through the gap. They’d left behind hot coffee in silverware, and Dil filled our cups.
Ben’s new suit of navy blue, his white shirt and pink tie changed him utterly. It would have been all for the good had it not contrasted so starkly with his crumpled face and ruined teeth. His head seemed like an ancient gravestone uprooted and laid on a neat lawn. His discomfort was obvious, and I felt sorry for him.
&n
bsp; Dil finished pouring. Vita glanced at him expectantly and he turned to Ben, ‘Ben, do you want to make a start?’
Ben told them what he’d told me, and he added what Mave had discovered, though not mentioning her. I’d told him to take as much credit as he could on this.
Vita surprised me by staying silent until he’d finished. Maybe that was something to do with the way Ben delivered it in news-like fashion, the story already written in his head.
She said, ‘No mention of my name, though?’
’No,’ Ben said.
‘Then he’s just a run-of-the-mill woman hater. There are plenty out there, believe me,’ she said.
‘Maybe,’ I said, ‘but none of them have access to your horses.’
She turned, ’So long as he doesn’t have access to me.’
I hesitated briefly, but decided it was better said, ‘He does, though, doesn’t he?’
Dil clenched his jaw and looked at the ceiling. Vita said, ‘In what way?’
I said, ‘Well, he’s on the racecourse, never far away, physically, at least.’
She said, ’So, where do they go between races, these starter’s assistants?’
‘Good question,’ I said, ‘I’ve never thought about it.’
‘Who do they report to?’ she asked.
‘The starter, I suppose.’
‘And who does he report to?’
I shrugged, ‘I’ll ask Mac.’
Dil said, ‘While you’re at it, why don’t you let him know he’s employing a ticking bomb right there?’
‘Well, if you want me to. But I’d rather Vogel didn’t know we were tracking him. Not until we find out if he’s involved with these horses.’
Vita looked at Ben, ‘He never mentioned horses, did he? Mine or anyone else’s?’
‘Not a word,’ Ben said, ‘it’s almost as though this online stuff is his life, and the day job’s just, well, a day job.’
Dil said, ‘Did he mention any woman by name?’
Ben shook his head, ’Nearest he got was “my ex”. Never named her. Never even said “ex-wife”, just “ex”.’
Vita straightened in her chair and stuck a spoon dead centre into her coffee, and stirred slowly, ‘Ben, you’ve done a great job to come up with all this so quickly, but I hope you don’t mind me saying that I think it’s pure coincidence, and nothing more, that this Vogel character is such a disgusting slug.’
‘I hope you’re right, Ms. Brodie, Ben said, ‘and you might well be. But that’s not for me to decide. You wanted me to find out as much as possible about this case, and I couldn’t ignore that.’
‘Indeed you couldn’t,’ Vita said, ‘but I’d tick it off now, and move on, if I were you.’
‘Fine,’ said Ben, and he pulled at his tie knot, then reached for his cup.
Dil said, ‘Ben, what put you onto this angle with Vogel? How did you find out he was that way inclined?’
Ben wiped his mouth, and tried to refold the heavy napkin, ‘An old contact. I made half a dozen calls. Had to spend the first few minutes of each explaining where I’d been for years. The rumour about me being dead must have taken root like that Japanese knotweed stuff.’
‘Oh,’ Vita said, ‘my friend had about an acre of that in her garden. Nightmare to shift, by all accounts.’
‘So I hear,’ Ben said.
I sat back, and looked over their heads and through the glass doors at the pale sun, heavily dulled by the mist. I’d come here expecting Vita to be horrified, to demand bodyguards, and here she was sipping coffee and discussing the horrors of unwanted garden plants.
Another lesson for me not to make assumptions about Vita Brodie.
28
The first big contest of the day was sun versus mist, and the sun won and we cantered to the start though the mild air of a fine afternoon. This was the top race of the meeting for novice hurdlers. Dil had led me out on Stevedore before hurrying back to join Vita in her box. He assured me he hadn’t bet anything, and I congratulated him on good judgement. I, like most others, believed the Irish horse, Spalpeen, would do what he’d been stopped from doing at Cheltenham.
He was 4/7 with the bookmakers to do so. Stevedore was 4/1. I expected to finish second, but had assured Vita we’d make the favourite battle all the way. Fighting talk. I had scant ammunition to back it up with, but owners always prefer optimism.
We arrived at the start where Spalpeen stood head up, ears pricked, coat gleaming black in the sunshine. Nine of us settled to a circular walk as Jon Vogel began his work with his usual cheery public persona. I watched with fascination as I pictured him crouched each night at a screen, typing vitriol and hatred in those echo chambers of the internet.
He looked up, smiling as he approached me, and I had to glance away in case he read in my eyes that I knew so much about him. ‘All right, Eddie? You’ll struggle to beat that fella today if he stays on the track.’
‘We all will,’ I said, watching him reach under the girth. ‘Hmm, could do with going up one, I’d say. All right?’
‘Sure,’ this was the first time he’d adjusted my girths. His hands moved smoothly, and quickly in a job he’d done a thousand times, and I saw nothing untoward. Then I remembered the silver ring, and I watched as he raised his left hand to slap Stevedore’s flank. ‘Good luck!’ he said, and moved on to check the chestnut behind me.
Two minutes later, the tapes flew skyward and we were away, galloping on perfect ground on Aintree’s flat, tight oval track on the stands side of Melling Road.
Tactically, there’s not much you can do to beat a horse that’s better than yours. McCrory, on the favourite, knew that his eight rivals could only try to slow the race down in the hope of beating him in a sprint. Spalpeen’s key strength was his staying power, his ability to maintain a high speed longer than his rivals could. Dawdling wouldn’t suit him.
Most jockeys generally prefer to sit in the pack and come with a run at the time they judge best. It seldom works that way, because you need to react to what’s happening around you, especially to who is in front and how fast he’s going.
Vince McCrory would have been content in the pack, but by the time we jumped the first, he knew he’d have to make his own pace and he got straight down to it, stretching five lengths clear, then eight until he drew us along with him, our choices reduced to a single one: trying to keep up.
Four hurdles from home, a sensation that was becoming queasily familiar hit me once more as Stevedore exploded into that head-down, neck-stretched panic which took us tearing past Spalpeen on the outside.
I heard Vince curse as I went by, more from fright and surprise than any feeling he might lose the race. The only certain loser now would be me. It was just a matter of how much I could limit the damage.
The ground, though perfect for racing, wasn’t soft as it had been last time. Bailing out at almost forty miles an hour would be like jumping from a car roof. It was small consolation that grass awaited me rather than pavement. A fracture would be close to certain, a broken neck not unlikely, depending on how I landed.
Standing up and wrestling with him would be pointless. Staying aboard until he exhausted himself was the best option, and I crouched and gripped with knees and ankles, and grabbed his neckstrap as he bore down on the next hurdle. If it went to pattern here, he’d jink soon, to avoid jumping this, and that helped because the only way he could jink was to his right. And that was exactly what he did fifty yards from take-off, and I was ready for it, and read it spot on and felt a surge of pride as my balance was undisturbed.
I settled now, adrenaline pipe slowly closing as I realized I could just sit and let him run himself out.
Then he slowed so suddenly I slid right up his neck, and almost off over his head. He had gone from full pelt to half speed, ribs heaving, nostrils snorting, and now, as the others passed us on the inside, he made a brave attempt to quicken again, to stay with them, to get back to the safety of the herd. But he had no more to give, and I pulled him up, a
nd felt a quiver go through him. I slid quickly off, and tried to get him walking round, but he went down as his legs gave way and he thumped onto the turf, groaning out the wind from his lungs as his ribs compressed in the fall.
A minute later, the green screens were around him, and two vets were at his head.
29
We gathered again in Vita’s box at the top of the grandstand. Dusk was down and, through the glass, the streetlights on the reopened Melling Road glowed orange. Below us, litter pickers in hi-vis vests cleared up in preparation for the second day of the Grand National meeting.
We sat in the chairs we had occupied this morning. The only good news was that Stevedore had eventually got to his feet and walked shakily into the horse ambulance, then onward to Liverpool Veterinary School for further checks on his fibrillating heart.
Vita turned to Dil, ‘Is there any way the fibrillating heart could have caused him to bolt like that?’
Dil chewed his thumb and shook his handsome head, ‘More likely that bolting brought on the fibrillation.’
Vita looked at me for confirmation. I nodded, ‘I’ve ridden horses before with the same condition. That shakiness, sudden weakness-’
Ben said, ‘Could that have been what stopped him so quickly?’
‘I doubt it,’ I said, ‘he was running because he was scared, very scared. He’d still have shown that fear when he stopped if the source of it was still there, but he didn’t.’
Dil banged the table with both fists, ‘This is fucking stupid!’ he shouted. Vita glanced sideways at him and I thought I saw a triumphant glint in her eye.
He massaged his face and groaned, and tried to collect himself. He looked at me, pointed at me, and said, ‘Don’t tell me now that they’re not having a go at my horses!’
‘I wasn’t going to.’
‘What have I done, what have we done for this to happen?’
Vita turned fully and looked at him, ‘We being?’ she said.
Dil said, ‘Me, you, Eddie, the yard!’
She watched for a few moments, then lowered her voice to almost soothing level, ‘Calm down. We’ll get nowhere if everyone panics.’
