The Mandarin Stakes

by Sam O'Brien

  “One of Lord Nancy’s boys, was he?”

  “No. He worked for the brother. Ran the stud farm. His dad was that banker that was all over the news. Remember?”

  Atherton shrugged. “Give us the torch, Sarge.”

  Hardy handed it over and Atherton checked the interior. He was about to get to his feet, when the beam caught something bright wedged between the seat and the console.

  Atherton fished out the small bag and examined it. He counted twenty-seven pills. They were an off-white colour, flecked with bright blue and stamped with the emblem of a dove. “You naughty boy,” he muttered.

  “Whatcha got there?” said Hardy.

  “Well, I’ll bet you a pint they ain’t aspirin,” he said, brandishing the bag.

  “Ecstasy.” Hardy shook his head in disgust. “Idiot. I’m sick of these rich arseholes thinking the law doesn’t apply to ‘em. Racing his car with a head full of pills? If he survives, I’ll throw the fucking book at ‘im.”

  Somewhere nearby, a phone rang. Hardy whipped his head around. “Where’s that coming from?” Then he saw it, flashing on the grass near the tree. He picked up the damaged smartphone.

  “You gonna answer it?” asked Atherton.

  Hardy held up the device. “Can’t. Screen’s cracked. Whatever happened to good old fashioned keypads, eh?”

  Jess let it ring until it went to voicemail, she left Andrew a brief message. An uneasy feeling nagged her. She sipped her tea from the plastic cup and kept her eyes on the warehouse, but her mind was elsewhere. A few minutes later, she sent Andrew a text and hoped he would reply.

  Later that night, Atherton was typing out the incident report. The bag of ecstasy and the phone sat on his desk. It rang again. He gave it a sideways glance. “Fourth time since I sat down,” he said to the device. “You’re persistent, whoever you are.”

  It rang again, immediately. Atherton picked up the phone and inspected the damaged screen. He could not decipher the name. He swiped his finger several times across the screen. It kept ringing. He swiped one more time and the phone went silent. He was about to put it down, when he heard a muffled voice. Gingerly, he put the phone to his ear.

  “Andrew!” said the voice. “I’ve been worried sick. Don’t you dare do that to me again.”

  “I’m sorry, madam. This is Constable Atherton, Norfolk Constabulary, Thetford police station. Could I have your name, please?”

  “What? Where’s Andrew Dixon? What’s going on?”

  “I’m sorry, madam, I need your name before I can divulge any–”

  “This is Detective Sergeant Jessica Flint, Metropolitan Police Service, Wembley. Collar number: four-seven-quebec-kilo. Andrew Dixon is a personal friend of mine. Constable Atherton, I suggest you tell me what’s going on.”

  Atherton immediately regretted his curiosity. He cleared his throat and told her what he knew.

  There was silence on the line.

  “He was taken to Cambridge, Addenbrookes,” Atherton added, hastily.

  “I’ll be with you in the morning. Let the duty officer know I’ll be coming, and have all the evidence and paperwork laid out for me,” she said in a quivering voice. “I want prints run off that bag of pills.”

  Atherton said he would.

  Jess hung up. Tears fell down her cheek. She batted them away, took a deep breath, and called Andrew’s parents.

  Chapter 25

  The following morning, Lesley Grimsby pulled into the driveway of the Fellowes’ home for another day of cleaning and cooking. She noticed the Bentley in front of the garage door. Strange, she thought, as she parked behind the house. Mr. Fellowes never left it outside overnight.

  The newspapers were still at the back door, wrapped in plastic. Lesley frowned and let herself into the pantry. She checked the kitchen, but the usual aroma of tea and toast was absent. It wasn’t like Mr. Fellowes to sleep in. She tried his office: nobody.

  “Mr. Fellowes! Are you there?” she called, as she climbed the stairs. An uneasy feeling shot through her. He really hadn’t been himself since Mrs. Fellowes passed. Lesley got to the top landing and heard a sharp crack from the master bedroom. She froze, hand on the doorknob. For a second she considered running downstairs, then she heard the noise again.

  Taking a breath, she knocked and called; “Mr. Fellowes,” in a nervous croak.

  Nothing. Then another sharp crack.

  Lesley turned the handle and pushed open the door. She edged into the room and saw the empty bed. The sheets were dragged down, not neatly turned back like usual. He must’ve got up in a hurry. There was another crack. She stared at the bathroom door. Gulping, she moved gingerly through the room and took another deep breath when her hand touched the bathroom doorknob. Another crack. She jumped. The noise seemed to snap through her. Heart thumping, she eased her way into the bathroom.

  To her relief, she saw the teak-framed window swinging. Another gust of wind slammed it closed. Lesley smiled and scolded herself for being so stupid. She went to close the latch and the uneasy feeling rose in her gut again. Chewing her lip, she stole a downwards glance out the window. There was nothing below except gravel and lawn.

  Lesley made her way back to the kitchen. She frowned. Where was he? Perhaps he had gone for a walk around the fields. Yes, that must be it. She put the kettle on and fanned out the papers on the table. Then she went to the living room to clean out the fireplace. She swept up, put the ashes on the compost heap, and went back to the pantry. Lesley checked her watch; she might as well set the fire now. She opened the door connecting the house to the garage and stepped into the darkness to get tinder and logs. She fumbled for the light switch. The empty space flooded with yellow light. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw something moving. Shifting her eyes to the object, she dropped the bucket and screamed.

  Two hours later, Lesley sat at the kitchen table. She was pale, shaking, and trying to calm herself with sweet, milky tea. Policemen crawled all over the property, searching for a note or anything else unusual. Lesley was vaguely aware that she was answering questions, but the image of Mr. Fellowes dangling from the beam was seared onto her retinas.

  The policeman explained that her employer had apparently attached himself to the electric pulley system and pressed the remote control. As the door closed, it hoisted him over the beam and into the air. Lesley ran for the toilet and vomited.

  The police called her son, who said he’d leave work and bring his mother home.

  Like all the rubberneckers, Goran drove slowly past the house. He counted an ambulance, two police cars, and a fire crew. He continued for another mile before he pulled over and called his boss.

  Chapter 26

  Addenbrookes Hospital, Cambridge

  Andrew’s mind swam out of the depths. It was time to surface and face the world again. As he slowly opened his eyes, the light stung his retinas. He was weak, so very weak. He tried to sit up, but there was something attached to his hand. Where was he? In a bed. How did he get here? Was there somebody there? Jess? He plummeted into darkness again.

  A bright light shone in his eyes. There was a man standing over him, talking.

  “…Dr. Wilso… You’ve been throu…” There was somebody beside him. Jess? Mum?

  “…Andrew, I…”

  Darkness again.

  The next time light invaded his senses, he was able to focus. He moved his neck, looked about. Hospital room. His mother was there, asleep in a chair. No sign of Jess.

  Andrew moved his lips, but his words were silent. Then he heard himself. “Mum. Where am I? How long?” He felt so weary.

  Then he saw her stand and smile. She looked different somehow. Her hair was immaculate, but she wasn’t as thin and tanned as he remembered. Pale, but not shrivelled. She looked healthier.

  “Thank God,” she said, kissing him on the cheek. “I’ve been out of my mind. They weren’t sure how long it would last. How do you feel?”

  His mother smelled different, too. “Mum, what are yo
u talking about? How long..? What would?” Then it occurred to him: she didn’t smell of alcohol. He checked the room again. “Where’s Dad?”

  “Oh, I told him not to come. It’s bad enough the papers having a go at you, without him being seen here.”

  Andrew eased himself up in the bed. He felt like he’d had the worst ever fall off a horse. “What? Mum, I don’t…” he mumbled, frowning. “Have you been drinking?”

  She ran her hand through his hair. “I haven’t had a drop since Jess called me that awful night.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really.”

  He smiled, relieved. “That’s great. How long have I been here?”

  She looked apprehensive. “I’ll get your doctor,” she said, pulling the door open.

  Andrew let out a long breath and fell back into oblivion.

  He woke again. Maybe a minute later, maybe an hour, the doctor was standing with his mother.

  “Andrew, I’m Dr. Wilson. You were admitted here with a linear fracture of the skull. The CT scan revealed mild sub-cranial bleeding. We operated and induced a coma to assist healing. Do you remember what happened to you?”

  Andrew frowned, searching his mind. His mother started to speak, but Dr. Wilson raised his hand.

  “I was driving back to the farm,” said Andrew. “I… there was a mare foaling, I was in a rush to help her. Did I crash?”

  Wilson nodded.

  “Oh God. Did I hit anyone?”

  “You hit a tree. No other cars were involved. Now then, Andrew. How many fingers am I holding up?”

  “Two.”

  “Follow them, please.” He swept his hand across Andrew’s field of vision.

  “Good. Excellent. How old are you, Andrew?”

  “Thirty.”

  Wilson continued with a series of questions about Andrew’s life. Andrew answered them slowly. His head throbbed.

  “Doctor, how long have I been here?”

  Wilson picked up the chart. “Let’s see. You were admitted March 28th. Today’s the first of June. So, just over nine weeks. Your memory is remarkably good, all things considered.”

  Andrew was stunned. “You kept me in a coma for nine weeks?”

  “Actually, we kept you under for three. Your body took care of the rest all by itself. You’re a very lucky man,” said Wilson.

  There was something in Wilson’s eyes. It was a look Andrew had seen many times before: barely concealed disapproval. He could do without his father’s legacy at the moment.

  “Right,” said Wilson. “I’ll leave you two alone, but not too much talking. You need to take it easy. Your body has been through quite an ordeal. You need time to get strong. We’ll monitor your progress daily, with a view to discharge in a fortnight or so.”

  “Thank you, Doctor,” said Andrew.

  Wilson gave him a tight smile and left.

  Fenella Dixon sat on the bed and took her son’s hand. “I’m so glad you’re awake. I was out of my mind with worry.”

  “Mum, I–”

  She squeezed his hand. “Please, dear, let me finish.”

  Andrew nodded.

  “I know I’ve been out of my mind in another way for many years, but that’s over. I even went to a meeting or two, but I found them rather sordid. I don’t need a support group; I simply don’t want to drink any more.”

  “Good for you.”

  They smiled at each other.

  “When Jess called me that night, I was blotto. I hardly knew what she was talking about. Never again. I don’t want to miss any more of life.”

  “That’s great, Mum, it really is.”

  His mother looked uneasy; she opened her mouth as if to speak. Eventually, she found the words. “Andrew, I know I haven’t been the best example to you. I spent most of my time trying to blot out your father’s disgrace. But, I never imagined you’d turn to drugs to deal with it.”

  “Drugs? I don’t do drugs. Why would you think that?”

  “They found ecstasy in your car and your bloodstream, dear.”

  Andrew’s jaw fell open. “That’s absurd. I don’t touch the stuff.”

  “They say, at those meetings, that you can’t get over it until you admit it.”

  “I have nothing to admit.”

  “It’s OK, dear.”

  “So you don’t believe me?”

  “My dear Andrew, I never knew it’d gotten so bad for you. Perhaps I would have, if I’d been on this planet,” she sighed. “That’s another reason I stopped.”

  Andrew desperately tried to recall the night of his crash; dinner at The Scimitar, Charles, Piers and Rupert. They were… His head was throbbing now. He felt thirsty, reached for the glass by his bed, and downed it in one.

  “Where’s my phone?”

  “It was damaged in the crash. The rest of your things are in that locker with some new clothes.”

  He nodded. “Mum, I need to see Jess. It’s urgent. Can you get hold of her?”

  “She’ll be here soon, I expect. She’s been an absolute rock, you know. She doesn’t believe you took drugs. Simply won’t hear of it. She was livid when the papers found out and went to town on you.”

  “I’ve been in the papers?”

  She looked grave. “I’m afraid so.”

  “Mum, I sent you an envelope. Where is it?”

  She gestured to the bedside locker. “It’s with your clothes and washbag. Very cloak-and-dagger. What’s in it?”

  “Just get Jess. Please.” Andrew exhaled and crashed back onto the pillows. Sleep was welcome and deep.

  * * *

  “Yeah, thanks for calling Fenella,” said Jess. “I’ll be up tonight.” A smile spread across her whole face for the first time since it happened.

  She turned on the engine and pulled out into the London traffic. And then she saw him in the mirror. Same guy, same black Ducati. He’d been there, off and on, ever since she’d started asking questions about that suicide. He was making it obvious, that was for sure. Unless he was a complete amateur, and she doubted that. The bike followed her to the station and roared past when she turned in.

  The time she went to her DCI and asked for back-up to nab the guy, he didn’t show for ten days. Typical; it made her a laughing stock.

  Then her superiors told her to stop wasting her time on a suicide up in Suffolk, and everyone took the piss out of her for getting upset over a druggie toff.

  * * *

  When Andrew woke, golden sunlight filled the room. He was alone. He felt bright and clear, though still very weak. He rubbed his eyes and saw the small present on the bedside locker. He opened it and took out the brand new smartphone. There was no note. He smiled and looked around: Jess. She was great. Where was she hiding?

  Andrew eased himself out of bed, he could barely stand. A nurse came in and berated him for getting up unassisted.

  “Have you seen my visitor?” he asked her.

  “No, I haven’t. Now, take this to steady you.” She placed a zimmerframe in front of him. “Toilet’s first on the left.”

  “Thanks.” Feeling embarrassed, he rattled his way down the hall. When he got back, he collapsed on the bed, knackered.

  He heard the door close and looked up. His heart nearly stopped.

  Charles stood there. Arms folded. Eyes cut into Andrew like lasers.

  “I see you got my present,” he said.

  Andrew couldn’t speak.

  “I thought I’d give you a nice new one. You can kill time and keep in touch with the world, while you’re stuck in here. I spoke to your doctor. Nice chap. Says you’ll be out in a few weeks. I’ll expect you back at work soon after that. Terry’s been holding the fort on the farm, but he can’t run the business like you.”

  Andrew’s mouth was dry.

  Charles sat on the end of the bed. Andrew shuffled away from him.

  Charles cleared his throat. “Pity about George Fellowes. Wasn’t it?” he said.

  Andrew shook his head, his brow knitted. “C
ome again?”

  “Bloody old fool topped himself.” Charles kept his icy gaze on Andrew. “He was quite mad, you know, spouting all sorts of wild nonsense to anybody who’d listen. Some might say he had it coming – and they’d be right.” He pulled his face into a cheery smile. “Well, anyway, I’m glad you survived. It could’ve gone either way for you.”

  Andrew grabbed a fist of bedsheet; he wanted to hit Charles.

  Charles watched him get angry. He laughed for a second, then froze his features into a dark scowl. “Look here, Dixon,” he spat, jabbing a finger at Andrew. “Don’t you ever go through my affairs again. Don’t concern yourself with my business and never, ever try to get into my office. I’ve had a keypad lock installed. Furthermore, you will never access my e-mails again. Or the next time, you might not escape with your life. Oh, and don’t even think of going to the police. We’re watching Miss Flint. It would be tragic if she collided with a truck on one of her dawn cycles, wouldn’t it?”

  “You won’t get away with–”

  “Shut the fuck up. Your credibility’s in tatters. People think you’re as cavalier as your father. Arrogant, joy-riding, druggie toff, was what one paper called you. Others weren’t as kind.”

  “I’ve never done drugs in my life. You slipped me a Mickey Finn in that bloody cocktail.”

  Charles roared with laughter. “You sound like a jockey, or one of those footballers.” He leaned in close. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep you on at Brockford and you’ll make just enough to scrape by, but there’ll be no more bonuses. You’re my little soldier, and don’t you ever forget it.” He looked at his watch. “Is that the time? Must be off. We’ll chat again later.” He strode out.

  Andrew picked up the phone. He was about to call Jess when he remembered the envelope. He checked the locker. It was still there, sealed. He looked at the phone like it was poisonous. Where was Jess?

  He stared at the ceiling, thinking, for the rest of the afternoon. That evening, he ate every morsel of the bland hospital food. He was going to need his strength, that much he knew. Andrew replayed the events of that fateful night over and over. The details were blurry. Eventually his mind drifted, but an uneasy feeling nagged him like a splinter. He took out the envelope, opened it, and re-read the e-mails. He placed everything under his pillow and massaged his scalp. The scar was itchy. He yawned and pulled the covers up.