Declared Dead

I looked down the list, and tried to decipher the initials. 'Who is A.D., who presumably pays you one hundred pounds a month?'

'That, darling, is your favourite steward, Sir Arthur Drewe.'

'Drewe?'

'One and the same. Who'd have believed it of him? For our purposes he has the added advantage of standing at Worcester and Fontwell.'

'I follow. So that's why you were so confident there would be no problems with the stewards in those races. Does that also explain why Drewe was so intent on taking the race from me yesterday?'

'And he very nearly did so. If only those other oafs hadn't been so susceptible to your confounded smile.'

'And what was Sir Arthur's crime?'

'A little bit of indiscreet adultery, spiced with a desire for the odd burst of flagellation. It was just bad luck for Arthur that I know the young lady in question. And of course old Lady Drewe is not an understanding shrew. That's rather a clever rhyme, isn't it?'

I ignored him and looked down the list again. 'And who's M.C., who pays you thirty pounds a month? What's his sin?'

'Ah, M.C. Michael Corcoran.'

'The one who works in Tom Radcliffe's yard?'

'Yes. I don't charge him much because now and again he provides useful information about what's happening there, and I don't just mean about the horses.'

I was speechless. Michael Corcoran had come over to work for Tom Radcliffe when he first started training. A good-looking Irish boy, now in his late twenties, he had failed to make the grade as a jockey and had stayed on as a stable lad. I recovered my composure and resumed my questioning. 'What have you got on Corcoran then? He's a single man, so it can't be adultery. Which of the other ten commandments has he broken?'

'The eighth, as it happens. Do you remember all those years ago when the wages were stolen from Radcliffe's office?'

I remembered it well. About two thousand pounds had gone missing which, at that time, Tom could ill afford. They never caught the culprit, but the police were certain it was an inside job.

'Well…' Edward continued, 'that was Michael's handiwork. He had got himself in bother with the bookies and took the easy way out. He made the mistake of confessing to me as one of Radcliffe's most respectable owners at that time, and asking my advice.'

'And this is how you repaid his trust?'

'Precisely. I told him not to say a word about it to anyone, and he's been indebted to me, literally, ever since.'

'What if he just upped and left one day?'

'I've considered that, and told him if he ever entertained such an idea I'd send an anonymous letter to his mother in Ireland. One thing these Irish boys hate is the idea of family disgrace, you know.'

'And who are these others – E.F., D.T., T.C., A.P.B. What have they done?'

'They're nobody you know. Pillars of society who have committed minor peccadilloes which they would prefer not to be made public. I don't charge them anymore.'

'E.B.?'

'Eamon Brennan. He's my most reliable payer, although after his performance in front of the stewards yesterday, he may have to increase the size of his investment.'

'And his error of judgement?'

'Greed. When he accepted that retainer last year with Rhodes he insisted on a cash payment on top. Only he forgot to tell the Jockey Club about it. Rhodes spilled the beans to me one night when he was in his cups.'

I looked over the list again. One set of initials was particularly faded.

'And G.P. Who's that? Not our local doctor?'

'Much funnier than that, darling. Have a guess.'

I went through in my mind all the racing people we knew and then other acquaintances who might fit into the venal category.

'I give up. What has he or she done that earns you two hundred pounds a month?'

'That's the present figure, but with today's news I think an increase is clearly called for. G.P. stands for Gerald Pryde.'

'What! Your own father? I don't believe it! Nobody could sink to that.'

'Really? I found it pretty easy.'

'And his crime?'

'A touch of professional dishonesty. I was in my last year at Oxford when it happened. My father was then still at the bar, and although very successful and famous, as a criminal lawyer was not earning the big fees you now hear about. Unfortunately he had inherited the Prydes' gambling streak and managed to lose a bundle on the Stock Market. He's too afraid of my mother to go and ask her for a loan so he used another means to find the wherewithal.'

'What other means?'

'Do you remember the Lorenz murder trial?'

I nodded, although I wasn't certain I did.

'My father was conducting Lorenz's defence on legal aid. In fact, Lorenz was as rich as Croesus through his drug and prostitution business, but it wouldn't have done to declare that to the Inland Revenue. My father, in his desperation, agreed to accept an additional ten thousand pounds for acting for him.'

'What's wrong with that?'

'Only that you're supposed to be paid solely by the legal aid fund and any other payment would be regarded as highly improper. Somehow, I don't think he told his clerk about it, let alone the tax man.'

'How did you find out about it?'

"Pure luck. I came across the letter from Lorenz setting out the arrangements in the old man's desk drawer one weekend when I was looking for some spare cash. I thought it was well worth keeping, just in case.'

'And your father goes on paying you?'

'We call it my allowance. I just let him know one day that I was sympathetic to the predicament he had found himself in, and suggested casually that he kept my allowance on. After all, his money will be mine one day anyway.'

I stared at him in disgust and revulsion. He was even baser and more corrupt than I had believed possible. I shuddered at the thought I had once loved him.

'Is that it, then?' I asked, making no attempt to disguise my contempt.

'Not quite. Have a look over the page.'

I turned over to what was the back page of the diary. There was a single entry with only one set of initials, and no figure against them.

Edward grinned.

'Recognise them?'

'How much were you intending to charge me for my investment?'

'I thought about a hundred pounds a month. That would be fair, wouldn't it?'

Chapter 4

The telephone rang before I could make any further comment, and Edward walked across the sitting room to answer it. Whoever was on the other end of the line soon had him breaking into a sweat and the hitherto complacent tone in his voice rapidly gave way to one of panic.

'You know that's impossible!' he shouted. 'It's not' my fault she disobeyed her instructions.' He kept shaking his head as the caller dominated the conversation. 'Don't do that,' he pleaded, when at last given an opportunity to talk. 'Just give me time. I guarantee I'll come up with some of it and I can assure you she won't make the same mistake twice. That's all I need, one more chance.' The call ended abruptly and he was still shaking as he put the receiver down.

I wasted no time in making my position clear. 'If it's me you're referring to, it was no mistake that I won yesterday, and I have absolutely no intention of doing your dirty work again. From now on, you can sort out your own mess. I'm leaving you, Edward, and I'm taking Freddie with me.'

'And leave me at the mercy of these people? No, you silly bitch, you're not going anywhere! You're going to stay here and next time, when I tell you to lose, you'll do just that.'

His first blow caught me just above the eye and I fell backwards onto one of the armchairs by the fire.

'Now will you realise that I'm serious?'

The noise attracted Freddie, who came running down to the bottom of the stairs. I shouted at him to go and get help. The next thing I knew Edward had leapt on top of me and started to throttle me with both hands. The pain around my neck was excruciating and soon spread to behind my eyes as I fought with increasing panic for air. At least my left arm was still free and I felt desperately along the top of the coffee table for something to grab and hit him with. The maniacal look in his eyes left me in no doubt that he was mad enough to kill me. I had no desire to die and leave my son alone with this monster as a father. With one final lunge I managed to pick up the silver ashtray, a present from his mother, which was on the edge of the table. Lifting my left arm and mustering all my strength, I hit him repeatedly on the side of the temple. He ignored the blows and tightened his grip. By now my head felt as if it was about to explode and all I could see was a warm red glow like a harvest moon. I was done for.