‘I was determined not to go through with it,’ Bill said, bringing me back from my daydreaming.
‘With what?’ I asked.
‘Stopping Wisden Wonder from winning. I’d done it once with Pool Table and I told the man that that was enough. But he says that I should think very carefully before I subjected my wife to such distressing news.’ Bill laughed forlornly. ‘I told him it wasn’t bloody me who would be subjecting her to the distressing news. He just replied that I should have thought about that before I fucked another woman.’
I could appreciate his dilemma.
‘I did consider trying to win the race anyway and to hell with him. If I’d won, perhaps it would screw the man good and proper. And, if I didn’t, then it wouldn’t matter because at least I hadn’t stopped the horse on purpose.’
‘So why didn’t you try and win?’ I asked.
‘I didn’t want to risk it. The man would have sent the pictures to Julie.’ He put his head in his hands again. ‘I even tried to get you lot to stop him.’
‘What?’ I said, surprised.
He looked up. ‘I tried to get the BHA to stop him by phoning that anonymous tip-off line. I was hoping you might arrest Morris or something. Then I’d be off the hook, so to speak. But I saw him standing by the paddock exit at Sandown as I was going out on Wisden Wonder, all bold as brass in his bloody hat. He didn’t say anything, he just glared at me. It gave me the bloody willies, I can tell you. So I made damn sure I couldn’t win. I fell off.’
‘Why did you tell the tip-off line that he was placing bets for an excluded person?’
‘I was hardly going to say that he was betting on a fixed race, was I, not when I was the bloody fixer? Don’t be daft. I tried to think of something that the BHA would have to act on. Something that would prevent him from being allowed into the racecourse. Something that wouldn’t implicate me.’
But it had implicated him.
It had been Bill’s telephone call that had alerted me to what was actually going on.
The irony wasn’t lost on him.
‘I suppose that was a bloody stupid idea.’
25
The following morning, having checked in the Racing Post that he wasn’t riding at either of the day’s two race meetings, I went to the village of East Hagbourne hoping to find Willy Mitchell at home.
My taxi drew up outside Mitchell’s place at noon. Willy was strapping his twin girls into their seats in a battered old Ford that stood in front of a modest-looking semi-detached bungalow.
‘Can you please wait?’ I said to the taxi driver. ‘I may be a while.’
‘Be as long as you like,’ he said, reclining his seat. ‘The meter’s still running.’
Willy Mitchell wasn’t pleased to see me.
‘We’re just going out for Sunday lunch,’ he said.
‘I won’t keep you long.’
His very young-looking wife came out of the front door carrying two plastic bags. She was little more than a girl herself.
‘Look after the twins for a minute, will you, love?’ Willy said to her. ‘This is about work. I won’t be long.’ He looked at me. ‘You’d better come inside.’
Mrs Mitchell looked quizzically in her husband’s direction but he said nothing more to her. He just led me through the front door and along into their kitchen, where we stood either side of a small table.
‘Now what?’ he said.
‘I’m on your side, Willy.’
‘I doubt that.’
‘It’s true, even if you don’t believe me.’
‘What do you want?’
‘Who is blackmailing you?’ I asked.
He didn’t say anything. As before at Ascot, he just stared at me.
I waited.
‘Who says I’m being blackmailed?’ he asked eventually.
‘You do,’ I replied. ‘It’s what your body language is shouting at me.’
He went back to saying nothing. I waited some more.
‘I’m trying to help you,’ I said.
‘Then go away and leave me in peace.’
‘I can’t do that,’ I said. ‘Either talk to me now or you’ll end up at a disciplinary panel at the BHA and you will lose your licence to ride.’
‘If I talk to you, I’ll lose my licence anyway.’
‘Not if I can help it,’ I said. ‘Willy, I know that you are being forced to do something you don’t want to. You are not alone. There are other jockeys in the same position as you. I don’t want any of you punished. I just want the blackmailer.’
‘Come on, Willy,’ called a female voice from down the hall. ‘Hurry up, or we’ll be late.’
‘All right, Amy’ love,’ Willy shouted back. ‘I’ll be there in a minute.’ We heard her go back outside. He looked at me. ‘We’re going to her mother’s place. She likes us there on time.’
‘I’m sure she’ll wait,’ I said. ‘Now, who is blackmailing you?’
He sighed. A big heavy sigh that had all the weight of the world on it. He slumped down onto one of the kitchen chairs.
‘I don’t know,’ he said, looking down at the table. ‘I really don’t know.’
‘What hold does he have over you?’ I asked.
He lifted his eyes to my face. There was fear in them. ‘I can’t tell you that.’
I thought about Bill McKenzie and the sex photos.
‘Have you been sleeping with another woman?’ I asked.
‘No,’ he said emphatically, standing up and bunching his fists. ‘How dare you!’
‘OK, OK,’ I said. ‘Calm down.’
So it wasn’t tax, and it wasn’t adultery.
‘Willy, we have to go.’ His wife came down the hall into the kitchen and she was quite cross.
‘Where does your mother live?’ I asked her.
‘Didcot,’ she said flatly.
‘Then, Mrs Mitchell, why don’t you go on alone, with the children. I’ll bring Willy there shortly in my taxi. I have to go to Didcot anyway, to catch the train back to London.’
She didn’t like it. She looked at her husband.
‘Good idea, love,’ Willy said, clearly not giving her the support she was hoping for. ‘You go on. You know how much your mum is looking forward to seeing the girls. I’ll be there soon enough. In plenty of time for lunch.’
She opened her mouth as if to say something but then closed it again, turned on her heel and marched out. She slammed the front door behind her.
Willy went to go after her. I moved to block his way.
‘Tell me what you know,’ I said to him, ‘and I’ll do my best to get you out of this mess with your career intact.’
He stared through me as if I weren’t there.
‘How did the blackmailer contact you?’ I said. ‘Was it by phone?’
His eyes refocused on my face and he nodded. ‘A man called me here one night, straight out of the blue.’
‘What did he say?’
‘He asked me if I loved my twin girls,’ he said. ‘I ask you. What sort of question is that? Of course I love them. I absolutely adore them and I’ll do anything for them.’
He paused. What father wouldn’t?
‘And?’ I said, encouraging him to go on.
‘The man said I had to do what he asked or he would make sure that I’d lose them. He’d have them taken into care.’
His voice broke and there were tears in his eyes. He was really nothing more than a boy.
‘That’s ridiculous,’ I said. ‘No one can arrange to have other people’s children put into care just like that.’
There was a long silence.
‘You don’t understand.’
‘Tell me, then,’ I said.
There was another long silence. He audibly sighed.
‘Do you know what the sex offender register is?’ he asked.
‘I’ve heard of it,’ I said.