‘Hughes!’ He was outraged. But he still sat. He still wouldn’t look at me.
I paused, considering him. Then, slowly, I said, ‘All right, then. I’ll tell you why you won’t. You won’t because... to some degree... you are in fact guilty. You made sure Squelch wouldn’t win. And you backed Cherry Pie.’
That got him. Not just his head up, but up, trembling, on to his feet.
Chapter Five
‘How dare you?’
‘Frankly, just now I’d dare practically anything.’
‘You said we were framed.’
‘So we were.’
Some of his alarm subsided. I stoked it up again.
‘You banded us away on a plate.’
He swallowed, his eyes flicking from side to side, looking everywhere except at me.
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Don’t be so weak,’ I said impatiently. ‘I rode Squelch, remember? Was he his usual self? He was not.’
‘If you’re suggesting,’ he began explosively, ‘That I doped...’
‘Oh of course not. Anyway, they tested him, didn’t they? Negative result. Naturally. No trainer needs to dope a horse he doesn’t want to win. It’s like swatting a fly with a bulldozer. There are much more subtle methods. Undetectable. Even innocent. Maybe you should be kinder to yourself and admit that you quite innocently stopped Squelch. Maybe you even did it subconsciously, wanting Cherry Pie to win.’
‘Bull,’ he said.
‘The mind plays tricks,’ I said. ‘People often believe they are doing something for one good reason, while they are subconsciously doing it for another.’
‘Twaddle.’
‘The trouble comes sometimes when the real reason rears its ugly head and slaps you in the kisser.’
‘Shut up.’ His teeth and jaw were clenched tight.
I drew a deep breath. I’d been guessing, partly. And I’d guessed right.
‘I said, ‘You gave Squelch too much work too soon before the race. He lost the Lemonfizz on the gallops at home.’
He looked at me at last. His eyes were dark, as if the pupils had expanded to take up ail the iris. There was a desperate sort of hopelessness in his expression.
‘It wouldn’t have been so bad,’ I said, ‘If you had admitted it to yourself. Because then you would never have risked not engaging a lawyer to defend us.’
‘I didn’t mean to over-train Squelch,’ he said wretchedly. ‘I didn’t realise it until afterwards. I did back him, just as I said at the Enquiry.’
I nodded. ‘I imagined you must have done. But you backed Cherry Pie as well.’
He explained quite simply, without any of his usual superiority. ‘Trainers are often caught out, as you know, when one of their horses suddenly develops his true form. Well, I thought Cherry Pie might just be one of those. So I backed him, on the off chance.’
Some off chance. Fifty pounds with Newtonnards and fifty pounds on the Tote. Gross profit, two thousand.
‘How much did you have on Squelch?’
‘Two hundred and fifty.’
‘Whew.’ I said. ‘Was that your usual sort of bet?’
‘He was odds on... I suppose a hundred is my most usual bet.’
I had come to the key question, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to ask it, let alone have to judge whether the answer was true. However...
‘Why,’ I said matter-of-factly, ‘Didn’t you back Cherry Pie with your own usual bookmaker?’
He answered without effort. ‘Because I didn’t want Kessel knowing I’d backed Cherry Pie, if he won instead of Squelch. Kessel’s a funny man, he takes everything personally, he’d as like as not have whisked Squelch away...’ He trailed off, remembering afresh that Squelch was indeed being whisked.
‘Why should Kessel have known?’
‘Eh? Oh, because he bets with my bookmaker too, and the pair of them are as thick as thieves.’
Fair enough.
‘Well, who was the middle aged man who put the bets on for you?’
‘Just a friend. There’s no need to involve him. I want to keep him out of it.’
‘Could Newtonnards have seen you talking to him by the parade ring before the first race?’
‘Yes,’ he said with depression. ‘I did talk to him. I gave him the money to bet with.’
And he still hadn’t seen any danger signals. Had taken Monty Midgley’s assurance at its face value. Hadn’t revealed the danger to me. I could have throttled him.
‘What did you do with the winnings?’
‘They’re in the safe downstairs.’
‘And you haven’t been able to admit to anyone that you’ve got them.’
‘No.’
I thought back. ‘You lied about it at the Enquiry.’
‘What else was there to do?’
By then, what indeed. Telling the truth hadn’t done much for me.
‘Let’s see, then.’ I moved over to the window again, sorting things out. ‘Cherry Pie won on his merits. You backed him because he looked like coming into form rather suddenly. Squelch had had four hard races in two months, and a possibly over zealous training gallop. These are the straight facts.’
‘Yes... I suppose so.’
‘No trainer should lose his licence because he didn’t tell the world he might just possibly have a flier. I never see why the people who put in all the work shouldn’t have the first dip into the well.’
Owners, too, were entitled. Cherry Pie’s owner, however, had died three weeks before the Lemonfizz, and Cherry Pie had run for the executors. Someone was going to have a fine time deciding his precise value at the moment of his owner’s death.
‘It means, anyway, that you do have a fighting fund,’ I pointed out.
‘There’s no point in fighting.’
‘You,’ I said exasperatedly, ‘Are so soft that you’d make a marshmallow look like granite.’
His mouth slowly opened. Before that morning I had never given him anything but politeness. He was looking at me as if he’d never really noticed me, and it occurred to me that if we did indeed get our licences back he would remember that I’d seen him in pieces, and maybe find me uncomfortable to have around. He paid me a retainer, but only on an annual contract. Easy enough to chuck me out, and retain someone else. Expediently, and not too pleased with myself for it, I took the worst crags out of my tone.
‘I presume,’ I said, ‘That you do want your licence back?’
‘There isn’t a chance.’
‘If you’ll keep the lads for a month, I’ll get it back for you.’
Defeatism still showed in every sagging muscle, and he didn’t answer.
I shrugged. ‘Well, I’m going to try. And if I give you your licence back on a plate it will be just too bad if Archie and the lads have gone.’ I walked towards the door and put my hand on the knob. ‘I’ll let you know how I get on.’
Twisted the knob. Opened the door.
‘Wait,’ he said.
I turned round. A vestige of starch had returned, mostly in the shape of the reappearance of the mean lines round his mouth. Not so good.
‘I don’t believe you can do it. But as you’re so cocksure, I’ll make a bargain with you. I’ll pay the lads for two weeks. If you want me to keep them on for another two weeks after that, you can pay them yourself.’
Charming. He’d made two thousand pounds out of Cherry Pie and had overtrained Squelch and was the direct cause of my being warned off. I stamped on a violent inner tremble of anger and gave him a cold answer.
‘Very well. I agree to that. But you must make a bargain with me too. A bargain that you’ll keep your mouth tight shut about your guilt feelings. I don’t want to be sabotaged by you hairshirting it all over the place and confessing your theoretical sins at awkward moments.’