Declared Dead

'The good news is that it's tomorrow's lead; the bad news is that the lawyers have vetoed the references to Edward's murder and his link with Musgrave.'

'But why?'

'Contempt of court, love. With the trial coming up we mustn't publish anything which might create a substantial risk of real prejudice – those were the words the chap used.'

'I don't understand. Surely it couldn't do that?'

'I agree with you, but the barrister in there said that we can't go round making out your husband was a bad egg and so on, as it might lead the jury to say he deserved his fate and acquit Tom Radcliffe on sympathy grounds or because someone else might have done it.'

'They both sound like excellent reasons to me! So Edward won't be mentioned?'

'Not by name, I'm afraid. I'm sorry, Victoria. I did my best, I promise.'

'I thought you said the editor hated lawyers and always ignored their advice.'

'Normally he does, but when they told him he could be imprisoned for contempt, his resistance withered. Can't blame him really.'

'What about the pen being mightier than the sword?'

'Depends on who's holding the sword.'

'I follow,' I was trying to appear reasonable, although deep down I was bitterly disappointed. I desperately wanted Musgrave to have his comeuppance and had hoped that in the process I might have helped Tom.

'Cheer up,' said James, 'it's not all bad. Let me just put the finishing touches to the story, give it to the sub and then I'll take you out for a bite at the Italian round the corner. It'll come off the presses just after midnight and we can see then just how well they've laid it out.'

Three hours later, we had been joined by Amy and the three of us were standing in the machine room waiting for the first copy to come off the presses. As soon as it arrived, James let out a whoop of delight.

'That should fix them!' he cried. 'What price Musgrave and Brennan being warned off now?'

He handed me a copy to read and I had to admit that the editorial boys had done a good job when it came to presentation.

'JOCKEY AND BOOKIE IN CORRUPTION PROBE' screamed the banner headline above black and white mug shots of Brennan and Musgrave.

EXCLUSIVE. Today the Sportsman breaks its time-honoured tradition of devoting its front page to the world's greatest steeplechase. We make no apology, because in order to survive, and for great races like the National to have any standing, racing must be honest and above malpractice. When a corrupt jockey and a crooked bookmaker conspire together to ensure that horses do not run on their merits, it is the duty of any newspaper that loves racing to expose such iniquity. Such is the case of Eamon Brennan, the well-known Irish jockey, and George Musgrave, owner of the chain of betting shops that bears his name and well-known layer on the rails. Our investigations, led by James Thackeray, have revealed an improper and unsavoury association between Musgrave and Brennan, which has enabled the bookmaker to offer generous odds on horses that had absolutely no chance of winning. Why? Because Brennan would ensure they didn't. Not content with their substantial and immoral earnings, the pair sought to involve other jockeys in their dirty work. Victoria Pryde, leading female rider and retained by the Ralph Elgar stable, was put under pressure to throw away the Gold Cup on Cartwheel. She refused, costing Musgrave over three hundred thousand pounds in losing bets. Victoria's punishment was to become the victim of as nasty a piece of improper riding as has been seen for many years on our courses. Deliberately boxed in on Fainthearted by Brennan in a hurdle race at Worcester, she managed only to finish a gallant third. For Musgrave there was the additional pleasure of cleaning up on the so-called generous odds he had offered to all and sundry on the horse, for Victoria only the boos of the crowd and the ignominy of being sent to Portman Square by the local stewards for not riding Fainthearted on his merits. This is one unhappy occasion when Sir Arthur Drewe and his fellow stewards appear to have been looking the other way.

We set out below copies of the entries in Musgrave's betting records for three separate races – the Union Jack Hurdle at Chepstow, the Cheltenham Gold Cup and the Topley Hurdle at Worcester. On each occasion, Musgrave offered better odds on a well-fancied horse than any other bookmaker, continuing to push the price out irrespective of the enormous amounts of money he had already taken. At Chepstow, where Brennan was riding the favourite (he eventually finished fourth), Musgrave made twenty thousand pounds out of on-course bets alone. At Cheltenham, he stood to make at least fifty thousand pounds but Victoria Pryde's courage lost him a fortune. At Worcester, he again offered long odds against the early favourite, Fainthearted, and collected more than fifteen thousand pounds when the horse could only just scrape into the frame. The Sportsman has details of six other races where a similar pattern has emerged. We have sent the results of our investigation to the Jockey Club and demand that the rulers of racing take the appropriate action to keep racing clean.

Beside the article was a flattering picture of myself in racing silks captioned 'Heroic'.

'Well,' said James, 'what do you think?'

I kissed him on both cheeks. 'It's marvellous. What do you think Musgrave will do? Sue the paper for libel or something?'

'I doubt it, not when he finds out, if he hasn't already, that we've got copies of all those betting sheets. My guess is that he may well soon be helping the police in their enquiries, along with your friend Brennan. You'd do best to keep a low profile for a bit, Victoria.'

'I agree,' said Amy. 'Why not stay with me for the weekend and we can watch the National on TV. There's bound to be a load of journalists trying to contact you and at the moment it wouldn't be sensible to talk to anyone other than the police and, I suppose, the Jockey Club.'

I saw the logic of their advice. I decided to phone Ralph to warn him about what was happening. It was well past his bedtime, but I guessed he wouldn't be too displeased to hear what was being published. After all, it would have a significant bearing on our hearing before the Jockey Club. Or at least, I hoped so.

We spent Saturday at Amy's flat watching Pin Money duly justify his position as favourite in the National and that night I went to bed early, intending to travel down in the morning to Wincanton to spend the day with Freddie. Amy and I were having breakfast when James arrived. He didn't look as if he had been to bed all night, being unshaven and generally rumpled. He gratefully accepted Amy's offer of a cup of coffee and then told us he had a treat in store.

'On Sunday,' said Amy dismissively, 'there's only one treat and that's lying in bed all day surrounded by the newspapers and the colour supplements.'

'Normally I would agree with you,' he countered, 'but today is special. I have just received a call from Mr George Musgrave, no less, asking me to go round to his office to hear his side of the story. Says he's prepared to blow the gaff on everything and name names, including that of a well-known steward.'

'Drewe?' I asked excitedly.

'He wouldn't say. All he wanted was a guarantee that I would print his version in tomorrow's paper.'

'And will you?' asked Amy.

'I'm not the editor. All I said was, I thought there was a very good chance of it appearing. I can't actually see how we can turn it down, because someone else will do it otherwise. I've agreed to be around there in Paddington in twenty minutes and wondered whether you fancy coming along.'

'What, both of us?' I asked. 'What about my low profile?'

'Yes, both of you. It's only fair you come, Victoria, since all this is your doing in the first place and I wondered whether you, Amy, might do the necessary legal bits if he's prepared to swear an affidavit.'

'I'd love to, but you can't swear them on a Sunday.'

'Typical. At least you could witness his signature on a piece of paper: that would impress the editor.'

'I'd be honoured. Only do you think it's safe?'

'Who knows? I can't seriously imagine Musgrave attacking us, can you? He's got enough problems already and…'

'If he killed Edward, why should he hesitate now?' I interrupted anxiously.

'Because it's all become too public. For all we know, Victoria, he may confess to Edward's murder and then Tom is in the clear. Had you thought about that?'

I hadn't, and to be honest I very much doubted that Musgrave saw James as an alternative to twenty minutes with a priest and a dozen Hail Marys. Nonetheless, I still wanted to go with him, if only to have the pleasure of seeing the bookmaker squirm and to find out who else was involved in his wrongdoing. I just felt certain it was