‘People like Peter Cheggin – decent men who get led astray by you and who end up taking the punishment that should really be yours alone.’
‘I told you once before, Inspector,’ said Fido gleefully. ‘I have a gift for survival. When others fall by the wayside, I carry on unscathed.’ He thrust out both wrists. ‘Well – come on,’ he goaded. ‘Aren’t you going to put handcuffs on me?’
Late that afternoon, Brian Dowd had ridden over to Epsom to inspect the course and get a feel of the place where he expected Limerick Lad to achieve a resounding success. He talked to some of the officials who were there and also chatted to a couple of the men whose job it was to cut the grass and ensure that the course was in good condition. Dowd was standing reflectively near the winning post when a carriage pulled up beside him. Sitting in the back of it was Lord Hendry, still smarting from his earlier encounter with Kitty Lavender. The sight of his rival enraged him.
‘That’s the closest you’ll get to the winning post, Dowd,’ he said with condescension. ‘Odysseus will flash past it first.’
‘Really?’ said Dowd, looking up at him. ‘How do you know that, my lord? You’ve never trained a racehorse. I’ve trained dozens and I can tell you now that Limerick Lad is the finest three-year-old I’ve ever had in my stables. I’ve brought him to his peak for the Derby so I know what he’ll do. You, on the other hand, rely solely on the word of your trainer.’
‘He happens to be a master at his trade.’
‘Then why have none of your horses won a major race?’
‘They’ve been unlucky,’ said Lord Hendry, stung by the remark.
‘I don’t believe in luck.’
‘No, you believe in gaining the advantage by unfair means. What tricks have you got up your sleeve this time, Dowd? I haven’t forgotten that race at Doncaster in which one of your jockeys – acting on your instructions, no doubt – forced my horse against the rails.’
‘Your horse tried to come through a gap that did not exist.’
‘That’s not how I saw it.’
‘You’re a poor loser, my lord,’ said the Irishman with a grin. ‘That surprises me, considering how much practice you’ve had at it.’
‘Sneer, if you must,’ said Lord Hendry. ‘You’ll change your tune on Wednesday when Odysseus leaves your horse standing.’
‘I admire your confidence.’
‘It’s shared by every bookmaker of note.’
‘Never trust bookmakers,’ said Dowd. ‘They work on incomplete information. Look how many favourites are beaten out of sight. You’ll see another come to grief in the Derby.’
Lord Hendry flicked a hand. ‘I’m not here to bandy words with the likes of you,’ he said scornfully.
‘I assumed you’d come to see Odysseus. Has the horse been moved to Epsom already?’
‘He arrived this morning under police guard.’
‘Yes, I heard that you’d a spot of trouble.’
‘Is that because you incited it?’ challenged Lord Hendry.
Dowd’s face was impassive ‘Now why should I do that?’
‘For the reason you always resort to criminality – to gain an unfair advantage.’
‘But I already have an advantage, Lord Hendry. I own better horses than anyone else. I’m far too busy protecting them to worry about anybody else’s stables. Before you portray yourself as a victim,’ said Dowd forcefully, ‘look at my problems. Someone tried to send me the severed head of a groom I used to employ. How would you like to open a lady’s hatbox and find
Lord Hendry flinched at the mention of the hatbox. It brought back painful memories of Kitty Lavender’s betrayal of him. It also made him wonder who had committed the murder and why he had sent such a chilling memento of it to Ireland.
‘Then we come to Tim Maguire,’ continued Dowd. ‘Even you must admit that he’s the best jockey alive.’
‘One of them, I grant you.’
‘Someone offered him five hundred pounds if he refused to ride for me. When that bribe failed,’ said Dowd with rising anger, ‘they set a couple of ruffians onto him last night. They were supposed to make sure that he was unfit to ride in the Derby. But I keep my jockeys well guarded so the attackers were frightened off with a shot or two.’ He stepped closer to the carriage and fixed Lord Hendry with an accusatory stare. ‘The location of those stables was supposed to be a secret,’ he added. ‘How did anyone know where Tim Maguire was?’
‘Don’t look at me like that,’ said Lord Hendry. ‘I’d never hire ruffians to assault a jockey. As for your stables, I haven’t the slightest clue where they are.’
‘Someone does. If it’s not you,’ said Dowd, still subjecting him to a piercing stare, ‘then who the devil is it?’
They left early on Sunday morning. Robert Colbeck had hired a trap so that he could drive Madeleine Andrews to her rendezvous with the barmaid at the Shepherd and Shepherdess. On the ride there, he explained precisely what he wanted her to do when she met Bonny Rimmer. Madeleine was attentive. It was not the first time she had been given this kind of unofficial assignment so she had a degree of experience on which she could draw. Talk soon turned to the progress of the investigation. Colbeck told her about his visit to Epsom Downs.
‘Why didn’t you arrest Mr Fido?’ she said.
‘Because I could not build a convincing case against him in court,’ he confessed resignedly. ‘I’d need firmer evidence.’
‘You had that letter sent by one of your detectives.’
‘It would be almost impossible to establish that he ordered Peter Cheggin to provide the information. Hamilton Fido is far too clever. There’d be no direct link between him and Cheggin. Fido would always use intermediaries and I have no idea who they might be.’
‘Couldn’t your prisoner tell you?’
‘He’s too ashamed of what he did, Madeleine. I feel sorry for him. Cheggin has a wife and children. When he’s sentenced, they’ll be left to fend for themselves. In fact,’ he went on, ‘knowing Fido, he’ll probably try to force Mrs Cheggin to pay off her husband’s debts.’
‘There must be
‘I’m sure it will emerge in the fullness of time.’
When they got to the village, Colbeck did not head for the inn. He drove on to the little church at the top of the hill. Its bell was ringing sonorously in the tower. As he brought the trap to a halt, Colbeck saw a few people going in through the porch.
‘How did you know what time the service was?’ she said.
‘I took the trouble to find out when I was last here.’
‘Why?’
‘Because that’s where we’ll find Bonny Rimmer.’
‘How do you know?’
‘She’s mourning a loved one,’ said Colbeck. ‘She needs help. My guess is that she’ll turn to the church.’
He got out of the trap, tethered the horse then offered a hand to assist her down. When Madeleine stepped onto the ground, she straightened her dress and adjusted her hat. She was thrilled when he extended an arm for her to take. They went through the lychgate together and into the little churchyard where tombs, monuments and stone crosses were clustered together at odd angles and surrounded by uncut grass and bramble. The church itself had stood on the same spot for over five hundred years and it showed clear signs of decrepitude.
When they left the morning sunshine, they entered the chill interior of the building. Wooden pews ran down either side of the nave and there was a scattering of worshippers there. Colbeck could not identify the woman who knelt in the front pew wearing black but he was certain that it was Bonny Rimmer. He and Madeleine sat halfway down the nave and bent their heads in prayer. It was the first time they had been in a church together and the significance of attending morning service as a couple was lost on neither of them.
The vicar was a white-haired old man who took the service briskly and who preached a combative sermon as if addressing a full congregation rather than a mere nine parishioners. When it was over, he stood at the door to bid farewell to people as they left. Bonny Rimmer remained immoveable in her pew. Colbeck and Madeleine shook
