The Iron Horse

assigned a uniformed policeman to be her guide. While she set out with the burly constable, Colbeck went off in search of Brian Dowd.

To get to the stables where Limerick Lad was being kept, he had to find his way through a labyrinth. Broughams, barouches, carts, gigs, four-wheeled chaises, traps, cabs, covered vans and phaetons were parked close together in positions of vantage. As he passed a stagecoach, Colbeck counted no fewer than eight people perched on its roof as they consumed their picnic. When the races began, the vehicles would form their own grandstand and those still sober enough to see would have an excellent view of one part of the course.

It took him some time to reach the stables but he was rewarded with a sight of Brian Dowd. The trainer was walking across the yard. Seeing his visitor, the Irishman gave him a broad smile.

‘Top of the morning to you, Inspector!’ he said.

‘And to you, sir.’

‘Isn’t it just a grand day for a Derby?’

‘That depends,’ said Colbeck.

‘More rain last night and a clear sky today,’ said Dowd happily. ‘Limerick Lad couldn’t ask for better conditions. The going will be soft and he’ll have the sun on his back.’

‘I thought he’d have Tim Maguire on his back – unless, that is, he’s been tempted away from you by anonymous offers.’

Dowd frowned. ‘Do I hear a cynical note in your voice?’

‘You were responsible for putting it there, sir,’ said Colbeck. ‘When you showed me that letter sent to your jockey, I believed that one of your rivals really was trying to steal him from you. Then this happened to fall into my hands,’ he continued, pulling out the note that had belonged to John Feeny and thrusting it at Dowd. ‘The handwriting bears a strange resemblance to that in the letter, as you’ll see.’ Extracting the missive addressed to Tim Maguire, he handed it over. ‘Don’t you agree, Mr Dowd?’

Face motionless, the Irishmen compared the two items. A flicker of irritation showed before he burst into laughter. He reached forward to slap Colbeck companionably on the shoulder.

‘You found me out, Inspector. I wrote both of these.’

‘In other words, you reported a crime that never existed.’

‘But it did exist,’ said Dowd. ‘You can ask Tim about it. The only difference is that it was made verbally. I thought that if I put it down in writing, you’d take it more seriously.’

‘You deliberately misled me, sir,’ said Colbeck icily, ‘and I take exception to that. You also gave me an incorrect version of what happened when you and John Feeny parted company.’

‘It’s my word against that of an ignorant barmaid.’

‘The girl can read, write and tell the truth.’

‘All she’s told you are the lies that Feeny spread about me,’ said Dowd, spitting out the words. ‘Frankly, I’m insulted that you should believe for a moment anything she said.’

‘It accords with my own observations, Mr Dowd.’

‘Are you questioning my honesty?’

‘I’m saying that you’re very parsimonious with the truth, sir.’

‘I resent that strongly, Inspector!’

‘Your resentment is duly noted,’ said Colbeck smoothly, ‘but it pales beside my own. You wrote a letter purporting to come from an anonymous rival. That was gross deception.’

‘I explained that. I needed to secure your attention.’

‘You’ve certainly secured it now.’

‘It was done with the best of intentions.’

‘What about that story of two men who tried to cudgel Tim Maguire? Did you invent that with the best of intentions as well?’

‘It was no invention.’

Colbeck raised a sceptical eyebrow. ‘Really?’

‘Yes,’ retorted Dowd. ‘And before you accuse me of lying to you, let me remind you that I didn’t report that incident to the police. We dealt with it ourselves as we’ve done with many similar incidents. If you look at my record as a trainer over the past five years, you’ll see how successful I’ve been. That annoys people, especially members of the English aristocracy who can’t bear the thought of an upstart Irishman like me beating their expensive racehorses time and again. At Doncaster last year, someone tied a silk handkerchief around the leg of my colt, Dungannon, then hit it with a stick. It’s a miracle the leg was not broken. And you don’t have to believe me,’ he went on, working himself up into a fury. ‘The incident was reported in the newspapers. It happens every time we come to England, you see. We’re always under siege over here. Well, look at the evidence. If one of the bastards can send me the severed head of a lad I once employed, you can see what I’m up against.’

‘Other owners have their afflictions as well, Mr Dowd.’

‘Who cares about that?’

‘Merry Legs might well have been poisoned,’ said Colbeck. ‘Can’t you find an ounce of sympathy for the horse?’

‘I’ve sympathy for every horse, Inspector, especially one that’s owned by Hamilton Fido. Anyone who tries to kill an animal that way deserves to have the poison poured down his own throat. I hope you catch the man soon.’

‘Can you suggest where I might start looking?’

‘You do your job and I’ll do mine.’

‘Unhappily,’ said Colbeck, ‘the two overlap so we’re sure to see more of each other before the day is out. As for what was, in essence, a forged letter written to deceive the police, I’ll have to consult my superintendent about the appropriate action to take. Since he’s coming to Epsom today, he may well want to speak to you himself.’

‘I’ll speak to the whole of the Metropolitan Police Force, if you wish,’ volunteered Dowd, ‘and you’re welcome to issue a fine or lock me up, if need be. I ask only one favour, Inspector – please don’t do it before the Derby.’

Having complained bitterly throughout the entire journey, Edward Tallis reserved his severest remonstrations for Epsom itself. The sight of so many people enjoying themselves on the Downs was anathema to him. He viewed the vast panorama of tents, marquees, booths, stalls and handcarts as if they were a communal entrance to Hell.

‘Have you ever beheld such sin and degradation?’ he said.

‘They always have a fairground here, sir,’ replied Leeming. ‘On a day like this, people expect entertainment.’

‘Entertainment! Is that what you call it, Sergeant?’

‘Most of it is quite harmless. Who could object to acrobats and fire-eaters and fortune-tellers? And there are dozens of amazing freaks to see, not to mention jugglers, musicians and ballad singers. I know there are pickpockets, thimble-riggers and swindlers here as well,’ he conceded, ‘but the majority of people are very law- abiding.’

‘At the moment, perhaps,’ said Tallis darkly, ‘but anything can happen when drink is taken. We saw that on the way here. The most upright citizen can be reduced to a babbling imbecile after six pints of beer. By evening, this place will be like Sodom and Gomorrah.’

Leeming stifled a laugh. ‘Yes, Superintendent.’

They alighted from the cab and elbowed their way towards the grandstand. All around them, people from every class of society were eating, drinking, smoking, laughing, playing games or engaging in lively banter. They went past mechanics and members of the nobility, tradesmen in their best suits, urchins in their rags, noisy shop- boys, boisterous apprentices, wandering foreigners, red-cheeked country folk, orange sellers, minstrels, maidservants, baked-potato vendors, porters, dockworkers, watermen, lavender girls, gypsies, soldiers, sailors and everyone else who had been drawn to the jamboree.

Victor Leeming thought that the crowd was remarkably even-tempered but Tallis predicted trouble. The superintendent was pleased to see a number of police uniforms dotted around the scene.

‘Let’s hope our men can enforce a measure of control,’ he said.

‘They’ll make all the difference,’ said Leeming.

‘What’s that?’

‘There were no policemen in Sodom and Gomorrah.’