addition, there was of course the Gold Cup when I was riding Cartwheel. On that occasion, Musgrave had taken bets from all and sundry and dropped at least a quarter of a million pounds as a result. Thackeray was no fool and he asked me on the phone whether I'd been aware that anything improper had been going on in the Cheltenham race. I hesitated before replying. On the one hand I wanted and needed James's help and that required my co- operating with him. On the other hand, to tell him that I knew Cartwheel was meant to lose implicated me in Musgrave's crookedness. I decided that it was time to come clean – well, almost clean – and tell him about Edward's involvement with Musgrave. I admitted that I had pulled two horses on Edward's orders earlier in the season and had done so only because I had had no option. It was James's turn now to hesitate. I could sense that he was torn between his instinct as a good journalist to expose the whole sordid story, and his loyalty to me as a friend and as the original source for his broader investigation.
'This isn't easy, Victoria,' was his first comment.
'I know that, James. It hasn't been that easy for me keeping it from you. I'm not asking forgiveness or pity for what I did; I know I've flagrantly broken the rules and cheated not just the owners of those two horses and dear old Ralph, but a whole lot of punters as well. That's why I couldn't go through with it on Cartwheel at Cheltenham. I was intending to stop riding for Ralph after that, as a kind of punishment to myself, but then Edward was murdered and I had no reason to cheat any more. That doesn't mean I killed him, by the way. I want to stay in racing and I don't want my son to grow up knowing that his mother was warned off the turf for being a cheat.'
'But there's mitigation; everyone will understand.'
'James, are you serious? Of course they won't. Nobody wants to believe that Edward was a grade A shit who forced his wife to pull horses. The police, and more importantly the Jockey Club, will think this is something I've dreamt up to excuse my own deplorable conduct. You aren't allowed to blame the dead because they can't answer back.'
'Are you suggesting that I cover this up, leave your involvement out of any story I write?'
'In a word, yes. You don't need to implicate me in order to expose Musgrave as a villain.'
'And what if he spills the beans and says you were in it right up to your racing goggles?'
'I'd deny it and call him a liar. That's where Edward's enforced silence works to my advantage, don't you see? Musgrave can't prove I threw away the Fontwell and Worcester races unless I confess, and I did win at Cheltenham, don't forget. That was hardly the ride of a bookie's stooge. 'Inspired' I think you called it at the time. Please, James, if not for my sake, then for Freddie's?' I could feel he was wavering.
'All right, provided you give me all the help I need to fix Musgrave.'
'It's a deal and I've an idea just where to begin. His betting sheets.'
'The field sheets? You mean the records of all the bets he's taken on course?'
'Whatever. He's obliged to keep them by the tax authorities, isn't he? If we can obtain copies of the recorded entries for the races you suspect were crooked, we'll be able to nail him.'
'It's a brilliant idea and about as feasible as photographing a flying pig. How do you suggest we get hold of these records? Give Musgrave a call and ask him for permission to come round and photocopy them?'
'Not exactly. Assuming he keeps them at his office, what's wrong in us breaking in one night and taking photographs?'
'Oh nothing at all. I mean, I used to blow safes in my spare time at university and…'
'Don't be so cruel. It was only a suggestion.'
'I'm sorry, I was just teasing. No, Victoria, I simply don't see how it's possible.'
'I've got a better idea. Bookies have to keep records so that the tax men can come and check they've paid up the proper duty on off-course betting, right?'
'Correct. Although they've abolished tax for on-course bets they still levy it for off-course. The Customs and Excise boys are in charge of it and can be quite difficult, so I'm told. One of their tricks is to place bets themselves in the shops and then make unannounced calls on the bookmakers concerned and see if the bets are accurately recorded.'
'I wonder if they ever back any winners? That's it then! Why don't we pose as a couple of Excise officers and call in and do a random check at Musgrave's head office one afternoon? Once alone with the books, we could photograph the relevant pages and bob's your uncle. How about that for a touch of genius?'
'It won't work. Even if he lets us in the office in the first place, Musgrave would insist on being present throughout.'
'Not if we choose a busy race day when he's at the races betting. How about this Friday, the day before the National? I haven't got a ride and he's bound to be at Aintree for all three days of the meeting.'
James was on the ropes this time. 'I wish you weren't so damned ingenious! It might just work. My problem is that I'm meant to be going up there to cover the meeting, too.'
'Play hookey, watch a couple of the races on the box and phone in your copy as if you were there.'
'Hold on a moment, you don't know my editor. The last chap who did that is selling racecards at Uttoxeter. I'll take the unusual step of telling him the truth.'
'The whole truth? Is that wise just yet?'
'Well, not the whole truth. I'll say I'm working on one of the greatest racing scandals of the year and am pledged to secrecy, and if I don't do it, our rival will. There's nothing like the threat of competition. We all live for exclusives.'
'Wonderful. We're agreed. You find out where Musgrave's head office is in London and on Friday we'll pay them a surprise visit.'
'Victoria, this worries me, you know.'
'Call yourself a punter?'
There was one other piece of information which I also hoped to glean from Friday's visit. According to Edward, Musgrave had never recorded the off-course bets he had struck with him. That had been done to avoid paying betting tax and was quite simply a fraud on the Revenue. The only proof of those bets I had in my possession was the written demand from Musgrave, along with the other incriminating documents I had found in the butt of Edward's gun.
If, as I hoped, the records contained no mention of any bets struck by Edward, I could establish that Musgrave had been cheating and therefore had a motive for wanting Edward dead; that Edward had tried to make me pull Cartwheel in the Gold Cup in part settlement of his gambling debts and when I had failed to go along with the plan, Edward had paid with his life. I had so far kept the secret of Edward's gambling debts from James, and decided that I would give him the final piece of the jigsaw only if and when our visit had been successful.
I couldn't wait for Friday to arrive, and apart from having a single ride at Plumpton on the Wednesday, kept a deliberately low profile. I knew that I still had to take some action about Sir Arthur Drewe and was torn between a showdown and finding a way to put indirect pressure on him. I no longer suspected him of murdering Edward – Musgrave and Corcoran were now far more likely candidates – but I did want him to admit to the police that he was being blackmailed. If the prosecution at the trial had to concede that the deceased had several major enemies, that could throw enough doubt in the jury's mind at least to secure an acquittal. At the moment all they would have was my word for it, backed up by apparently meaningless entries in a diary that I couldn't even produce. Amy had already warned me that there was every chance that if I tried to raise the question in court, the judge could well rule the evidence irrelevant and therefore inadmissible. Indeed, if the prosecution took the view I was a liability, they might not even call me as a witness!
I met James at a pub in Paddington, just round the corner from Musgrave's head office. Since our phone call, he had made a few discreet enquiries, in other words, bought someone a couple of rounds of drinks, and had found out that Musgrave's credit business was definitely run from the same address. There was therefore every chance of all the records being available for inspection. I resisted the temptation to have a stiff whisky, as it always made me go a little pink in the face and feel light-headed. Today more than ever I needed my wits about me if I
