Declared Dead

account prematurely, the next question has to be who and then why?'

'Would you recognise the voice of the chap who talked to you on the phone?' asked Amy.

James shook his head. 'It was rather nondescript. I suppose, looking back, he could have had a handkerchief over the receiver to take away any distinctive features. To be honest, I was still half sozzled and in fact nearly didn't even get to the phone in time. I'd never spoken to Musgrave before so I just naturally assumed it was him.'

'Don't worry,' I said. 'Nobody can blame you for being taken in. This is all becoming pretty sinister. You don't think it could be Drewe trying to shut up everybody who has something on him?'

'I don't follow,' said James. 'What's Drewe got to do with all this? I'm fed up with all this talking in riddles. Is this another thing you've been holding back from me, Victoria?'

I looked to Amy for guidance and she duly obliged.

'Go on, you'd better put him out of his misery.'

'Okay, then. It's like this. In addition to his gambling exploits, my husband was, I'm afraid, a shameless blackmailer and Sir Arthur Drewe, along with one or two other people whose names needn't concern you, was one of his victims.'

'How exciting! Why didn't you tell me this before? Do those names include Musgrave and Brennan?'

'I'm afraid so. Musgrave was also my husband's off-course bookmaker to whom he was in debt for about a hundred thousand pounds. Those bets were unofficial – you know, unrecorded, to avoid betting tax – and the only proof I've got is a written demand from Musgrave to Edward to pay up or else.'

James's eyes nearly popped out of his head. 'And I thought I was a bad gambler.'

'Can I continue? I also have in my possession an incriminating photograph of Sir Arthur in flagrante delicto with a lady permit holder. I suspect, from something Edward told me before he was murdered, that Sir Arthur was amenable to helping out in the stewards' room when it was necessary to have a result, shall we say, rearranged?'

'You mean if the wrong horse had won – let's say a horse that Edward or Musgrave didn't want to win – then Sir Arthur would do his best to get the placings reversed?'

'You've got it.'

'So Sir Arthur would have a very good reason for wanting to shut Musgrave up if the bookmaker knew about all this.'

'Exactly.'

'And you too, if he thought you knew?'

'He already knows I have the photograph.'

'How?'

'I wrote and told him.'

'You did what?'

'I thought I could pressurise him into telling the police that Edward was a blackmailer and that they might wake up to the fact that several people other than Tom had a motive for wanting him dead.'

'And have you had any results?'

'One very unpleasant scene here when he tried to bully me into giving it back.'

'Can I see the photograph? I mean, for professional reasons only, of course.'

'I haven't got it here, it's at Ralph's.'

'Christ, is that safe? Don't you think Amy and I ought to take care of it until you're out of here?'

I thought for a moment and reckoned he was probably right. I asked him to leave me alone with Amy for a minute and told her where I had hidden the photograph and the other documents. She agreed to bring them to me in the hospital over the weekend. We recalled James, who was obviously aggrieved at not being included in the secret.

'It's for your own good,' I told him. 'That photograph might give you the wrong ideas and for the present we need your full and undivided attention.'

'Thanks a bunch. While I was outside, and just to prove I wasn't listening at the key hole, I had an idea. If Sir Arthur did kill Musgrave, why bother to phone up posing as the bookmaker and tell me all that stuff about naming names and so on? Without that call Musgrave's body wouldn't have been discovered until Monday morning and his death would almost certainly have gone down as suicide.'

It was a good point until Amy shot it down. 'Unless, of course, it was a game of bluff, or is it double bluff? In which case, it's working quite well. My main worry at the moment is about you, Victoria. Somebody out there wants you dead and I don't reckon you're very safe here.'

'There's not much we can do, is there, with me in this condition? I can hardly make a run for it.'

'I appreciate that,' said Amy, 'but how about issuing a statement that you've been moved to a London hospital for further treatment and not giving the name.'

'Very clever,' I said, 'but it'll only work if the staff here don't give the game away and at the moment they already regard me as a raving lunatic. I'll have a go and ask Mr Maddox.'

'I'll see it's in the Sportsman tomorrow,' said James, who was becoming restless and looking at his watch. 'If you'll excuse me I'd better be on my way. I'm meant to be at Stratford for the first race and I agreed to give one of the jocks a lift up. I'll call later to see if you're okay and in the meantime I'll make a few discreet inquiries about Sir Arthur's movements last Saturday night and Sunday morning.'

'And include the night Edward disappeared as well as the night before last while you're at it!' I shouted after him.

'Are you sure you're all right?' Amy asked, once we were alone. She took my hand.

I tried to reassure her and myself. 'I've felt better and I don't much like being a sitting target here. It's a great idea, though, to say I've moved hospitals. Good thinking, friend.'

'All part of the legal training. There's one other thing I didn't want to mention in front of James. I've had a preliminary report back from my old boy at forensic'

'And?'

'You were right. He's found traces of insulin in the drip and they have no right to be there.'

'Does that explain why I passed out so quickly?'

'And also why you're still alive. Apparently, when introduced into a vein insulin knocks you out by instantly dropping your blood sugar level. It's then broken down very quickly into the bloodstream and as long as the dose isn't too massive or prolonged, the body rights itself very quickly. Whoever injected it into your system thought he had fixed you for good, only he undercalculated the dose.'

'And does it leave any traces in the body? I mean, if I had died, wouldn't they have discovered why?'

'Almost certainly not. The perfect crime. You see, insulin is a natural substance and so a trace is always present in the bloodstream. Anyway, I doubt whether anyone would have thought of testing for it. Let's face it, it was only because you found that tiny hole in the drip that we had it analysed.'

'Insulin is what diabetics use, isn't it?'

'That's right, to reduce the high sugar count in their bloodstream. Do you know anyone with diabetes?'

'There's only one person I know who injects himself with the stuff.'

'Someone who might have a motive for wanting you out of the way?'

'If his wife is to be believed. My father-in-law. Gerald Pryde.'

* * *

After Amy had left I asked to see Mr Maddox. I had taken a liking to the surgeon's relaxed and understanding manner and felt that if anybody at the hospital was going to be helpful, it would be him. He popped in after lunch and I told him about what had happened the night before last. It was clear from his demeanour that he had already heard the official version of events, which put everything down to the drugs I was taking. I couldn't show him the drip and the puncture mark, as it was still with Amy's forensic scientist, but I told him about the analysis and how it had revealed clear traces of insulin. His initial disbelief faded when he realised I was deadly serious and had pointed out that nobody, not even the laid-back Dr Fox, could claim that Amy and the forensic scientist were also on painkillers and fantasising as a result. He wanted to investigate the background straight away and find out