‘...two, one, shut-up,’ said the production assistant on the talk-back just as the red light on the camera in front of me went out and the programme credits appeared on the screen.
‘Well done, everybody,’ said Lisa. ‘A bit disjointed but we had no choice. Mark, tell that bloody Austin Reynolds to get a new car. With a name like that you’d think he’d know something about cars.’
‘Will do,’ I replied. ‘Austin. Lisa, the producer says thank you so much for coming. She’s still down in the production van.’ And I could hear her laughing in my ear over the talk-back.
An audio technician came over and relieved me of my microphone and earpiece, and then he removed Austin’s microphone as well. One should always assume a microphone was live — a lesson that some politicians never seemed to learn.
Austin started to get up but I asked him to stay with me just for a minute or two. So we sat next to each other on the sofa, while the rest of the crew began dismantling the lights and packing away the cameras and other equipment around us.
‘How often did Clare ride for you?’ I asked.
‘Oh, quite often,’ Austin replied. ‘When she was up at the northern tracks and not riding for Geoff Grubb. These days, I tend to run most of mine on the Yorkshire circuits as many of my owners are from there. I always liked Clare to ride my horses if she could. She rode lots of winners for me.’
‘Yes,’ I said quietly. ‘But how often did she stop them winning for you?’
15
‘What did you say?’ Austin Reynolds said.
‘I asked how often Clare stopped horses for you.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Oh, yes, I think you do,’ I said.
I had watched him intently as the VT of the race had been shown and there had been a distinct smirk of satisfaction on his face.
I was in no doubt whatsoever that Austin Reynolds had known exactly what would happen to Tortola Beach in that race at Doncaster, and that he had been delighted by the outcome.
‘Did you lay Tortola Beach to lose?’ I asked.
‘No. I told you, I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he said, but he looked worried and sweat had appeared on his brow.
I thought back to what had been written on that white envelope in Clare’s desk: AS AGREED, A.
Had the ‘A’ stood for Austin?
‘And did you pay Clare two thousand pounds for stopping him?’
That shocked him. I could tell from his eyes.
It had been a bit of a guess on my part but I had clearly hit the bull’s-eye.
‘You can’t prove anything,’ he hissed.
‘You think so, do you?’ I said. ‘I wonder if the police can get fingerprints from twenty-pound notes. Or DNA from the stuck-down white envelope they were handed over in.’
He went quite pale.
‘And were you also sleeping with her?’
‘What?’
‘Were you having an affair with my sister?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I wasn’t.’
I was tempted to believe him on this point. He had been genuinely surprised by the question and I didn’t really think that he was Clare’s type, in spite of the fact that she tended to fall for older men. But Austin Reynolds was very much older, some twenty-five years older, and he didn’t much give the impression of being a great Lothario.
‘What are you going to do now?’ Austin asked miserably.
‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘At least, nothing just yet.’
‘So what should I do?’ he said.
‘Whatever you like,’ I said. ‘Running all your horses to win might be a good start.’
He looked at me with uncertainty in his eyes, mixed with a touch of hate and contempt.
‘But what about the money?’ he asked.
‘What about it? You surely don’t want it back?’
‘Not that money,’ he said. ‘The other money.’
‘What other money?’
‘Look, stop playing games with me.’ I thought he was close to tears. ‘I’m talking about the ten thousand you’ve asked for.’
‘I haven’t asked you for anything,’ I said. ‘I was aware that Clare had purposely stopped Tortola Beach from winning but I only realized that you also knew when I watched you looking at the race just now.’
‘Oh, God,’ Austin said. ‘Then who is it?’
‘Who is what?’ I asked.
‘Who is blackmailing me?’
At that point, rather inconveniently, Lisa arrived from the scanner and walked over towards us.
‘Aren’t you both coming for breakfast?’ she asked.
‘We’ll be there in a minute,’ I said. ‘Austin and I are just discussing the running of his horses.’
She looked at Austin. ‘Did Mark tell you that I said you should get a new car?’
‘I’m sorry I was late.’
‘Yeah, you’re a bloody nuisance,’ Lisa said.
She had a well-earned reputation for believing that it was she who was doing the favour for the guests who agreed to come on her programme, rather than the other way round. And she wasn’t against giving them a hard time if they didn’t do as they were told.
‘I said to be here by seven thirty, not twenty to nine.’
‘I couldn’t help it,’ he whined. ‘The battery was flat. I had to wait for the AA. I got here as soon as I could.’
I bet he was now wishing he hadn’t bothered to make it here at all.
Austin managed to escape from my attentions by saying he was going to the gents on our way to breakfast, and then disappearing altogether.
I didn’t mind too much. I knew where to find him. For a start, he would be with Tortola Beach in the parade ring before the third race later that afternoon.
‘So how come you got yourself strangled?’ Lisa asked as we tucked into bacon and eggs in one of the grandstand restaurants. ‘Whoever did it couldn’t have been much cop if you’re still here to tell the tale.’
‘Oh, thanks a lot,’ I said. ‘I tell you, I’m damn lucky not to have been murdered.’
I explained to her in detail how I had crashed my car in order to survive and how I’d spent half the night in Addenbrooke’s hospital.
At last, Lisa started to take me seriously. ‘Have you any idea who it was?’
‘None,’ I said. ‘And I’ve no idea why, either.’
I decided not to mention anything to her about Mitchell Stacey. The more I thought about it the less likely it seemed that he had been involved. Strangulation from behind just didn’t seem to be his sort of thing. But I suppose I couldn’t be sure.
‘Were you serious when you said it might have something to do with the murder of Toby Woodley?’
‘I really don’t know,’ I said. ‘Was it just coincidence that there were two “racing” attacks only two days apart, and I was present at both of them?’
‘Coincidences do happen, you know,’ Lisa said. ‘And Toby Woodley was such an awful little creep that there must have been a shedload of people queuing up to kill him. Me for one.’
‘He may have been an awful little creep but his death was still horrible. And no one deserves to be stabbed in the back.’
‘Oh, please,’ she mocked. ‘Don’t make me cry. Toby Woodley deserved everything he got.’
‘You’re a hard woman, Lisa. You might think differently if he’d died in your lap.’
‘Why, did he die in yours?’
‘As a matter of fact, he did.’
She was surprised. ‘I’d heard a rumour that you’d helped to give him CPR but I didn’t really believe it.’
‘All true, I’m afraid,’ I said. ‘Guilty as charged. Not that it did him any good. He bled to death, and quickly too. Very nasty.’