“Yes, gov. It’s on page four, about five lines in.”
Rodgers looked up, surprised. “Thanks. That’s all for now.”
She walked out, and he frowned, rereading the sentence in Hall’s interview as a bell rang in his mind. He closed his eyes and thought back to his days as a rookie officer, days when stories abounded about a mythical, untouchable robber known only as the Colonel. Could de Jersey have been that mastermind? He was the right age. Suddenly Sara Redmond’s suggestion that de Jersey had used the name Philip Simmons for a historical reason came flooding back to him. Could it be that if he looked again at the robberies attributed to the Colonel-the Gold Bullion Raid and the Great Train Robbery-the name Philip Simmons would crop up there too?
Rodgers walked into the main incident room. “I need a car. I want to go to Edward de Jersey’s place. Is Trudy around?”
“No, sir. She’s just left to check out Gregory Jones’s bank statements. She’s going to interview his mother and-”
“Never mind. You come with me. Right now.”
Rodgers headed out to the estate again. This time he wanted to talk at greater length with those who worked there, those who had been in day-to-day contact with de Jersey. Up until now Rodgers had concentrated on the physical evidence and myriad leads, but now he knew he would have to understand the man. One thing everyone mentioned fascinated Rodgers: de Jersey was obsessed with Royal Flush. He had treated the stallion like a son, they said, had given him more attention than his own daughters.
At the estate, Rodgers was surprised to see so few people. But there were heavy cement trucks and building equipment: the new owner had begun renovations. In the stables Rodgers went from one empty stall to another, and Sara trailed after him. It was obvious that the staff, or most of them, had left. Rodgers came across Fleming talking to the vet.
“Afternoon,” Rodgers said. “Could I just ask you a few questions?”
They returned to Fleming’s old office, stripped now although the photograph of de Jersey with the Queen remained on the desk. The vet told Rodgers that de Jersey had been beside himself when Royal Flush was injured and ill. He said that de Jersey himself had tended the horse’s injured leg. Fleming told Rodgers that de Jersey seemed able to communicate with the horse better than anyone else. He recalled de Jersey’s outright refusal when it had been suggested they geld Royal Flush due to the vicious temperament that might destroy the horse’s concentration on the racetrack. Fleming decided not to mention the “arrangement” he had had with de Jersey or his payment of ten thousand pounds. He was too ashamed of it and knew it would not help the inquiry. As much as de Jersey loved the horse, he had risked his performance in the Derby. But Fleming now understood why de Jersey had used the stallion illegally to cover his champion dam. He had known that he might lose him and wanted the chance to own another racehorse as great as Royal Flush.
The vet left, and Rodgers with Sara, who had not said a word, remained in the office. Fleming was uneasy.
“Nobody wants this, then,” Rodgers said, picking up the silver-framed photograph of de Jersey with the Queen.
“I do,” Fleming said softly. He gave a glum smile. “The Derby was the race he always wanted to win. He had entered many of his horses over the years. It was something to do with his father.”
“What about his father?” Rodgers asked. “Did Edward de Jersey inherit this from him?”
Fleming looked surprised. “No. His father was an East End bookie.”
Rodgers was stunned. “A bookie?”
“Yes. I think his first name was Ronald, not that he ever said much to me about him. The boss wasn’t the kind of man you had lengthy personal conversations with. He went to Sandhurst, but I only knew him as a racehorse owner. He hired me over twenty years ago.”
“Did you like him?” Rodgers asked. He waited as Fleming hesitated, then repeated the question.
“Did I like him?”
“As a man,” Rodgers persisted.
“I don’t know how to answer that. It’s hard to, after what’s happened. They were a special couple, though. Ask my wife.”
“I’m asking you.” Rodgers stared hard at Fleming.
“Well, I just answered your question, didn’t I? You don’t work for a man for twenty years and feel nothing for him. I respected him and…”
“And?” persisted Rodgers.
“If he did what he’s accused of, then I must never have really known him, because he was always on the level with me, until right at the end. But I put that down to him having money troubles. Listen, I’ve got nothing more to add, and I’d like to get on with things, if you don’t mind. Still got some loose ends to tie up for the new owner.”
“Well, thank you. I appreciate you talking to me. I need to get to know the man I’m trying to track down.”
“I gathered that, but I don’t wish you all that much luck. I hope he stays free.”
Rodgers stood up, looking angry, and nodded to Sara, who had still not said a word. “Well, I hope he doesn’t. When it boils down to it, he’s a thief. A cheap con man. And he’s not going to get away with it.” He walked out. Sara gave a nod to Fleming and followed.
Alone now, Fleming picked up the silver-framed photograph his old boss had been so proud of. He did have more to say about de Jersey, but he couldn’t because it would implicate himself. Right now he and his wife were looking for a new place to live. He had discussed working for the Sheikh and had been offered a job in their offices. It was a comedown, but it would pay the rent and also provided accommodation. His retirement would be a considerable time off, and now he had no bonus or pension. When de Jersey had hit his financial troubles, he had stopped paying the pension scheme for his staff. Suddenly anger welled up inside him. Fleming wondered where de Jersey was hiding out and felt a rush of fury that he had put so much trust in his old boss. He smashed the photograph against the desk.
After his last meeting with Dulay, de Jersey headed back to Ireland using the passport in the name of Michael Shaughnessy. He owned a smallholding in that name, which was managed by a local Irish horse breeder. De Jersey had visited whenever he was in Ireland, but always in disguise. It had been his little secret. Bandit Queen, now in foal, was there.
The mare had cost 125,000 pounds and had been purchased from Tattersalls in 1999. She had raced only three times in the de Jersey colors. While the hysterical manhunt for Edward de Jersey continued, he was calmly arranging to send Bandit Queen to America. First he chartered a flight and paid shipping agency and export testing fees. He arranged the Weatherbys papers, listing Royal Flush’s brother, a stallion called Royal Livery, as the sire. He did everything he could to conceal that Royal Flush had been put to stud illegally. Bandit Queen, in foal by Royal Flush, was transported in a horse box to the airport. She would be held in quarantine in America, for which he had also paid, then taken to East Hampton. De Jersey hired a boy to travel with the horse and paid him well to make sure he took the greatest care of his precious cargo. De Jersey, as Shaughnessy, then flew from Ireland to Virginia. From there he took a flight to New York.
After arriving at JFK, de Jersey traveled on, still as Shaughnessy, to East Hampton on the jitney bus. He had only one suitcase and stayed at the Huntting Inn. He checked that Bandit Queen had traveled well and was undergoing tests at Cornell. He was certain they would find no discrepancies with her papers or blood tests. As with everything, he had covered his tracks well. He rented a cottage near Gardiners Bay in Springs, East Hampton. He rarely left the property but ordered anything he needed over the Internet as he planned how to regain ownership of Moreno’s property. He was careful, knowing that by now the U.K. police might have traced his connection to it, but he was not prepared to walk away from millions of dollars.