Overall, I was quite encouraged by Balham’s run after such a lengthy injury layoff, but it was a group of very glum-faced owners that I led down to the space reserved in the unsaddling enclosure for the second.
‘Ah well,’ said Derek Berkeley with resignation. ‘Let’s hope for better luck next time.’
Yes, indeed, I thought. We had lost only by a nose, the same margin by which Potassium had won the Derby. Some you win, some you lose. Such are the fine margins between victory and defeat, joy and despair. But I know which of the races I would have rather won.
The syndicate members went to the bar to drown their sorrows while I made my excuses and decided to go home, stopping only briefly to collect my meagre winnings from the Tote and to have a quick chat with Richie to congratulate him on getting Balham safely back to the racecourse after his injury.
‘So do you still fancy having a tilt at the bet365 Handicap next month?’ he asked.
‘What do you think?’
‘It depends on what happens to his rating after today,’ he said.
Every racehorse the world over is given an official handicap rating every Tuesday.
‘We may have to wait now until next week to see if this result changes it. But we can easily wait until then before making any decisions.’
‘All right, let’s do that,’ Richie said. ‘But thanks for coming. Sorry I didn’t manage a win for your team.’
‘Maybe next time,’ I said.
The fifth race was in progress as I walked out to the car park.
Only when I was sitting inside my Jaguar, with the engine started, did I notice that there was a piece of paper tucked under one of the windscreen wipers.
Bloody advertising, I thought.
All too often these days, someone puts flyers on the windscreens of all the cars in the car park during racing, advertising everything from vehicle maintenance to exotic holidays.
I got out of the car again to remove it.
It was a plain white piece of paper, folded in half, but it wasn’t an advert.
I unfolded it. There was some writing on it in black capital letters. Three short lines of text:
I AM WATCHING YOU
DO AS I TELL YOU
OR ELSE
Chapter 11
I stared at the three lines of text for several long seconds, then spun right round on my heel, searching for someone who might be watching me at this particular moment.
Of course there wasn’t anyone, or if there was, I couldn’t see them.
I slowly climbed back into the car and put the note down carefully on the front passenger seat.
Who could be doing this? And why?
I sat for quite some time, mulling over these two leading questions without coming up with a single satisfactory answer to either.
A third question floated into my mind.
What could the person tell me to do that was so important?
And I had no answer to that one either.
I looked across again at the black words and wondered if any fingerprints could be lifted from the paper. But that would involve telling the police, and was I willing to do that?
Yet another question I was unable to answer.
Eventually, I restarted the car and set off for home, driving automatically while my conscious mind was still preoccupied with other matters.
As usual, Georgina was in another panic when I walked into the house at a quarter to ten.
‘I can’t contact Amanda,’ she squealed. ‘I’ve tried her phone multiple times all evening, but all I get is a voice that keeps telling me that her number is not recognised.’
I took my own phone out of my pocket and called Amanda’s number.
‘This number is not recognised,’ said a disembodied electronic voice. ‘Please check and try again.’
‘How about Darren’s phone,’ I said.
‘I’ve tried that,’ said Georgina. ‘It rings but he’s not answering, and I’m worried. What if she’s gone missing again?’
‘I’m sure she’s fine,’ I said. ‘Darren would tell us if something was wrong.’
‘But I wouldn’t trust that boy to tell us anything.’
Georgina had a good point.
‘Her phone is probably out of order,’ I said. ‘I’ll sort it out in the morning.’ I yawned. ‘I’m tired now and I’m going to bed.’
My wife wasn’t happy.
‘Don’t you think we should drive over to Didcot and check?’
‘No, I don’t. The last thing Amanda would want is her parents turning up late at night to check up on her. She’s no longer a child. Leave it until the morning. If we still can’t contact her tomorrow, I’ll go and see her.’
I started to go upstairs, leaving Georgina, still unhappy, standing in the hallway with her hands on her hips in frustration.
‘I’ll go on my own then,’ she said.
‘Do you even know where Darren lives?’ I said, stopping halfway up.
‘No,’ she said. ‘But I’ll find it.’
I only knew where Darren’s flat was because I had picked Amanda up from there a few weeks ago, but I’d never been inside.
I could tell what Georgina was doing. She was blackmailing me into going with her because I could hardly allow her to simply wander around Didcot all night, looking for Amanda on her own.
‘Oh, all right,’ I said, irritated. ‘Give me a minute.’
I went up to the bedroom and changed out of my linen suit into jeans and a lightweight sweatshirt before rushing down again, but even though I’d been really quick, Georgina was already out in my car, waiting for me, and she was holding the piece of paper I had carelessly left lying on the front passenger seat.
‘Who is watching you?’ Georgina asked quietly, as I drove out of the driveway through our white gates.
‘I’ve no idea,’ I said. ‘I found that under my windscreen wiper in the car park at Windsor racecourse when I went out to come home. Probably just some idiot prankster having a laugh.’
‘Or else what?’
‘Exactly.’ I laughed. ‘It’s nonsense. Ignore it.’
‘You should report this to the police,’ Georgina said seriously.
‘You must be joking. What do you think they would do about it? I’ll tell you. Absolutely nothing. They’re not even investigating Amanda’s abduction anymore. I was told as much by that lady detective on the phone this morning. I’m quite surprised she even bothered to come out to see us after Amanda turned up unharmed, and un-raped.’
‘Un-raped?’
‘That’s what they were doing the forensic tests on her for. Checking to see if there was anyone else’s DNA where it shouldn’t have been.’
‘Oh,’ muttered Georgina, clearly upset by the thought.
I drove on in silence.
It was exactly three and a half miles from our house to Didcot railway station, and Darren’s flat was close by to that, above an Indian takeaway in a small parade of shops, half of which were boarded up and covered with graffiti. And the takeaway had clearly seen better days too, with red paint flaking off the name board above the window. But it was still open at twenty-five minutes to eleven at night, although there didn’t appear to be many customers about.
‘That’s it,’ I said, pointing. ‘The flat above the Raj Tandoori takeaway. His front door is to the left.’
Georgina screwed up her nose in horror when she saw where her daughter had chosen to live rather than in our lovely detached four-bedroom village house.
‘You go,’ Georgina said, choking back tears. ‘I’m not sure I’m up to it.’
I climbed out of the car, walked over to Darren’s front door, and banged on it loudly with my fist. I then took a step back and waited.