‘Come on, Sid. What’s he doing here?’
‘I just wanted some advice. Nothing important.’
I hoped he didn’t believe me. I moved onto the stands to watch the race and he followed, as I knew he would. He was now on a mission.
‘So what advice could he give ya that I couldn’t?’
‘You don’t know anything about ballistics.’
‘Ballistics? What the bloody hell is dat?’
‘Exactly! You know nothing about it. So I found someone who does.’
‘What is it?’
‘Look, Paddy,’ I said, ‘I told you, it’s none of your business.’
He was about to ask again when thankfully he was cut off by the public address system. ‘They’re under starter’s orders… they’re off.’
I had always enjoyed riding here and I watched enviously as others did what I longed to do. Towcester is a ‘park’ racecourse set amongst rolling green hills. The fences are inviting and fair but the real challenge for a horse is the last mile to the finish, which is all uphill. The horses passed the stands for the first time and turned right-handed and downhill to start their second circuit, all twelve still packed closely together.
I noticed that Paddy had left my side and had made his way to the end of the stand where he was in earnest conversation with someone I didn’t recognise, sadly not Chris Beecher.
On the far side of the course, one jockey kicked his mount hard in the ribs and they started to move away from the others in their bid for victory. Much too soon, I thought. Many a race had been lost here by horse and rider who have run out of puff on the long incline to the last fence and the finish line. It was an impressive break and soon the horse had established a lead of twenty lengths or more. None of the others seemed to have responded to the move, and I would not have done so either. Experienced jockeys know a thing or two, and going too soon at Towcester is one of them. It was not the way to win races.
At the second last fence, the leader was still in front but by a much-reduced margin that was diminishing with every tired stride. By the last he had been caught by the others and would not have won even if he had not come to grief in a bone-crunching fall.
Statistically, at every racecourse, more horses fall at the last fence than at any other, due mainly to tiredness. The last at Towcester has been the scene of more than its fair share of disasters, and today was no exception.
A close finish was fought out between two of the country’s leading riders who had bided their time and made their runs late. A job well done. The crowd cheered them home with enthusiasm.
Paddy reappeared at my side.
‘Now, what do ya want to know about bullets for?’ he asked.
‘How do you know I do?’
‘Dat’s what ballistics is all about,’ he said proudly.
‘So?’
‘Your professor,’ he said.
‘It’s none of your business.’
‘So which bullets are ya interested in?’ he persisted. ‘Is it the one dat killed Huw Walker or the one dat killed Bill Burton?’
‘Neither,’ I replied.
‘Well, what other ones are there, then?’
‘Never you mind.’
I watched with relief as both the horse and jockey who had fallen at the last finally rose to their respective feet and walked away from the experience, bruised but not broken.
‘So there are other bullets?’ asked Paddy
‘I’m not saying another word,’ I said.
‘Aw, come on, Sid, me old mate, are there other bullets?’
‘One other bullet.’
‘Great!’ said Paddy. He thought he was getting somewhere. ‘Who was shot with it?’
‘No one.’
He looked disappointed. ‘Well, why is it important, then?’
‘Did I say it was important?’ I asked.
‘Stands to reason,’ he said. ‘Why else would ya get a professor?’
‘Look, I found another bullet and I wanted some advice about it, OK? Nothing important.’
‘Where did ya find it?’
‘Come on, Paddy, what is this — Twenty Questions? Leave it alone, will you?’
‘But where did ya find it?’
‘I said, leave it alone. I don’t want everyone to know.’
‘If ya tell me, I won’t have to go on asking questions now, will I?’
‘You could just stop asking questions anyway,’ I pointed out.
‘Bejesus, dat’s not me nature.’ He grinned at me.
‘I found a bullet in a sand bucket at Bill Burton’s stable yard, OK?’ I said. ‘I wanted it checked by a ballistics expert.’
‘But why?’ asked Paddy. ‘What did ya want him to check about it?’
‘I told you, Paddy, I don’t want everyone to know about it.’
‘But what did ya want him to check?’
I sighed. ‘If it was fired from the same gun as that which killed Bill Burton.’
He looked confused. ‘So, what if it had?’
Eventually, I told him everything. I told him that I was certain that Bill Burton had not killed himself and that he had been murdered. I told him about the gunpowder residue on Bill’s hand and sleeve and why there must have been a second shot fired. I told him about searching for the bullet and finding it. I made up a bit about having the bullet checked by my professor and about it having come from the same gun. I also told him that the police were now investigating Bill’s death as murder and not as suicide. I hoped I was right.
I told Paddy everything twice to ensure he had all the details and then I told him not to tell anyone else.
‘Ya can trust me,’ he said.
I hoped I could do just that.
I went in search of Charles and Rodney and found them in the bar drinking champagne.
‘So, have you passed your message?’ asked Charles.
‘Indeed I have. I only hope I didn’t make it so much of a secret that Paddy doesn’t actually tell. Now, what’s with this fizz?’
‘We got the winner of the second race, but this bloody bottle of bubbles cost us more than our winnings,’ said Charles with a grin. ‘Help yourself.’
I did and much enjoyed their company for a while, without Paddy snapping at my heels.
I left the races after the third in order to get back to Lincoln’s Inn Fields to collect Marina at five thirty.
She came bounding out across the pavement and into the car. Rosie was standing in the entrance and I waved to her as we drove away.
‘Rosie is like a chaperone,’ said Marina. ‘She won’t even let me go to the loo without her.’
‘Good,’ I said. ‘Have you had a good day?’
‘Much the same as always,’ she said, sighing. ‘In fact, I’ve had enough of this job. We heard today that somebody likes the results so much that the project, which was originally only for three years, is going to be extended for another couple of years at least. They want me to stay for the extension but I’m not sure if I will.’
‘What will you do instead?’
‘Don’t know.’
‘Something in London?’
There must have been some concern in my voice.
‘I’m thinking of leaving my job,’ she said, ‘not you.’
She stroked my arm. That was all right then.
CHAPTER 14
There was nothing about any second bullet or the Sid Halley theories on the Chris Beecher page of The Pump on Wednesday morning. I had bought a copy on my way back to the flat after taking Marina to work. Rosie had been waiting for her at the front door and Marina had rolled her eyes at me as she climbed out of the car. I had laughed.
I parked the car in the garage under the building, went upstairs and searched the paper from start to finish. Nothing.
I was beginning to doubt my assessment of Paddy’s character when Charles telephoned me.
‘I’ve just had a call from someone who said that you had said that he could check with me the name of the ballistics professor you had consulted.’