Kickback (10 page)

‘Tails it is. What d’you want for lunch?’

‘Where is everybody then, Louise?’ asked Dixon.

‘In the cells, Sir.’

‘All suitably outraged, no doubt?’

‘Mr Clapham was but I got the impression the other two were expecting a visit from us.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes. Clapham and Hesp have requested a solicitor. They’re on the way now.’

‘Tanner first then, I think. Then Clapham. We’ll let Hesp sweat. Well done, Louise.’

Dixon and Jane were waiting in an interview room when Tanner was led in by a uniformed officer. He was small, much the same size as Noel and no doubt wanted to be a jockey some day, thought Dixon. He had short blonde hair and had clearly come straight from the stables. His jodhpurs were grubby and his wellington boots covered in mud.

Dixon reminded Tanner that he was under arrest and cautioned him again for the tape.

‘You have declined a solicitor. Is that right?’

‘Yes.’

‘How long have you worked for Michael Hesp?’

‘About nine months.’

‘So, you knew Noel well?’

‘Ish.’

‘Did you share the static caravan?’

‘No. I stayed at home. I’ve moved into it now, though.’

‘Five pounds an hour with free board and lodging?’

‘Yes.’

‘And no doubt the promise of one day being a jockey?’

Tanner nodded.

‘Where were you on the morning he was killed?’

‘At home. I left about 5.00am and got to the stables and found him. It’s all in my statement.’

‘And your parents can vouch for that, can they?’

‘My mother can. My father’s dead.’

‘Where ‘s home?’

‘Bridgwater.’

‘Did you see anything unusual on that morning?’

‘No.’

‘Tell me about the telephone call I saw you make to J Clapham Racing yesterday.’

The question caught Tanner off guard. He turned his head sharply and looked towards the door. Dixon waited. Tanner began picking at the seam of his jodhpurs with his left hand.

‘Kevin, we have reason to believe that Noel was murdered because he was about to reveal some important information. At the moment that looks like it may have been a betting scam. It also looks to me as if you are involved in it.’

‘It’s not like that.’

‘Tell me what it’s like.’

Silence.

‘From where I’m sitting you have a powerful motive for murder.’

‘I didn’t kill him.’

‘But you know who did?’

‘No.’

‘Tell me about the betting scam.’

‘I can’t.’

‘Why not?’

‘I just can’t.’

‘Let me put it another way then. We know about the betting scam, Kevin. One way or another, it’s over. Kaput. At the very least Hesp will lose his licence and you’ll be out of a job. At worst, you’ll be convicted of murder and do life.’

‘I didn’t kill him.’

Tanner began to panic. Dixon watched the beads of sweat forming on his forehead. He had pulled a thread from the seam of his jodhpurs and was pulling at it with his fingers. Dixon waited.

‘Noel was in on it.’

‘What?’

‘The betting scam.’

‘Go on.’

‘Michael gets the jockeys to hold the horses back. Make sure they don’t win. Noel would tip Clapham off for a few quid each time.’

‘And?’

‘That’s it. When Noel died Clapham asked me if I’d do the same.’

‘So, you’re saying that Michael Hesp is deliberately holding his horses back?’

Silence.

‘Let’s hear it, Kevin.’

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

‘You know why.’

‘We need to hear it from you.’

‘They lay the horses on the betting exchanges...’

‘Who do?’

‘No way. That’s it. I’m not saying anymore.’

‘Who, Kevin?’

‘No comment.’

After several more ‘no comments’ from Tanner, Dixon terminated the interview at 4.25pm. Tanner was taken back to a cell in the custody suite. Dixon turned to Jane.

‘If Noel was in on it, it’s unlikely that he was going to go public with it, isn’t it?’

‘Still possible, I suppose, but unlikely,’ replied Jane.

‘And it seems to me Tanner and Clapham were just taking advantage of what was going on to make some small change on the side.’

‘Looks like it.’

‘You and Louise can interview Clapham. You know what to ask him?’

‘I do.’

Dixon waited in his office while Jane and Louise interviewed Jeremy Clapham. He fetched himself a coffee from the machine and spent the time reading the British Horseracing Authority file that he had brought back from London. He now understood the terminology and the basic principles but some of the maths still eluded him. He had never been very good at maths, which is why he had trained as a lawyer rather than an accountant before joining the police.

He powered up his computer and checked his email. There was a telephone call from Jon Woodman at Exeter Prison, no doubt wanting to know what was going on, but otherwise nothing of interest. Jon would have to wait. Not least because Dixon wasn’t at all sure that he had anything relevant to tell him, apart from the fact that his brother had been on the fiddle.

The interview with Clapham lasted no more than thirty minutes.

‘He’s a complete shit,’ said Jane.

‘We meet quite a few of those in this line of work, Jane,’ said Dixon.

‘It probably didn’t help that we pulled him out of the betting ring at Wincanton,’ said Louise.

‘My heart bleeds,’ replied Dixon. ‘What did he have to say for himself?’

‘Denials, mostly,’ said Jane. ‘He denied murdering Noel but then we don’t really think he did, do we?’

‘No.’

‘He completely denied knowing Noel or Tanner too but back tracked when we talked about mobile phone records. Then he said he knew them and spoke to them both from time to time, but not about racing.’

‘What did he say about yesterday?’

‘He said he did speak to Tanner but the change of odds was pure coincidence, prompted by checking the betting exchanges after each call.’

‘He must think we’re bloody stupid.’

‘I got the impression that’s exactly what he thought, Sir,’ said Louise.

‘Ok, re-arrest them for obtaining a pecuniary advantage by deception and then release them both on bail. Then we’ll have a word with Mr Hesp.’

The interview with Michael Hesp proved to be something of an anticlimax. It lasted no more than ten minutes, Hesp answering ‘no comment’ to each and every question asked of him. Dixon pressed him on the events of the previous day at Exeter and also the British Horseracing Authority investigation, all to no avail. The only occasion Dixon thought he had made any impression on Hesp was when he asked him about the ‘money’ behind the betting scam. Dixon thought he recognised a fleeting look of fear in Hesp’s eyes but he soon recovered his composure and reverted to ‘no comment’ answers.

Dixon brought the interview to a close just after 5.30pm. Hesp was re-arrested for the deception offence and then released on bail.

‘What did you make of that, Jane?’

‘He’s shitting himself.’

‘He is but he did a good job of covering it up.’

‘Who was his solicitor, Louise? I’ve not seen him before.’

‘Paul Richards from Bristol.’

‘Bristol?’

‘Yes.’

‘He came all the way from Bristol for that?’

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘Find out what you can about Richards will you, Jane? You can head off, Louise. We’ll see you back here in the morning.’

‘Thank you, Sir.’

Dixon and Jane were back at his cottage in Brent Knoll by 6.15pm. Dixon took Monty for a walk while Jane put a frozen fish pie in the oven. Then they opened a bottle of red wine and sat on the sofa. It had been a tiring day and it wasn’t long before Dixon was asleep. He woke up briefly for his supper before falling asleep again. Soap operas tended to have that effect on him.

The next thing he knew it was 2.00am. He was in bed, but was not entirely sure how he had got there. Jane was asleep next to him and Monty was curled up on the end of the bed by his feet. Monty had his own bed on the floor next to Dixon but rarely slept in it.

Dixon lay in bed dozing, his mind wandering from the sea cliffs at Pembroke to the slate quarries of North Wales. Then to a bunker on Burnham and Berrow golf course with a severed head in it.

Suddenly, he couldn’t breathe. He opened his eyes. Monty was standing on his chest, staring at him, his head tipped to one side. The dog turned and ran to the end of the bed. Dixon watched as he stood there, growling softly at the curtains, much as he had done only three nights before when PC Cole had arrived in the early hours.

Dixon sat up. He could hear footsteps in the road outside. He climbed out of bed and looked out of the crack between the curtains. He could see two men, one carrying a double barrelled shotgun and the other a large blade. It glinted in the streetlights. Both were wearing balaclavas. Further along Brent Street was a car. Engine on, lights off.

Dixon woke Jane. He put his hand over her mouth to keep her quiet.

‘What is it?’ she whispered.

‘We’ve got company. Call it in. We need armed response. One of them’s got a gun.’

‘Oh shit.’ Jane started to shake.

Her phone was on the bedside table.

‘Don’t panic, Jane. Just make the call. And keep hold of Monty. If they get past me, let him go.’

Jane hooked her fingers in Monty’s collar with one hand and dialled 999 with the other.

Dixon opened the divan drawer under his side of the bed. He felt down through the socks and underwear until his fingers closed around the handle of his great grandfather’s trench cosh. It was a bamboo cane with a lump of lead on the end, all wrapped in brown leather. He put his right hand through the loop and gripped the handle as tight as he could.

Then he reached down behind his bedside table with his left hand and produced an ice axe. His last souvenir from his old climbing days, it had seen him safely to the top of Mont Blanc and back down again. He had kept it for just such an occasion as this. He held the top of the axe in his left hand with the handle running along the outside of his left forearm.

‘Be careful,’ said Jane.

Dixon closed the bedroom door and crept down the stairs. He could hear Jane on the phone. There was an urgency in her voice. Dixon was relieved that she had got through. Help would be on its way soon. But soon enough?

He reached the bottom of the stairs before he heard the back door creaking. Then the plastic splitting, which told him that it was being levered open with a crow bar. He ran over to the kitchen doorway and looked in. He could see two shadows outside through the frosted glass. One was trying to open the door. The other was standing behind him.

He could hear the car parked further along Brent Street, its engine still running. That meant a third man. The getaway driver. Either way, he’d scarper, with or without his passengers.

Dixon stepped back into the shadows under the stairs and waited. His heart was racing. He began to shake and tried to focus on regulating his breathing. He knew this was going to end in one of two ways.

Finally, the back door gave way. Dixon felt the cold night air rush into the cottage. It was only then that he realised he was dressed in just his underpants. He shook his head. No good worrying about it now.

He heard footsteps on the kitchen floor. First one set then another. Both men were in the kitchen. Dixon waited, hidden in the shadows.

Voices. Whispering. He couldn’t hear what was being said.

The barrels of the shotgun appeared in the doorway, edging forward. It was sawn off. Perfect for close range work. Then gloved hands came into view as the intruder edged further into the living room. He was right handed, with his left hand holding the stock.

Dixon waited, still hidden in the shadows. He took a deep breath, silently through his nose, and counted to three. Then he swung the trench cosh as hard as he could at the gloved hand holding the shotgun. Dixon felt the vibration of the cosh hitting wrist bone coursing through the bamboo handle. The soft crunching of the bone was followed by a loud scream. Both barrels of the gun went off, hitting Dixon’s TV and DVD collection, before the gun fell to the floor.

Monty started barking. He had broken away from Jane and was scrabbling at the inside of the bedroom door.

Dixon darted forward. The man was still screaming, his right hand hanging at right angles from his arm. Dixon allowed the trench cosh to slip from his grasp and picked up the shotgun in his right hand, holding it by the barrels. Then he swung it like a tennis racket at the head of the intruder. The gun butt hit the man on the left side of his forehead. The screaming stopped and he dropped to the floor.