Temple and Cantwell waited for the full autopsy report on Eager Beaver. When it eventually landed on Temple's desk in a brown envelope, it was disappointingly thin. He waved it in the air in Cantwell's direction.
"I always pin my hopes on these damn things and invariably they are a bloody let-down. Read it to me, Cantwell, tell me I'm wrong this time."
Cantwell glanced at it for several minutes before giving the result:
"It seems he had a severe beating before death. There were several broken ribs, broken nose, shattered cheekbone, fracture of the spine. But what killed him was a blow to the back of his head. He didn't drown, Gov. No sign of water in his lungs." He looked up. "So they must have dumped his body overboard after killing him. Poor old Eager. What harm had he done to anyone?"
"Asked too many questions and knew too many answers. That's what he did wrong. Couldn't keep his mouth shut." Temple drummed his fingers on the desk. "Still, all this confirms that Ellacott's death, Brenda Ellacott's beating and now Eager's murder are all connected."
"We don't know that for sure, Gov."
"Maybe, maybe not. But it's time that you and I did a bit more investigating. We're going to the dogs, Cantwell. We know there's fixing going on in these races. The only way to find out is to go into the lion's den, so to speak. There's a meeting tonight at the County Ground in Exeter. Starts about 7 o'clock. We'll stay till about 9.30." He held up his hand to silence the protest he could see coming from Cantwell. "I know evening work is not exactly popular with your Debbie. But you just tell her that I've fixed a great overtime deal for you. You can spend it on her at the weekend. Just give her a call now tell her something's come up at work and that you'll be back late tonight. If you tell her now, she can make arrangements to entertain herself."
Temple was right. Debbie was not best pleased to have the news sprung on her. However, the prospect of extra cash soothed her quite remarkably quickly.
"How much extra?" Temple overheard her ask.
"Not sure, love, but enough for us to go out on Saturday evening. The Gov has fixed it for me. Perhaps, we'll go to the Blandford for a drink, maybe even dinner."
Temple heard the change in Debbie's tone even from where he was sitting. Cantwell grinned and nodded at him when he put the receiver back:
"She's real pleased about the thought of going to the Blandford. Never been there, always wanted too. She'll go to her sister's place tonight." He rubbed his hands together. "That means I won't have to go round there tomorrow."
"Not keen on the in-laws, Cantwell?"
"No, Gov, I'm not."
"Right then, here's some cash." Temple opened a small box that he had in his desk drawer and handed him three pound notes and three florins. "That's for you to bet with. Don't use it all but watch who bets on what dog. Between us, we may see a pattern."
Cantwell counted the money and looked surprised at the amount:
"Gov! There's almost a week's wages here! How much is a bet?"
"Cantwell! Don't you know anything? A bet is whatever you decide to place on a dog. You can do it to win or you can do it to come second or third. You can also do it each way which means if it wins you get a return and if it comes in second or third you also win, but not so much. I'm not going to explain the intricacies of gambling. I'd suggest that you stick to smallish bets. Watch the other punters. See what they're doing. You'll learn."
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Brenda 'wants in'
WingCo drove back to the Blandford in a state of anxiety. He called Judy into the office and they discussed the conversation he had just had with Brenda Ellacott.
"Without Ben, what use is Brenda? In fact, she was always a bloody liability even when he was getting the pills for Redbourne. Time and again he said that Brenda mustn't know what was going on. Not like you, old girl," WingCo looked fondly at his wife. "No bloody stamina. Not up to making a pretty penny on some dodgy dogs!"
Judy crossed the room and looked at the beer garden. Two couples were sitting at the tables. She strummed her fingers on the windowsill:
"You'll have to talk it over with Redbourne. He'll be expecting some news about the drinomyl tablets. Wasn't he hoping to get them to Soppy Soper this week?"
"He was. The next few weeks' racing will just have to go for a burton, unless we can get our hands on a new supply. McBride said that Ellacott was crucial. He could write the prescriptions but unless Ellacott dispensed them, there was no easy way of getting drinomyl or sodium amytal."
"Well, you'll have to break the news."
"Talking to Redbourne is not as simple as it sounds. We don't want to get too tied in with Ellacott's death. Steele and Davey may not have meant to push him in, but he went in just the same. It was as near as dammit to homicide."
"But it wasn't! Remember that! Anyway, we're in too deep already. Also, we're still short of several thousand pounds that we need if we're to get away from Starmouth." She put her hands on his shoulders and kissed the top of his head. "We need to hang on in till we've got what we need. Just keep your head and everything will be fine. Phone Redbourne now and tell him what you've found out."
Redbourne answered the phone almost immediately. He listened without interrupting WingCo. He could hear Judy's promptings in the background. Cool as ice, that one, he thought. Pity her husband was such an old woman.
"Stop the panics, Bob!" Redbourne said at last. "Brenda Ellacott is nobody's fool. Steele handled the whole thing all wrong. Why he hit her, I don't know. All brawn and no bloody brains, that's Steele for you." He chuckled. "Hell! That's why I hired him! So mustn't complain. You leave Brenda to me, Bob. Oh! By the way, tell that little lady of yours not to worry, Uncle Rex will make it all right. You remember that too. There's more than one source for the pills. We'll get those dogs running like we want, in no time at all."
WingCo put the receiver down. Thank God, it was no longer his problem. He would now have to tell McBride all the facts too.
Neither he nor NcBride had intended to get so deeply involved in Redbourne's set up. At the beginning it had seemed so easy, 'a nice little earner' was how Redbourne had put it. They had all misjudged Redbourne.
Judy had been delighted to get the type of people who Redbourne brought to the Blandford. The hunting, shooting and fishing fraternity had come to Redbourne's parties at the hotel. Some parties they had been too: plenty of champagne, cocaine and girls! To their surprise, a local MP had brought along some of his friends. Judy could not understand why they all seemed to like Redbourne.
'Just a common little bookie', as she labelled him. But he was the one supplying the booze, the drugs and the girls. It had all been great fun and they could not believe their luck.
McBride had been pleased to make good money. After all, what harm was there in writing up some extra prescriptions? No one would check, after all he was on all the important local medical committees. Redbourne had told him just to get the drugs and leave the rest to him.
Ben Ellacott had always been the weak link in the chain, WingCo thought. He fretted over dispensing drugs that could be traced back to him. Still, he had gone along with it too. He had been rather in awe of the company. Not only was he amazed to be at the same parties as the county set, he was naive enough to think that owning the Blandford made you an important person. WingCo smiled ruefully.
So where had it all got out of hand? McBride had discussed it with him a month or two prior to Ellacott's death. He said Redbourne's plans were too big. Not satisfied with running a few dodgy dogs at the local tracks, he was aiming now for some of the London tracks, maybe even the Greyhound Derby.
Ellacott told Redbourne he was getting above himself and should be content with local tracks. He had started to play hard to get. He didn't deliver the drugs on time. That was when Steele and Davey were let loose. That, thought WingCo, was when things had gone sour. Even then, he hadn't thought it would end in Ellacott's death.
WingCo picked up the phone and dialled McBride's number:
"Richie, it's Bob. We need to have a chat. No ... no immediate problems. Come up to the Blandford tonight about eight-thirty. Okay by you?"
Bloggapedia, Blog Directory - Find It!
"Without Ben, what use is Brenda? In fact, she was always a bloody liability even when he was getting the pills for Redbourne. Time and again he said that Brenda mustn't know what was going on. Not like you, old girl," WingCo looked fondly at his wife. "No bloody stamina. Not up to making a pretty penny on some dodgy dogs!"
Judy crossed the room and looked at the beer garden. Two couples were sitting at the tables. She strummed her fingers on the windowsill:
"You'll have to talk it over with Redbourne. He'll be expecting some news about the drinomyl tablets. Wasn't he hoping to get them to Soppy Soper this week?"
"He was. The next few weeks' racing will just have to go for a burton, unless we can get our hands on a new supply. McBride said that Ellacott was crucial. He could write the prescriptions but unless Ellacott dispensed them, there was no easy way of getting drinomyl or sodium amytal."
"Well, you'll have to break the news."
"Talking to Redbourne is not as simple as it sounds. We don't want to get too tied in with Ellacott's death. Steele and Davey may not have meant to push him in, but he went in just the same. It was as near as dammit to homicide."
"But it wasn't! Remember that! Anyway, we're in too deep already. Also, we're still short of several thousand pounds that we need if we're to get away from Starmouth." She put her hands on his shoulders and kissed the top of his head. "We need to hang on in till we've got what we need. Just keep your head and everything will be fine. Phone Redbourne now and tell him what you've found out."
Redbourne answered the phone almost immediately. He listened without interrupting WingCo. He could hear Judy's promptings in the background. Cool as ice, that one, he thought. Pity her husband was such an old woman.
"Stop the panics, Bob!" Redbourne said at last. "Brenda Ellacott is nobody's fool. Steele handled the whole thing all wrong. Why he hit her, I don't know. All brawn and no bloody brains, that's Steele for you." He chuckled. "Hell! That's why I hired him! So mustn't complain. You leave Brenda to me, Bob. Oh! By the way, tell that little lady of yours not to worry, Uncle Rex will make it all right. You remember that too. There's more than one source for the pills. We'll get those dogs running like we want, in no time at all."
WingCo put the receiver down. Thank God, it was no longer his problem. He would now have to tell McBride all the facts too.
Neither he nor NcBride had intended to get so deeply involved in Redbourne's set up. At the beginning it had seemed so easy, 'a nice little earner' was how Redbourne had put it. They had all misjudged Redbourne.
Judy had been delighted to get the type of people who Redbourne brought to the Blandford. The hunting, shooting and fishing fraternity had come to Redbourne's parties at the hotel. Some parties they had been too: plenty of champagne, cocaine and girls! To their surprise, a local MP had brought along some of his friends. Judy could not understand why they all seemed to like Redbourne.
'Just a common little bookie', as she labelled him. But he was the one supplying the booze, the drugs and the girls. It had all been great fun and they could not believe their luck.
McBride had been pleased to make good money. After all, what harm was there in writing up some extra prescriptions? No one would check, after all he was on all the important local medical committees. Redbourne had told him just to get the drugs and leave the rest to him.
Ben Ellacott had always been the weak link in the chain, WingCo thought. He fretted over dispensing drugs that could be traced back to him. Still, he had gone along with it too. He had been rather in awe of the company. Not only was he amazed to be at the same parties as the county set, he was naive enough to think that owning the Blandford made you an important person. WingCo smiled ruefully.
So where had it all got out of hand? McBride had discussed it with him a month or two prior to Ellacott's death. He said Redbourne's plans were too big. Not satisfied with running a few dodgy dogs at the local tracks, he was aiming now for some of the London tracks, maybe even the Greyhound Derby.
Ellacott told Redbourne he was getting above himself and should be content with local tracks. He had started to play hard to get. He didn't deliver the drugs on time. That was when Steele and Davey were let loose. That, thought WingCo, was when things had gone sour. Even then, he hadn't thought it would end in Ellacott's death.
WingCo picked up the phone and dialled McBride's number:
"Richie, it's Bob. We need to have a chat. No ... no immediate problems. Come up to the Blandford tonight about eight-thirty. Okay by you?"
Bloggapedia, Blog Directory - Find It!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)