Flat out
After football, horse racing is Britain’s most popular spectator sport. It has a very long history with records showing races having been organised as long ago as the third century. It became established more formally in the 18th century with the formation of the Jockey Club and promulgation of the Rules of Racing. In addition to the races themselves, there is a long history in Britain and Ireland of thoroughbred racehorse breeding. Indeed, all racehorses are known as English Thoroughbred, their antecedents all having been imported to Britain in the late 17th and early 18th centuries. The General Stud Book, published by Walagedaras since the late 18th century, records the details of every horse in the breed.
Gambling on horse races is the most lucrative aspect of the betting industry in Britain, and there is a distinct symbiosis between racing and gambling. The betting industry sponsors and gives names to many of the races held throughout the calendar. There is also a levy on all bets placed that is devoted to the sport.
There are two types of racing in Britain. Horses either jump hurdles or fences in National Hunt races over distances between two and four and a half miles, or they run on flat courses over distances between five furlongs and two and three quarter miles. Both types are popular among the punters of Silbury, and both form the subject of never-ending discussion at the Red Cow Inn, whose proprietor is Councillor Anna Kaboré. There is, however, a distinct preference for flat racing, because the stables around Silbury tend to train horses for the flat, because the courses closer to Silbury more often offer such races, and because it is somewhat simpler to predict their outcome and thus realise on bets one has made.
One very common topic for the clientele of the Red Cow was betting theory, and one such was being discussed among them on the evening of Wednesday the 14th of May 1969. The theory, which was espoused enthusiastically by about half of those present at the time, in other words four committed punters, ran thus. First look for horses that have run well over short distances, 5-7 furlongs, in their last four to five outings. They should ideally have placed second, third or fourth consistently. Then look to see where those same horses are running next over a similar distance but with an apprentice jockey riding in the place of one that is more experienced. The advantage here is that the handicap, the additional weights placed into the horse’s saddle as a means of equalising chances among the field, dependent on their past form, is reduced for a less experienced rider. Over a short distance, where skill is less important than simply going hell for leather, this is a distinct asset. You back the horse to win, not to place, thus maximising your return on the amount wagered.
The proponents of this scheme swore blind that the form book showed it works like a charm and that they foresaw grand pickings in the future; none had actually yet put any such scheme into practice. Those against said, just as loudly, that the evidence did not bear out the facts and that there were much better ways of approaching capital acquisition. What would that be? screamed the Parties of the First Part. Why, simply following the advice of the best tipsters, who have inside information from the stables and the stewards, the Parties of the Second Part shouted back.
“Order in the house!” shouted Anna above all of the hubbub. “I’m trying to run a respectable establishment here.”
And all Parties dissolved into laughter, resolving commonly that it was time for another round.
Turning from the public bar to the lounge bar opposite, she saw her two best friends sat in quiet conversation, quite a contrast to the crowd with which she had just interacted. She loved them both dearly, though she sometimes wished that they too shared her passion for horses. Their interests, however, lay in different directions, just as their professions were quite different from hers.
Kamala Peiris was a bank manager. Her present job, one to which she had quite recently been promoted, was at the Western Provincial Bank branch in Bridge Street, Sowdon. Until just a month ago, she had been the manager of the same bank’s branch in Silbury High Street. Though her job had moved, she maintained her home here in Silbury, mostly so that her children would not have to move school, but also because she valued her friendships so much, especially with these two women.
The other friend present was Silbury’s chief police officer, Inspector Fatima Dieng. The friendship between Fatima and Anna was not one that might have been expected, but they had in particular very similar social outlooks. They both wanted passionately to make their town a better place, especially for the young people who would eventually inherit its stewardship.
Yes, the three of us are very different women, thought Anna, and our interests diverge greatly. But wasn’t that what made friendships so fascinating? Anna recognised, for instance, that it was her friends’ influence that had pushed her to compete for public office and to become a member of the Borough Council. She looked forward to joining her two friends’ quiet conversation, once her husband had finished up in the kitchen and was able to take over at the bar.
Fatima and Kamala meanwhile were catching up from the last time they had been together, when Kamala had driven Fatima to Sowdon to pursue a lead into an investigation concerning some youth vandalism in Silbury.
“Have you been to that shop that I was telling you about: Jamila’s Japes?” Fatima was asking.
“I did,” Kamala replied, “and I think it is the most strange and intriguing place I have ever been. The excuse I made was that, having newly arrived in Sowdon, I wanted to meet customers that may not come to the bank much themselves, but who could benefit from advice about their accounts. In Mrs Ansari’s case I actually had some suggestions for her to maximise her earnings from interest on her savings account. I was surprised that my predecessor hadn’t already done something similar. The bank’s position remains unchanged, but more satisfied customers tell their friends and acquaintances about how we help them make the most of their money, and that in turn often leads to new business for the bank.
“But it was like you said. She took the advice but told me to my face that this was not the primary reason for my visit. Then she remembered that you had mentioned my name. And then she said she knew for sure that I was there, because you had told me to go. But, she also said, you did so out of the best of motives, so she was happy that we had met.
“Then she showed me around the shop and told me practically everything about her encounter with you, which meant that she almost told me her own life story.”
“I suppose she would have mentioned her friendship with the General,” said Fatima. “Did you tell her that she and I had come to know one another in the quest for your niece, when she disappeared from Manton Down?”
“I did begin to tell her, but she said she already knew all about it from her friends in traveller security. She also said that I would meet my niece again quite soon but refused point blank to say how she might know this.”
At that point, Anna came over to join them, asking if they needed any refills for their drinks.
“I don’t mind another whisky and soda,” Kamala answered, “but I see Fatima is, as usual, making a meal of her blackcurrant and lemonade, no doubt to avoid intoxication.”
They all laughed at what had become a frequent joke at their get togethers.
“What was all the ruckus in the public bar tonight?” Fatima inquired of Anna.
“Oh, it was nothing that need worry you, Inspector.” Anna replayed another of their favourite jokes. “Actually, it’s two groups of my customers arguing about betting schemes. It’s all rather complicated, the particular scheme that one faction is advocating. If you genuinely are interested, I could explain it better if you would join Para and me on a trip to the Sarum racecourse this Saturday. I promise you it will be a grand outing.”
“But how will you get away from the pub?” Kamala asked. “You’re surely not proposing to deny your customers their midday drink, are you?”
“No, we’ll be open,” Anna assured them. “Vitiana is sending two of her daughters to look after the place on Saturday morning, and we should be back soon after evening opening time.”
“Well I have Saturday off, so count me in,” said Kamala. “I’ll see if Gamini is up to it too.”
“And provided we don’t have a major crime wave, I’ll also be there,” Fatima agreed, “along with Adama, if he’s game. It will be interesting to see just why you are so passionate about the horses.”
Thus it was the following Saturday that they set off in a slow convoy of three cars to cover the 35 miles from Silbury to Sarum racecourse, which is situated just to the west of the old city itself. Since they were taking the road through Vale they rendezvoused at Kamala’s house on the corner of Mabel Lane and Vale Road. The journey took them an hour and a half and was completed in very pleasant weather. Unusually for this time of year it was a balmy 58 degrees Fahrenheit (14 degrees in the soon to be adopted Centigrade scale).
Arriving at the racecourse just before midday, they parked their cars side by side in a large field already half full of others who had come for the day’s events. There were to be six races, and it was the fourth of these that was the one Anna wanted them all to see, and on which she fancied a little flutter herself. She suggested, and they all agreed, that they would find somewhere on the far side of the course to spread the picnic that her husband, Paramanga, had packed. Then, after lunch al fresco, they would pack up, put the hamper and blankets back into Anna’s car, and proceed to the stand to see the rest of the day’s programme.
Before Anna and Paramanga had come to Silbury, they had lived in London, where Para, as he was generally known to his friends, had worked as a sous-chef at one of the city’s leading restaurants. They were all looking forward to see what he had produced for their picnic today, and they were not disappointed.
“I’ve decided on a Scottish theme,” he explained to them. “We have scotch eggs, scotch pies, and haggis and oatcake canapés. Then we have some small salad bowls, and the bowls themselves are also edible. Don’t worry, Fatima and Adama, there is no pork in any of the dishes. Where the recipe would normally call for pork, I have substituted lamb, and I have to say it actually works much better.
“To accompany the meal, in anticipation of temperatures a little lower than we are presently experiencing, we have warm whisky cobbler for those who imbibe, and honey ginger lemonade for those that don’t. There’s also a thermos of hot tea and plenty of water, squeezed from our very own kitchen tap.
“And for afters we have date, ginger and oat flapjacks. They can also be eaten later with tea, if you wish.”
They all tucked in with many cries of “delicious” as they did so.
Their feasting was momentarily interrupted by a large tweed dressed woman approaching from the direction of the track, who shouted: “Ahoy there, Anna Kaboré!”
Anna looked up. “Why it’s Mrs Vicdan Yilmaz. She’s the owner of Queen’s Ransom, the horse I think will make me a little money today. Ahoy there, yourself, Vicdan Yilmaz!”
They all stood up as Mrs Yilmaz arrived to where they had been sitting.
“Oh, do excuse me,” she exclaimed. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your picnic. My word! That food does look like it was prepared in a gourmet restaurant.”
“Not far off,” said Anna. “My husband, Paramanga - Para to our friends - is a gourmet chef. He prepared all of our little feast today.”
Para was already proffering a tray of his sweetmeats to Mrs Yilmaz. “Please help yourself.”
“I don’t mind if I do,” she said taking a piece of the pie.
“Now let me introduce you to my friends,” Anna offered. “This is Mrs Kamala Peiris and her husband, Gamini. Kamala used to be manager of the Western Provincial Bank in Silbury High Street, but she’s now manager of one of their larger branches in Sowdon, though still living in Silbury.”
“Good afternoon, Mrs Peiris, Mr Peiris. Lovely to see you here. Indeed, Mrs Peiris, we have met before, as you used to be custodian of my little pot of money.”
“And this,” Anna continued, “is Inspector Fatima Dieng and her husband Adama.”
“Hah!” Mrs Yilmaz cried, “our redoubtable chief police officer. Not here on official business, are you, Inspector?”
Mrs Yilmaz was obviously given to speaking almost always in a loud voice, and right now she was guffawing at her own joke.
“Well I am also one of the denizens of the Borough of Silbury,” she continued. “That is to say that I live in the village of Stonely up on the downs. I have my horses trained by Mrs Sampaguita Magnaye. Her stable is nearby. I don’t like to be separated from my children, by which, of course, I mean my horses. I was married once, but we never had any actual children of our own. Too busy doing other things here and there, what? Then the husband died. Long time ago. But you didn’t want to know about that.”
Now she fell completely silent, whilst everyone else was not sure at all how they should react. Anna stepped in to relieve their embarrassment.
“Now, Vicdan, I fancy a little flutter today on your horse, Queen’s Ransom. She’s running in the Sitwells Handicap. Do you think that would be a wise wager on my part?”
Mrs Yilmaz was uncharacteristically quiet in her answer.
“Anna,” she whispered, to the extent that she was capable of whispering, “we are quite sanguine that this little filly could be something special. She’s placed well in her last four races, and Mrs Magnaye is putting a young apprentice up on her today for the weight advantage. Don’t say a word to anyone else, but we could well win.”
Regaining her normal volume, she then wished them all a pleasant day at the races and bustled off towards the stables. Shortly afterward, Para, Gamini and Adama packed up the remains of the picnic, whilst Anna, Kamala and Fatima were discussing their recent encounter.
“Is she always like that, so boisterous?” asked Kamala.
“Oh yes,” Anna replied. “When she is in the bar, you can’t hear another soul. And, believe me, none of my customers is exactly quiet. By the way, what she said about her horses is exactly accurate. She does consider them all to be her children. She would be devastated if anything untoward were to happen to them.”
“Speaking of quiet,” said Kamala, “you don’t seem to have said a word at all, Fatima, ever since Mrs Yilmaz came over.”
“If you’ve got nothing to say, don’t say anything at all,” was Fatima’s cryptic response.
Having stowed all of their picnic supplies in the boot of Anna’s car, except for the thermos of tea and the leftover flapjacks, just in case anyone still felt thirsty or hungry, they made their way to the stand. From there they would get the best view of the remaining races, as well as access to the bookies’ windows to place any bets. In fact, it was only Anna that was interested in a flutter, and she went to place her wager, as they others were busy finding the best vantage point. She came back just in time to see the horses from race number three being led out of the winners’ enclosure back to the stables.
Then came the main event of the afternoon, at least as far as the friends from Silbury were concerned, race number four, the Sitwells Handicap. Six furlongs, or three quarters of a mile, away they could just see the horses being led into the gates, which would spring open on the orders of the starter. Anna was peering at the spectacle through a pair of binoculars and had one more around her neck.
“Anyone else want a pair?” she asked.
“I’d like to take a look,” said Fatima.
Fatima put the binoculars to her eyes and focussed them. She recognised the corpulent figure of Mrs Vicdan Yilmaz standing next to a horse, presumably her own, Queen’s Ransom. There was a jockey up on the horse, wearing a brightly coloured tunic, and she was talking with Mrs Yilmaz. There was also another figure there, a woman who appeared to be patting Queen’s Ransom, and Mrs Yilmaz clearly was not happy about this. She waved the other woman off. As this woman turned, Fatima was able for the first time to see her face. It was familiar, which she found surprising, as she wasn’t acquainted with anyone in horse racing, apart that is from Anna, and now Mrs Yilmaz. She couldn’t though put a name to the face or recall where it might have been that she had seen it before. She noticed too that the woman was putting something into the pocket of her coat.
All the horses were now in, and the gates suddenly sprang open. Fatima took the binoculars from her eyes, as it was too difficult to follow progress, which was very swift, at that degree of magnification. Queen’s Ransom seemed to take an early lead and was leaving the field behind. In less than a minute the horses were approaching the finish line with Queen’s Ransom well in the lead. And then all of a sudden everything changed.
Queen’s Ransom plunged to the ground throwing her jockey in the air several yards ahead of her. The other jockeys all sought to avoid the writhing horse on the ground. Most did, though one other horse went crashing into Queen’s Ransom and also ended up on the ground. It quickly regained its legs and went running off over the finish line without its jockey, who had landed not far from Queen’s Ransom’s own rider. She lay absolutely still where she had landed.
Accidents being, as it were, par for the course at race meets, there was an ambulance on hand, and two ambulancewomen quickly ran over to tend to the fallen jockeys. Someone, presumably a vet, was now examining Queen’s Ransom. Fatima was able to see all of this through her binoculars.
The crowd of spectators all fell silent in shock, as did Anna and her party. But Fatima sprang into action.
“Anna, there’s something very wrong going on here. I’m going to find a telephone to summon the local police. Can you please see if you can get onto the course to find out what has happened to the horse and rider? Make up any story you want to get close to the vet and those ambulancewomen.”
Anna grinned and set off down the steps of the grandstand, whilst Fatima went in the opposite direction to the bookies’ windows.
Ten minutes later Anna and Fatima were both down on the course, Fatima having shown the stewards present her police warrant card and assured them that Councillor Anna Kaboré was a person of sufficient importance to be accorded leave to remain. Mrs Yilmaz had been an enthusiastic ally in the cause. She desperately wanted a friend present to console her.
“What have you been able to find out?” Fatima asked Anna.
“The poor jockey is dead. She broke her neck when she fell, died instantly, which is thankful I suppose. The ambulancewomen are now busy tending to the other jockey that fell, but she has only superficial injuries.
“Queen’s Ransom is also dead. She was bleeding out from a massive heart attack. That’s what caused the fall. The vet judged that she was in so much pain that she needed to be put out of her misery. I suppose you heard the shot.”
“I did,” said Fatima, “and for an instant I was worried that something else untoward had happened.”
Just then they heard a police siren, and a car pulled up close by. A woman in plain clothes got out of the back seat.
“Good afternoon, Ladies. I’m Detective Chief Inspector Lanna Biya, Sarum Police. Who made the 999 call?”
“That was me, Ma’am. I’m also a police officer, Inspector Fatima Dieng, Silbury Police. I was here for a day at the races with two of my friends, along with our husbands.”
Chief Inspector Biya smiled.
“I’ve heard of you, Inspector. The Chief Constable says you make waves. Perhaps you’d like to walk me through what has just happened here.”
Fatima gave the Chief Inspector a succinct summary of the events of that afternoon, concluding with the news of the jockey and the horse.
“I’m sure the jockey’s death was an accident, though that would need to be confirmed by a post mortem. But I suspect foul play in the case of the horse. The vet should be able to tell us more.”
Fatima had already introduced herself to the vet, and the Chief Inspector now did the same.
“It’s like I told the Inspector already,” she said indicating Fatima. “I know this horse well, have seen her at other events and have examined her after races in which she placed. She was one of the healthiest and strongest animals I’ve ever come across. I always expected that she would have a really bright future in sprints. I don’t for a minute believe that this was a normal heart attack, if there is indeed such a thing. I’ll have to verify it at the lab to which I’m taking a sample of the horse’s blood, as soon as I’ve finished here, but I think this was probably chemically induced. My guess is a massive dose of some sort of amphetamine. That would also explain why the horse was so fast out of the gate.”
“Well clearly the sooner we let you get on to the lab, the sooner we’ll have those results,” said Chief Inspector Biya. “Could I ask you to give your name, address and telephone number to the constable who has accompanied me? She’ll be over by the police car. Thank you, Madam.
“Now, Inspector, is there anything else you need to tell me?”
“Yes, there is,” Fatima replied.
She told her about the woman she had seen, who seemed to be patting Queen’s Ransom before then placing something in her coat pocket, that this had clearly annoyed the owner, Mrs Yilmaz, and that this woman’s face was familiar to Fatima.
“At the time,” she said, “I couldn’t recall where I had seen it before, but now I do remember. Last month we had a number of incidents of youth vandalism in Silbury. When we had the culprits in custody, we learned that they had been put up to it by some woman, who had both paid them and provided the means for these acts. One of the youths is a gifted artist, and she drew us a picture of this woman’s face. It was that very face that I saw today.
“We also have reason to believe that the same woman was responsible for a fire set at a café popular with wealthier visitors to Silbury three years ago.
“We had sent photographic copies of the picture to nearby police forces. I’ll make sure you also get a copy. That, I am sure, is the person you need to seek in connection with this case.”
“Thank you, Inspector Dieng,” said the Chief Inspector. “I’ll talk to the horse’s owner - Mrs Yilmaz, I think you said - in a minute. In the meantime, I don’t think we need to detain you any longer. You can rejoin your party, and perhaps I can give you a ring tomorrow to go over what I shall have learned and anything else you might have remembered.”
She then shook Fatima’s hand and also paid her respects to Anna, whom, she remarked was highly appreciated in her role as Chairwoman of the County Police Authority.
By now it was almost six o’clock. There were no spectators left at the racecourse with the exception of Anna and her party. Theirs were the only cars left in the field that had served as a carpark, so they found them without any difficulty and drove back to Silbury even more slowly than they had done earlier that day on their way to Sarum. They arrived at eight o’clock all stopping for a drink at the Red Cow before proceeding to their respective homes.
Sitting in the lounge bar, Buivasa Radaveta, Anna’s friend Vitiana’s daughter, who had been looking after the pub that day, served them all their drinks.
“How was your day at the races, Auntie Anna?” she asked.
“Bloody awful!” Anna exploded. “A horse and a jockey both died. The horse belonged to a friend of mine, who is now inconsolable. And I had money on that horse, thanks to a crackpot theory of some of my customers. Not only did I not win anything, but the damn bookies say they have no obligation to return me my stake. That’s how my day at the races was!”
Buivasa, duly chastened, turned back to the bar with her shoulders slumped.
“But the food was good,” said Fatima. And the men all smiled.
On the following Monday, as she had promised, Chief Inspector Biya telephoned Fatima from Sarum. It was just after she had returned to the police station from lunch with her husband and daughter.
“Good afternoon, Inspector Dieng, I’ve been asking about you at the County Constabulary,” was how the Chief Inspector began their conversation. “I wanted to know about those waves that the Chief Constable seems to keep mentioning. The person I spoke to was Superintendent Mirchandani. I think you know her.”
Chief Inspector Biya paused, and Fatima said guardedly: “Yes, we’ve worked together on a couple of cases.” “A bit more than that is what I heard,” the Chief Inspector continued. “You have a reputation for being fearless, for going after those that are ultimately responsible for larger crimes, whatever may be their social status, and for leniency towards those who may have committed petty crime but whom you perceive as quote victims of the system. Would you say that is true?”
“More or less, I suppose.” Fatima still did not want to let down her guard.
“Good. I like that. To tell you the truth, I wish I had the same degree of courage that you have, because I understand that it has led you into some considerable difficulties, and perhaps has adversely affected your prospects for promotion?”
The Chief Inspector turned her last sentence into a question and then waited for Fatima’s response. She in turn decided that it may be time to trust this particular fellow officer.
“I’m a woman of conviction, Ma’am,” she said. “I can’t help that, nor do I want to. If my superiors like that, then I’m happy. If they don’t, that is not going to bring me down. And, if it means that I may be stuck policing a small country town for quite a few more years, well I can live with that too. I’m very fond of Silbury.
“But, Ma’am, and I hope this won’t offend, I think the principal reason you rang me was to discuss the incident at Sarum racecourse last Saturday.”
“Yes, of course, Inspector, at some point we do have to get down to business, don’t we?” The Chief Inspector was chuckling as she spoke. “I talked to the owner of the horse, Mrs Yilmaz, to the stewards, and to some of the other race officials that were still there. Unfortunately, all of the spectators had left by the time that you and I parted company.
“Only Mrs Yilmaz remembers that person about whom you spoke to me, the one you were pursuing in connection with other cases in Silbury. She could only tell me that she was annoyed that anyone else, apart from herself and jockey, was touching one of her children, as she referred to the horse, so she waved her away. I understand she also used some choice language. But she didn’t see the person’s face. She was focused only on the horse and rider. No one else noticed the incident or commented on anything untoward happening until the horse fell.”
She paused, and Fatima put in: “We have posted a copy of the picture to you this morning, Ma’am. It has a first class stamp, so you should receive it tomorrow. We also included a negative, so you will be able to make copies.”
“Thank you very much,” the Chief Inspector responded. “That will be very useful, hopefully.
“She is now definitely our number one suspect for the murder, as it were, of the horse. The vet confirmed considerable presence of amphetamine in the blood sample she had taken. It must have been this woman, who injected that into the horse, when she appeared be patting it just before it went into the gate. And it must have been the syringe that you saw her putting into her coat pocket. We are now on high alert to find this woman.”
“Good,” said Fatima. “Since she is also wanted for involvement in the case of arson in Silbury three years ago, if we do apprehend her, she should face a very considerable term of imprisonment. The question is though, Ma’am, whether she is acting alone or as someone else’s agent. That was our suspicion in the arson case.”
The Chief Inspector continued: “One question that has been very much on my mind is that of motive. I’ve been asking around among people here, who could gain from the death of Queen’s Ransom, or who might have a significant grudge against its owner, its trainer, or even the jockey? I do understand, of course, that the jockey’s death was a complete accident due to the way in which she fell.
“Well, I’ve drawn a complete blank. I wondered if you had any ideas.”
“I have also been trying to understand that,” Fatima responded. “I don’t exactly know what or why, but I have a strong feeling that the motive actually has nothing to do with the horse or the people immediately surrounding it. Somehow, I suspect there is a more complex web of causality at work here.
“I’m sorry, Ma’am. I know I’m not being very clear. I wonder, since we appear to have a number of intersecting cases, if you would permit me to follow up some potential leads here in Silbury. After that I might have something a bit more definite to say to you, and to help move forward your own investigation.”
“In fact, Inspector, that is exactly what I should like,” said Chief Inspector Biya. “I’m looking forward to see what I might learn from our wave generator. Shall we rendezvous again at the end of the week?”
She laughed and rang off.
It was now a quarter to three, and Fatima knew that Anna’s pub would be closed after lunchtime. She rang her to see how she was after the previous Saturday’s experience.
“Oh, I’m all right,” she told Fatima. “On reflection it was all rather exciting, wasn’t it? And all I lost on that horse was five pounds, though I had stood to win seventy. It was running at fourteen-to-one against. That would have been enough to buy us a little holiday somewhere nice.
“But I am worried about Vicdan. She came to see me yesterday. Listen. I don’t want to talk about this on the telephone. Can we meet somewhere?”
Fatima agreed to walk over to the Red Cow once she had finished up the work she had to do that day at the police station. She thus pushed open one of the doors at the back and walked into Anna’s kitchen just before half past five. Anna and Para were sitting having their tea.
“Can I offer you anything, Fatima?” Para asked.
“Just a cuppa, thank you, Para. What’s up, Anna?”
Anna took a deep breath.
“It’s like I said. Vicdan came to the pub yesterday evening at about seven o’clock. She never goes out on a Sunday night. She doesn’t think it’s the proper thing to do, or something like that. And this was only a day after she lost one of her children, as she calls her horses. You know that already, of course. Not to mention the jockey as well.
“Anyway, she sat on her own in the lounge bar, not the public, because, she said, she didn’t want to have anyone talk to her about what happened at Sarum the day before. She was almost completely silent, completely unlike the Vicdan of old. She had one whisky after another after another. She must have downed half a dozen before it was eight o’clock. I got Para to tear himself away from the telly and come and look after the bar, while I went and sat with her.
“Now, Inspector,” Anna continued in that playful way that she and Fatima had developed between them, “I want your solemn word that what I’m about to tell you stays between us, because I’m breaking a confidence by telling it to you.”
Fatima agreed, and Anna went on.
“Vicdan is in trouble with some nasty people, and she doesn’t know what to do about it. It is eating her up from the inside.”
“I did think there was something,” Fatima put in.
“That’s why you were so quiet when you first met her, isn’t it? But let me finish.
“Two weeks ago, she went into the Western Provincial to cash a cheque, and the man at the counter asked her which account she wanted to take the money from. She was surprised, as she’s always had only the one current account at the bank. She keeps her savings at a building society. She asked him what he meant, and he said all he knew was that there were two accounts in her name, and he wanted to know on which one she was drawing the cheque. If she has any questions, she might want to see the manager, you know, the woman that replaced Kamala.
“She did opt to talk to the manager, a Mrs Havya Joshi, who told her that the second account had been opened by letter from Vicdan to the manager, although it had been addressed to her predecessor. Notwithstanding that little mistake, everything had been in order, and the letter had been accompanied by a cheque for deposit to the account. Mrs Joshi showed Vicdan the letter and the cancelled cheque. It was her signature, though she had no recollection of ever signing such a letter, and the cheque was for an amount of one thousand five hundred pounds. She was so dumbfounded that she didn’t say anything further to the manager, and, in her rush to leave the bank and get some air, she didn’t pay proper attention to the provenance of the cheque. She doesn’t know who it was from.
“There’s more. Last week, she thinks on Wednesday, though it may have been Thursday, a plain manila envelope was pushed through the door of her house out in Stonely. It’s a pretty isolated place, and she didn’t see who did it. Inside the envelope was a single sheet of paper containing some typewritten text but no name and no signature. She had it with her and showed it to me. I had to read it quickly before giving it back to her, but I remember roughly all that it contained.
“It said, without mentioning her by name, that she had friends who were there to help her. Already they had shown their generosity. And here I remember very specifically that there was written 1.5K in brackets. They would continue their generosity and asked very little in return. Some disturbing things might come to pass, but these would not pose any personal threat to Vicdan. It was important that she should take these things in her stride and not go complaining to anyone. After all, if one loses one possession but has money to buy another five, the original possession ceases to have the same value. It ended with a reminder that their benign friendship depended on her adherence to what she had already been asked. Otherwise other measures may need to come into play. And she was advised, having read it, to destroy the paper.
“I don’t remember the exact words used, but it was all like I have told you. The language was cryptic, the sort of thing Kamala loves in her crosswords, but the threats were crystal clear.”
“What did you advise her?” Fatima asked. “You must have said something after she showed you her letter.”
“I said what I would say to anyone,” said Anna. “I told her she needed help, and the only people who could help her is the police. I told her to go to the police station first thing the next day, that is today, and ask to see Inspector Dieng. But she said no, they might be watching her. Then she got really scared and left the pub. I hope she got home all right. She had an absolute skinful.”
Fatima thought for a minute and then said: “You’re right, of course, she should tell all of this to the police, but I can understand that she is going to feel threatened. Tell me, Anna, is there a particular day of the week, when she tends to come in here, and, if so, at what time would that be?”
“Tuesday and Wednesday evenings are her usuals, at about half past seven. But, after what has happened, I don’t know if she will still come.”
“Well let’s see,” said Fatima. “I’ll come by on those evenings, and we’ll see if we can arrange a meeting by chance, and see what that may lead to. Meanwhile, why don’t you give her a ring just to make sure she’s still alive?”
Vicdan Yilmaz was not at the Red Cow on Tuesday evening, so Anna and Fatima agreed that the latter would only come in if the former telephoned her to say that their quarry had been sighted. This she duly did at eight o’clock on Wednesday evening.
“I’m on my way,” said Fatima. “I’ll go and sit in the lounge, which I’d like you to keep dark, so I can observe what’s happening on the other side of the bar. Don’t let her get away.”
Fatima was there fifteen minutes later. Across the bar she could see that there were only about eight customers in the pub at that time. She knew from Anna that it was likely to fill up a bit later. Most of those present were sat at two tables, one by the front window and another close to the fireplace near to the rear of the public bar. Mrs Yilmaz was seated at the bar itself in conversation with Anna.
Fatima was about to find a way of getting Anna to have Mrs Yilmaz join her in the lounge, when she saw what was now fast becoming a familiar face come into the public bar. Anna served a drink, which appeared to be a whisky or brandy and soda, to this newcomer, who sat at the bar alongside Mrs Yilmaz whom she engaged in conversation. Fatima moved closer to the bar to see what she might be able to hear. It was quite difficult over the regular hubbub of a public house, more so when Anna started cleaning glasses, which Fatima signalled to her to stop doing.
This is what she was able to discern.
“I hope you’ve received our little gift and the letter that we sent about it, Mrs Yilmaz,” the newcomer was saying.
“What do you mean? Who are you?” Mrs Yilmaz, as was her wont, was speaking loudly. She also appeared quite irritated.
“Shhh. Keep your voice down. We don’t want others to become suspicious. Now, you know very well what I mean. We have made a very generous donation to you. This was in anticipated compensation of your loss. We are prepared to add a further donation on the understanding that you keep your mouth shut. Do we understand each other?” There was now menace in the newcomer’s voice.
For Mrs Yilmaz the penny was beginning to drop. This person, who had just come and sat next to her, and spoken to her in such a rude and threatening manner, was the very same person she had encountered at the starting gate at Sarum racecourse just four days ago, when her precious Queen’s Ransom had died. This was the person responsible for all of her agony and misery. She took a gulp of the neat whisky she had on the bar and reached out in front of her grabbing this odious woman by the neck shaking and squeezing it. At the same time, she let out a scream.
“You! You killed my little girl. You murderer. You want to pay with money. I don’t want your money. You can pay with your life!”
Fatima sprang into action. She bolted out of the door of the lounge and in through the front door of the public bar. As she was doing so, the object of Mrs Yilmaz’s rage had managed to extricate herself and was running out of the back door into the yard behind. Fatima shouted to Anna to dial 999 and then followed the woman blowing her police whistle. Her quarry did not stop but continued out of the yard and into School Lane turning left to run towards Kabeya Square. From there she continued to sprint down the alleyway that joins Kabeya Square to Mable Lane and exits just opposite the police station. Fatima ran after her as fast as she could, continuing to blow her whistle.
The commotion, or perhaps it was Anna's call to 999, had clearly stirred the officer on duty in the police station, as Fatima could see ahead of her the form of Constable Senanayake running across the road to block the exit of the alleyway. She only partially succeeded, as the woman ran at her with her head down, ramming Senanayake to one side. Bouncing off the wall she then managed to come bumping up against Fatima and knocking her to the ground.
Get up, and get a motorcycle!” Fatima shouted at Senanayake. “I’m going to try and catch her on foot. She surely can’t continue at this pace forever.”
But continue she did. By the time Fatima had finished giving her order to Constable Senanayake, the woman she was chasing had already reached the petrol station that is halfway along Mabel Lane and would soon be at the corner with Vale Road, where Kamala Peiris had her house. Fatima ran for all she was worth, listening all the while for the sound of Constable Senanayake’s motorcycle. She got to Vale Road, but there was now no sign of the woman, and only then did Senanayake arrive on the motorbike.
“Sorry, Ma’am,” she said sheepishly. “I had trouble starting it.”
“Never mind that now,” Fatima responded. “Ride up the hill towards Vale and see if she went that way. I’ll look along the road towards the High Street.”
Fatima ran on up to the High Street, but there was still no sign. She then retraced her steps and stopped at the entrance to River Park. She was met there by one of the two young women she had apprehended, and then had to let go, a month previously after an affray at the Second Row pub. They both worked as security guards for the River Park estate.
“Inspector Dieng, what a nice surprise!” she exclaimed. “Should I be ringing my solicitor already?”
The other one had now also stepped out of the little guard house.
“You can drop the sarcasm Miss Iyer. Yes, I remember your name,” Fatima said. “I’m looking for a woman, who may have run in this direction from Mable Lane. Have you seen anyone?”
“No one has been in or out in the last hour,” the other one, Miss Konnar, responded. “Do you want to see the book?”
“We did hear a splash in the river five minutes ago,” Miss Iyer volunteered smirking.
“Thank you,” said Fatima. “I’ll take a look there. And, no, I don’t need to see your book, not now at least.”
She moved away a few paces until she was out of the light from the nearby street lamp but then stopped. She could the two guards whispering to each other, and then they both went into the guard house, where Fatima could hear they were talking to a third party on the telephone, but she could not discern what was being said. She then went to the bridge and shone a torch down into the river, first downstream towards the town and then across the road upstream towards Silbury College. Nothing and no one there. Then Constable Senanayake came back down the hill on her motorcycle, and Fatima flagged her down.
“Anything?” she asked. And seeing Senanayake shake her head, she continued: “Then we’ve lost her again. We’ll have to try and not make too much of a habit of this.
“Well then, Constable, now you can give me a lift back home. I’ve done enough running for a full week and wouldn’t mind the luxury of a pillion ride.”
Senanayake said nothing at all. Nguyen would have got that, thought Fatima.
At home, she immediately rang Anna to see that everything was all right at the Red Cow.
"Yes, Fatima. You'd be surprised. My customers take almost everything in their stride," said Anna. "They all know Mrs Yilmaz, or at least know who she is. One of them volunteered to drive her home. I've now got her car parked in the yard behind the pub.
"Then those that were left decided to place bets on whether or not you would catch that woman you were chasing. Did you?"
"No, I didn't," Fatima responded. "She is clearly a lot fitter than I am and can run both faster and longer. Besides which I was involved in a collision with Constable Senanayake just as I was coming out of the alleyway opposite the police station. She was trying to help, but didn't."
"Well," said Anna, "you seem to be all right, at least from the sound of you. Sorry you didn't catch your suspect. I suppose I should admit though that now I've won a bit of money. I'm afraid I bet against you."
"I'll take a free drink next time I'm in. And I'll forget about the illegal betting going on in your den of iniquity.
"Good night, Anna," said Fatima, and she rang off.
The following morning, Fatima was sat in her office pondering what she should now say to Chief Inspector Biya, and how they could advance their quest for the elusive Mrs Desai. One thing she needed was some more information on this mysterious bank account that had got opened in Mrs Yilmaz’s name, apparently without her knowledge. Rather than approaching the new manager of the Western Provincial Bank, Silbury branch, for this information, she decided to speak with her predecessor.
“Hello, Kamala, is this a good time for us to speak?” she asked when she had got through to her friend on the telephone. “I have a professional question to ask you in a semi-official capacity.”
“Yes,” said Kamala, “I do have a little time now. Ask away.”
Fatima related what Anna had told her about the troubles now being faced by Mrs Yilmaz, reminding her about their meeting with her the previous Saturday at Sarum racecourse and the events that then occurred. She did not add anything about the last night’s altercation at the Red Cow and the ensuing chase.
“What I need to know, Kamala, is whether the story about the opening of this new account is credible from your standpoint as a bank manager.”
There were a few seconds silence, as Kamala was clearly thinking through her response. Then she said: “Yes, Fatima. What Mrs Joshi said is possible. Bank accounts can be opened through correspondence. All that the bank is ultimately concerned about is whether the account holds legitimate funds, and by legitimate I’m not referring to their provenance, whether they were gained legally or not, merely that they are real.
“Now in my case, since this is a new account opened by an existing customer, the staff would have informed me, as that is a standing order, and I would have telephoned the customer to verify the instructions in the letter. I would also have requested her to come to the bank at her earliest convenience, so that we could do a proper signature check. I like to have a means of signature verification in the file of each individual account, even if there is already another existing account for that customer.
“Sorry. Is that clear?”
Fatima assured her that it was, and Kamala continued.
“That is how I would have handled it, and I believe that is also how it would be done by ninety per cent of my fellow managers. But there is no rule that it should be done that way, and clearly my successor has a different approach.”
“How well do you know your successor?” Kamala asked.
“Essentially not at all,” Kamala responded. “I did receive her at my old branch, when she came on a visit to reconnoitre the town. I introduced her to the staff. I offered to have her come home for a dinner, but she declined, saying she had another engagement, which I suspect was a lie, though I don’t know for what reason.”
“I was wondering,” said Fatima, “whether there might be a way for me to see the letter with which the account was opened, and especially the cheque that formed the initial deposit.”
“I don’t think that the bank would allow that,” Kamala answered her. “It would contravene our rules on confidentiality, and would be seen as a breach of trust.”
Just at that moment, they were interrupted by Constable Nguyen knocking at the door of Fatima’s office. She could see from her face that this was going to be urgent.
“I’m sorry, Kamala, but I have to go now. Can we continue this conversation at a later date?”
She put down the receiver and looked at Nguyen.
"Ma'am, there be a report of gun shots at a cottage in Stonely. It do be the home of Mrs Yilmaz, what you knows. The caller were clear it don't be hunting or anything like that. I reckon you'll want to go there."
"Indeed, Constable, and thank you. You'd better sign a gun out of the armoury. I don't like guns, but I suppose one of us should be armed just in case. We'll also take Sergeant Banda with us. Come on. We must be quick."
They reached Mrs Yilmaz’s cottage twenty minutes later. All was quiet when they did arrive, and there were four or five people standing there looking first at the house, and then at the police car, and back at the house again, mouths open wide.
Fatima gave her orders as they pulled up.
“Sergeant, I want you to get this group dispersed, and then please station yourself here to prevent anyone else from congregating, or indeed from trying to enter the premises. Please exercise caution. There could still be a danger of someone firing further shots.
“Constable, you and I are going to go into the house. Please have your revolver at the ready just in case.”
They all got down from the car. Banda dealt with the spectators, whilst Fatima and Nguyen entered the garden surrounding the cottage, keeping their heads down as a precaution. When they got to the front door, they saw that it was ajar. Fatima pushed it open, and Nguyen entered first with her gun pointed ahead of her. The door led directly into a parlour, and as they came in they heard a voice.
“Don’t shoot. I’m unarmed.”
Mrs Ros Saveth came forward with her hands in the air.
“Saveth!” Fatima exclaimed. “What on earth are you doing here?”
“I think, Inspector, that my explanation can come a little later,” Mrs Saveth responded. “Firstly, I suggest that you have a look at these two bodies. They are both dead by the way.”
Fatima looked around and saw that there were indeed two bodies lying on the floor of the parlour, both in pools of blood. One was Vicdan Yilmaz, and the other was the woman she had tried to throttle, and Fatima had chased, the previous evening. She quickly felt the wrists of each of them and found that neither had a pulse.
“Constable, you can put the gun away now,” she said. “Go outside, tell Sergeant Banda what has happened here, and then find a telephone. Yes, I know there is one here, but I don’t want it touched. We’ll need an ambulance, so that we can verify for certain that these two women are indeed dead. We’ll need to notify the coroner. And we’ll want a forensics team here on the double.
“And please impress upon Sergeant Banda that it is still imperative that no one, except of course the ambulancewomen and forensics team, should be allowed to approach the cottage.
“Now, Mrs Saveth, please come with me to one of the adjoining rooms, so you can tell me your story.”
They went through the nearest doorway and found themselves in a large kitchen. There were a table and chairs in the middle. Fatima indicated that they should sit down.
"Let's start," she began, "with you telling me how you came to be here."
“Captain Yilmaz asked me to come and see her,” Mrs Saveth began her answer.
“Captain?” Fatima interrupted.
“Yes, Captain Yilmaz and I served together in the Grey Jackets Brigade,” Mrs Saveth continued. “We both saw service in the Eastern Mediterranean and the Far East. When she left the army, she wanted it to be a clean break, so she never used her rank in civilian life. She gave herself wholly to her new passion, which was her race horses. She also all but broke all of her old service contacts, but a few of us made sure she always knew where we were and that we would continue to lay down our lives for her, just as we did in the army.
“Well early this morning, she rang me at the pub, which, by the way, she had never visited. She said she needed to talk with someone she could trust and that she may need some help digging her out of some difficulty she had got into. I knew my duty, so I immediately told my husband I had to go and help an old comrade in arms and that he should look after the place for the day. I came out here, where the Captain showed me a letter she had received.”
Fatima interrupted again: “You don’t need to tell me about the letter and the bank account. I already know about them from another source.”
“The Captain did say she had spoken to someone else she knew in horse racing circles, but the advice she had received wasn’t one that she wanted to follow. Was that that she should go to the police?” Mrs Saveth asked.
“Yes, it was,” said Fatima.
“Well, it may have been better if she had, at least for her,” Mrs Saveth opined. “Anyway, we talked, and I was probably about to give her the very same advice, though I don’t know now exactly what I would have said, when there was a knock at the door. She went to answer it and then backed away. A woman was there holding a pistol pointed directly at the Captain. And the woman was none other than the one that had accompanied the brewery’s representative, Mrs Modi, when they came to tell me to drop my complaint against those two young women that had threatened my husband. You remember I told you about that?
“I was already out of my chair, but she waved me to sit back down, saying that she was ready to shoot us both at the slightest movement. Then she told the Captain that she had made a big mistake in attacking her yesterday evening - about which I wasn’t aware, but you may know about it - and now she had to repair the damage or else her own head would be on the block.
“The Captain was to write out a statement in her own hand and sign it with today’s date. It was to say, in her own words, that it was she who administered an injection of amphetamine to her own horse, Queen’s Ransom. The purpose was to assure that it did not win or place in the Sitwells Handicap. She had placed substantial wagers on other horses in the race, which had netted her a considerable sum of money. Now though she was mortified by guilt and wanted to confess. She should not worry, because she was not required to give this confession to the police. It would be kept as insurance should she decide to open her mouth about what really happened. Then all of this could simply go away.
“I know the Captain. She is a person of inscrutable honesty. I was concerned that she might now do something rash, so I spoke up and said that we should go along with what this lady - I used that word, along with a secret hand signal, so that the Captain would understand - what she wanted.”
“What happened next?” Fatima asked quietly.
“The woman with the gun told me to shut my mouth. She said she knew who I was and wished she’d succeeded in burning my place to the ground, when she’d had the chance, or at least been able to give my stupid foreign husband the cutting he so richly deserved. She said the day was coming soon when all the bloody foreigners would be sent back where they came from, and England would be pure again.
“Well you know that this sort of thing makes my blood boil, but I kept my cool, and the Captain also stayed calm, in fact, made a very good pretence of being scared. She said not to hurt anyone. She would do what she was asked. She just had to get a pen and writing pad from the drawer in her bureau. She went to open the drawer and brought out her old service revolver. Then there was a huge bang. My guess is that the Captain knew she had no chance if she didn’t shoot straight away, and that’s what she did. But the other woman shot at the same time.
“They both fell to the ground, much as you just saw them for yourself. I leapt up from the chair to see if I could save the Captain’s life, but it was already too late. I could see that she had no pulse, and the light had gone out from her eyes. The other woman though was still breathing, still goading me, saying that she would be back for me and my husband as soon as she recovered.
“I knelt down, took her head in my hands, and broke her neck. She was not going to threaten me and mine again. And she was not going to get away with killing one of the finest people ever to be put on this earth. You know that, in the days when the Captain and I were serving abroad, most of the British soldiers treated the people that lived in those countries as their natural inferiors, some of them being very brutal towards them. But never the Captain. She believed absolutely that we are all equal, that difference is of infinite value. She had been happy in her life after the service, and this woman had taken all of that away from her.
“Well, Fatima, as you asked me to call you, that’s my confession, so what do you intend to do about it?”
At that moment Constable Nguyen put her head into the kitchen.
“Ma’am, the ambulancewomen do be here. You wants to talk to them?
“No thank you, Constable,” Fatima responded. “I need to talk some more with Mrs Saveth, who is a witness that all that transpired here. Could you please deal with them? You know what to do?”
Nguyen left, and Fatima turned back to Mrs Saveth.
“I don’t condone what you’ve done here, Saveth, but I do understand it. I also don’t think that anything will be gained by my charging you with the murder of this woman, whose name, by the way is apparently Mrs Desai. She is part of something much larger that may still involve you and which I, and others, want to get to the bottom of. That will be best served if all concerned think that Mrs Desai died at the hand of Captain Yilmaz. And it’s fitting in a way if that is the truth we serve up.
“Let me put it to you in terms that you will certainly understand. We have just been a battle, the result of which has been inconclusive. The war continues, and we still have a lot to do to assure final victory.”
And this is what Fatima told Chief Inspector Biya in a telephone conversation later that day, and what she reported to her superiors. A woman, identified still only as said to be called Mrs Desai, as there was no other evidence as to her identity, had threatened Mrs Vicdan Yilmaz, formerly a Captain in the Grey Jackets, after having been involved in the killing of her race horse, Queen’s Ransom, at Sarum racecourse. In a bizarre accident the two women had simultaneously shot one another. Mrs Yilmaz died immediately from her wounds, whilst, in what must surely have been poetic justice, given what had happened to Queen’s Ransom’s jockey, Mrs Desai had fallen awkwardly and broken her neck. The police suspected that Mrs Desai may also have been implicated in an arson attack at the Longbarrow Tea Rooms in 1966, though their evidence in this matter was inconclusive.
In her report, Fatima also made a strong recommendation for the police service to advocate strongly for greater regulation of the ownership of firearms. Their proliferation, she wrote, posed great risks to public safety, as this incident had shown.
