Dick Francis's Gamble - Felix Francis [110]
We hung up.
I wondered if it was sensible to go back to Cheltenham. It was DCI Flight’s home patch, and the racetrack would be full of Gloucestershire policemen. But why should I worry? After all, I hadn’t done anything wrong.
Next I called Chief Inspector Tomlinson.
“Where are you?” the chief inspector asked. “There’s lots of noise on the line.”
“I’m on the motorway,” I said. “And this car isn’t very well sound-insulated.”
“Which motorway?” he asked.
“Does it matter?” I said evasively.
“Are you using a hands-free system?” he asked.
I didn’t answer.
“OK,” he said. “I’ll take that as a no.”
“So what are you going to do about it, arrest me for using a mobile phone whilst driving?”
“No,” he said. “I’ll just try and keep the call short. What do you want?”
“I want a meeting with you and Superintendent Yering,” I said. “And DCI Flight, I suppose, if he wants to be there. As long as he doesn’t arrest me.”
“Where do you want this meeting?”
“That’s up to you,” I said. “But arrange it for Thursday, if you can.”
“What’s the meeting for?” he asked.
“So I can tell you why I think Herb Kovak was killed and why our dead gunman was also trying to kill me.”
“What’s wrong with today?” he said. “Or tomorrow?”
“There’s someone else I want to talk to first.”
“Who?” he said.
“Just someone.”
“I told you to leave the investigating to us,” said the chief inspector sternly.
“I intend to,” I said. “That’s why I want the meeting with you and the superintendent.”
But I also wanted to learn more about the Bulgarian investment before it.
“OK,” he said. “I’ll fix it. How do I contact you?”
“Leave a message on this number or I’ll call you again tomorrow.”
I disconnected.
I left the motorway at the Reading junction, went around the interchange and joined the westbound carriageway to go back towards Newbury.
I called the office, and Mrs. McDowd answered.
“Hello, Mrs. McDowd,” I said. “Mr. Nicholas here. Can I speak to Mr. Patrick, please?”
“You’re a very naughty boy,” she said in her best headmistressy voice. “You mustn’t upset Mr. Gregory so. His heart can’t take it.”
I didn’t reply. As far as I was concerned, the sooner his heart gave out the better.
I waited as she put me through.
“Hello, Nicholas,” said Patrick. “Where are you?”
Why, I wondered, was everyone so obsessed with my whereabouts?
“In Reading,” I said. “Have you spoken to Jessica?”
“Not yet. I’ve been reviewing the file myself this morning. I intend to discuss the matter with Gregory this afternoon.”
“Mind your back,” I said.
“Be serious,” Patrick said.
“I promise you, I am being serious, very serious,” I replied. “If I were you, I’d speak to Jessica first, and then both of you talk to Gregory.”
“I’ll see,” Patrick said.
Patrick and Gregory had been partners for a very long time, and I reckoned that Patrick might need quite a lot of convincing that his friend was up to no good. I suppose I couldn’t really blame him for checking things himself before he brought in the Compliance Officer.
“You might need someone who can read Bulgarian,” I said.
“Leave it to me,” Patrick replied decisively.
“OK,” I said. “I will. But I’ll call you again tomorrow to see how you’re getting on.”
I hung up and glanced in the rearview mirror. There were no signs of any flashing blue lights nor of any eager unmarked police cars. I drove on sedately back to Lambourn.
I want to go home,” my mother said, meeting me in Jan’s kitchen as I walked in from the car.
“And you will,” I said. “Just as soon as I’m sure it’s safe.”
“But I want to go home now.”
“Soon,” I said.
“No!” she stated in determined fashion, putting her hands on her hips. “Now.”
“Why?” I asked.
“We’ve been here long enough,” she said. “And I’m worried about my cat.”
“I didn’t think it was your cat.”
“He’s not, but I’m worried about him nonetheless. And I’ve got a WI meeting tomorrow night and I don’t want to miss it.”
Don’t mess with the Women’s Institute. Tony Blair, for one, had discovered that.
“All right,” I said. “I promise I’ll take you home tomorrow.”
She wasn’t very happy, but, short of