Dick Francis's Gamble - Felix Francis [73]
What should I do?
I couldn’t hide forever. But what was the alternative? Perhaps I should buy a bulletproof vest.
My main objective had to be to find out who was trying to have me killed and stop them, or at least remove the need, as they saw it, for my life to be terminated.
Easy.
But why, exactly, would anyone want me dead? It seemed a very extreme solution to a problem.
I must know something, or have something, that someone didn’t want me to tell or show to somebody else. Hence I needed to be killed to prevent it.
So what was it that I had, or knew?
The police already had the credit card statements and the MoneyHome payment slips so surely it couldn’t be them. Was there something else I had inherited from Herb that was so incriminating that murder was the only answer?
Claudia groaned a little and woke up.
“Hello, my darling,” I said. “How are you feeling?”
“Bloody awful,” she said. “And really thirsty.”
I poured some water from the jug on her bedside cabinet into a plastic glass and held it out to her.
“Just go easy,” I said. “The nurse said to drink just small sips.”
She drank several large ones and then handed back the glass.
“I feel so sore and bloated,” she said.
“Dr. Tomic said you might. It’ll pass in a day or so.”
She didn’t seem much reassured.
“Can you help me sit up a bit?” she asked. “I’m so uncomfortable in this bloody bed.”
I did as she asked, but it didn’t really improve matters. Nothing would, I realized, for as long as she was in pain.
“Let’s get you some painkillers,” I said, and pushed the nurse call bell.
They gave her an injection of morphine that deadened the pain but also sent Claudia back to sleep. It was probably the best thing for her.
I put on the television to watch the news, but I kept the sound down to a minimum so as not to disturb the patient.
The gunman in a London newsagent’s was the lead story, and, true to their word, the police had convinced the TV company to play the whole video clip of Herb’s killer coming into the shop, looking around, and then leaving again. They even showed a blown-up still of the man’s face as he had glanced directly up at the camera.
Just looking at his image made me nervous once more.
The news reporter then warned the viewers not to approach the man if they saw him but to report his presence to the police. The man is armed and very dangerous, the reporter said, but he didn’t mention anything about Herb Kovak or the killing at Aintree.
Did the news report and the video make it safer for me or not?
I also wondered if it put Mr. Patel at risk. After all, he was the one who’d had the best view of the gunman. I suddenly went quite cold just thinking about how much I had placed Mr. Patel in mortal danger by hiding behind his counter. But what else could I have done? Stayed out in the street and been killed?
I switched over to another channel and watched the whole thing once more, trying my best to recognize the face staring out at me from the screen. I knew I didn’t know him, other than at Aintree and in a Finchley street, but I tried to find some semblance or likeness. There was none.
Thankfully, Claudia slept soundly through both bulletins. She had enough worries on her own plate for the time being without being burdened with something else. After all, there was nothing she could do about it.
While she went on sleeping, I tried to work out where I could spend the night. I wasn’t going back to Finchley, that was for sure, but a second night sitting upright in the chair in Claudia’s hospital room wasn’t a very attractive proposition either.
As I still had the key in my pocket, I thought of going to Herb’s flat in Hendon, but I didn’t want to turn up there late at night and frighten Sherri after her traumatic trip to Liverpool. So instead I used my phone to find a cheap