Dick Francis's Gamble - Felix Francis [79]
“And what is significant about that?” the detective asked.
“Colonel Roberts approached me just a week ago over his concerns about that very same investment.”
“Why did he approach you in particular?”
“I’m not really sure,” I said. “He knew I worked for Lyall and Black, and he met me at the races on Tuesday and again on Wednesday. It was a chance meeting the first time, but I’m sure it was on purpose the second day. He was worried that the factory he had invested in hadn’t actually been built as he had been told it had, but he didn’t want a full inquiry as he was worried that he’d been duped and didn’t want the whole world to know. So he asked me to quietly have a look and check that all was well with the investment.”
“And did you?” he asked.
“I did a little bit of digging, but I told him on Saturday that I couldn’t go searching behind the backs of others at the firm and he should speak to his investment manager about it.”
“Who is?” he asked.
“Gregory Black,” I said. “Colonel Roberts spoke to him on Monday, only the day before he died.”
“But it’s quite a jump to think that he was murdered because of it. And are you telling me you suspect Gregory Black of killing him?”
“No, of course not,” I said. “Gregory Black may have an explosive temper, but he’s hardly a murderer.”
Or was he? Could I really tell what went on in his head? Or in anyone else’s head, for that matter? But Gregory a murderer? Surely not.
“But that’s not all,” I said. “I sent an e-mail to someone in Bulgaria last Friday, and a would-be assassin turned up at my door on Tuesday afternoon.”
“OK,” he said, now firmly interested. “I’ll try and find out if there was an autopsy carried out on this Colonel Roberts. Where did you say he lived?”
“Hampstead,” I said. “He only died yesterday, and he’s being buried in Golders Green cemetery even as we speak.”
“That’s very quick,” he said.
“Apparently, it’s a Jewish tradition to bury the dead as quickly as possible.”
“At least it’s not a cremation,” he said. “No chance of a second look at the body if it’s cremated. And I speak from experience.” He laughed.
What a strange occupation, I thought, daily dealings with violent death and its fallout.
“You will let me know the results?” I asked.
“If I can,” he said. “I’ll call you if I get anything.”
“I’m not at home. And my mobile doesn’t work where I am.”
“And where is that?”
I was a little reluctant to tell him. The fewer the people who knew, the safer I’d feel. But he was the police, and he had provided me with an unshakable alibi when I was arrested for attempted murder.
“I’m in a village called Woodmancote,” I said. “It’s near Cheltenham racetrack. It’s where my mother lives.” I gave him my mother’s telephone number.
“Cheltenham is a long way from your office,” he said in a tone that seemed to ask a question.
“I know. I know,” I said. “I ran away. Superintendent Yering was unable to provide me with any protection, and I felt very vulnerable, so I didn’t go home.”
“I can’t say I really blame you,” he said.
“So how about you giving me a bodyguard?” I asked. “Preferably one bristling with guns, and with evil intent towards assassins.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” he said. “Especially if it does turn out that Colonel Roberts was murdered.”
“And another thing,” I said, deciding to get my requests in quickly as the chief inspector seemed to be in a generous mood. “Can you find out whether Billy Searle has started talking to the Wiltshire Police? And what he’s told them.”
“Do you think he has something to do with all this as well?”
“No, I don’t,” I said. “I happen to know where Billy’s money was invested because I did it and it was nowhere near Bulgaria. I’m just interested to know what he’s told the police. After all, I was arrested on suspicion of trying to kill