Field of Thirteen - Dick Francis [14]
Emil Jacques later stood at the window of his splendid lofty apartment and thoughtfully watched the small boats busy below on the Seine. The pink envelope had contained only a postcard-sized black and white photograph of Gypsy Joe, with his name, address, age and occupation written in pencil on the back. Underneath, in small letters, he read, ‘David Rockman, jockey’.
Owing to his careful and successful slaughter of British steeple-chasing’s brightest boy, Emil Jacques had begun to take a passing interest in the sport. He bought occasionally from news-stands British racing newspapers and persevered with them to the extent that he needed a French-English dictionary less and less. His English, in racing terms, became increasingly idiomatic.
He was tempted by the prospect of killing Gypsy Joe.
Normally he refused two terminations within the same small social or business circle, reckoning the duplication doubled his risk. Also two killings instigated so soon by the same client sent fierce warning shivers down his spine. David Rockman, jockey, however, had paid him promptly for Red Millbrook’s death and presumably knew that at least a similar sum would be expected again.
Emil Jacques cared nothing about his clients’ motives or inner psychological forces which could be roughly categorised, he thought, as greed, lust or hate. He cared only that he did his job cleanly, got safely clear and banked the proceeds later in his secretive way. He cared nothing personally for Red Millbrook or Gypsy Joe Smith. Emil Jacques Guirlande was always a true mercenary, a cold soldier for hire.
He decided that it would be safe enough to reconnoitre at least the Gypsy Joe prospect. Consequently, with small bag packed (no guns) he crossed the Channel with his car, uncomfortably sea-sick for once because of a sudden maritime winter storm. Early February snow fell and lay obstinately over southern England, bringing horse racing to a halt, the weather again conspiring to prolong Emil Jacques’ target’s life.
Emil Jacques could make only sporadic checks on Gypsy Joe’s daily existence without drawing comment on himself, but he learned the trainer’s morning routine of travelling up by Land Rover to the white-dusted Downs and watching the long string of horses cantering past for exercise up an all-weather sand track. He listened to the stable-lads’ chat in the local pubs in the evenings and absorbed their graphic language, along with the general flow of stable life.
He learned that Gypsy Joe’s devotion to his horses included a late-night visit to each of them, to see that all were comfortable and at peace, and on silent shoes one evening he approached the stable-yard and stopped at an undiscovered distance, watching.
Gypsy Joe came out of his house alone at ten o’clock and made his rounds, finally leaving his much loved horses safe until morning. At ten the following evening he made his rounds again, and at ten the next evening, again.
It was there, in the tranquil yard, Emil Jacques decided, that one night soon a quiet death would spit out of the dark.
During the night of Emil Jacques’ decision, a thaw turned England brown and green, and next day Gypsy Joe took his runners to Sandown Park races.
The two months since Red Millbrook’s murder had in no way lessened Gypsy Joe’s furious grief, and he couldn’t help remembering that it was here on this testing track that the red-haired boy’s dormant genius had first fully awakened. While he watched his February runners do moderately well with a jockey-replacement, Gypsy Joe mourned the past and vowed to continue his pursuit of Davey The Rock. However long it took him, he would reduce the guilty villain to breakdown and confession.
Davey Rockman, that afternoon, had been engaged (by a minor trainer) to ride only one race. He finished second to last with his mind not on the job. He spent his time glaring at Gypsy Joe in unabated hate, hopping up and down for an answer to the demand he’d passed to Nigel Tape’s brother.
Emil Jacques