Dead Heat - By Dick Francis & Felix Francis Page 0,20

still some victims whose families have, as yet, been impossible to contact. I cannot therefore give a full list of victims. However, I have the names of fourteen of those known to have died.’

He read them out slowly, pausing dramatically after each name.

Some I didn’t recognize but others I knew all too well.

MaryLou Fordham, as expected, was on the list. So was Elizabeth Jennings, the tease. There was no mention of Rolf Schumann and, just when I was beginning to hope that Louisa had survived, the Chief Constable said, ‘And, finally, Louisa Whitworth.’

I sat there stunned. I suppose I should not have been greatly surprised. I had seen the devastation in that room for myself and the surprise was that so many had lived, not that Louisa had died. But with Robert being alive, I had hoped against reason that Louisa was too.

The press conference continued but I wasn’t really listening. I could picture Louisa as I had last seen her in a white blouse and black skirt, hurrying around the tables, doing her job. She had been a smart girl with, at nineteen years old, a great future. Having achieved better than expected results in her examinations, she had been toying with the idea of going to university. In the meantime, she had worked for me since September and had been saving to go away to South America with her boyfriend. How bloody unfair, I thought. Cut down with her whole life ahead of her. How could anyone have done such a thing?

Another policeman on the television was holding up a diagram, a map of the boxes in the Newmarket Head-On Grandstand.

‘The bomb was placed here,’ he said, pointing, ‘inside the air conditioner in box 1 just above the main window at the front of the room. Consequently the bomb was between those people inside the room and those on the viewing balcony outside. We estimate that some five pounds of high explosive was used and this was sufficient to cause considerable structural problems within the building. The majority of those killed or injured were subject to blast damage, although one person lost their life as a result of being hit by flying masonry.’

In the wrong place at the wrong time, but so were we all.

The Chief Constable took over again.

‘There has been some media speculation that the bomb was planted in an attempt to assassinate a foreign national.’ He paused. ‘Whereas it is too early for us to comment, I can confirm that the occupants of box 1 were switched with box 6 down the corridor. This switch had been made at the request of the new occupants of box 1 as they would then be able to accommodate a larger party in boxes 1 and 2 with the dividing wall folded away between them instead of having two separate rooms as originally allocated. The switch was made early last week. It would appear that the explosive device was detonated by a timing mechanism. We have as yet been unable to establish for how long the device had been in situ and therefore we have to consider the possibility that it was intended for a different target than that actually hit.’ He paused again before adding, ‘as part of the security check for the foreign national, the air conditioner in box 6 was opened and inspected early on Saturday morning and found to be clear.’

Oh great, I thought.

The press conference went on for a while longer but it was clear that the police had no idea who was responsible, and seemingly no leads to act on.

My phone rang.

‘Hello,’ I answered.

‘Chef?’ said a voice. ‘Gary here. Are you coming to work?’

Gary was my sous-chef, my under-chef. My apprentice.

‘Where are you?’ I asked.

‘At the Net,’ he said. He always referred to the restaurant as ‘the Net’. ‘But I can’t get into the kitchen.’

‘I know,’ I said. I looked at my watch: ten fifteen. Our normal start time was ten. ‘Who else is there?’

‘Ray, Julie and Jean are here, and the kitchen porters are somewhere around,’ he said. ‘Oh, and Martin’s here too,’ he added.

Martin, my barman, must have recovered, I thought. It was he who had gone to the hospital on Friday night.

‘How about Richard and Carl?’ I asked.

‘No sign of them,’ he said. ‘Nor of Robert and Louisa.’

He obviously hadn’t heard about Louisa.

‘Tell everyone to go into the dining room and wait for me,’ I said. ‘Tell Martin to make some coffee in the bar machine.’ He could do