Dead Heat - By Dick Francis & Felix Francis Page 0,36

coffee.

‘No,’ I said. ‘Most of it is six years old, although that cooker,’ I pointed to the one at the end, ‘was added a couple of years ago to make life a little easier.’

‘But it’s all so shiny,’ she said.

‘It has to be to pass the health inspection. Most domestic kitchens wouldn’t be allowed to cook food for a restaurant; there would be far too much dirt and grease. When did you last clean the floor under your fridge?’ I pointed at the kitchen fridge we used exclusively for raw poultry.

She shrugged her shoulders. ‘No idea.’ Round two to Moreton.

‘Well, the floor under that fridge was cleaned yesterday. And it will be cleaned again today. In fact, it is cleaned every day except Sundays.’

‘Why not on Sundays?’ she asked.

‘My cleaner’s night off,’ I said. What I didn’t tell her was that I was the cleaner, and I never worked on Sunday evenings. Carl ran the kitchen then, when I went home and rested after the busy Sunday lunch service.

She relaxed a little more and even rested her left hand on the worktop. ‘So how come,’ she said in an accusing tone, ‘if everything is so clean, you managed to poison so many people and had this place shut down for decontamination?’ Round three to Harding.

‘The food wasn’t cooked here, for a start,’ I said. ‘The event was at the racecourse and a temporary kitchen was set up there. But it was still as clean as this.’

‘But it couldn’t have been,’ she said. I didn’t respond. She pressed the point. ‘So why did all the guests get food poisoning?’

I decided not to mention anything about the elusive kidney beans, so I said nothing at all and simply shrugged my shoulders.

‘Don’t you know?’ she said in apparent amazement. ‘You poisoned upwards of two hundred people and you don’t know how?’ She rolled her eyes. Round four to Harding, but we were still all square.

‘I prepared that meal from basic ingredients,’ I said, ‘and everything was fresh, clean and thoroughly cooked. I made everything myself except the bread rolls and the wine.’

‘Are you saying it was the bread that made people ill?’

‘No, I’m not,’ I said. ‘What I am saying is that I don’t understand how the people were made ill and I stake my reputation on the fact that I would do exactly the same if I was preparing that dinner again tonight.’ First knock-down to Moreton.

She came up punching. ‘But there’s no doubt that people were ill. Fifteen were admitted to hospital and one person died. Don’t you feel responsible for that?’ It was a body-blow, but I countered.

‘There is no doubt that people were ill. But your paper was wrong to report that someone died as a result of the dinner. They didn’t. And what’s more, only seven people were admitted to hospital not fifteen.’

‘Fifteen, seven, it doesn’t matter exactly how many. It doesn’t change the fact that some people were made so ill they needed hospital treatment.’

‘Only as a result of dehydration.’ I knew as I said it that it was a mistake.

‘Dehydration can kill very quickly,’ she said pouncing. ‘My great-uncle died from kidney failure brought on by dehydration.’ Second knock-down, this one to Harding.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said, recovering. ‘But, I assure you, no one died from being ill due to my dinner. Perhaps I could sue you for writing that.’ Moreton lands a right hook.

‘Then why did a source at the hospital say that someone had?’

‘It seems that a man did die on Friday night from something that was originally thought to be food poisoning but turned out not to be. He hadn’t been at the dinner. He died from something else.’

‘Are you sure?’ she said suspiciously.

‘Absolutely,’ I said. ‘You should check with the hospital.’

‘They wouldn’t tell me,’ she said, ‘due to their damn privacy policy.’

‘Then you’d better ask your unofficial source,’ I said. ‘It was because of that same incorrect and damaging information that the Food Standards Agency shut down this kitchen, in spite of it not being where the dinner was even cooked. You can see for yourself how clean it is.’

‘Mmm,’ she mused. ‘I have to admit that it doesn’t seem very fair.’ Another round to Moreton.

I pressed home my advantage. ‘And I was ill too. Do you really think I would have eaten the food myself if I had any thought that it might contain toxins?’

‘How about if you were ill before you cooked it? It may have been that it was you