Dead Heat - By Dick Francis & Felix Francis Page 0,56

checked the tyres but they seemed all right. I got down on my hands and knees and looked underneath. Nothing. I even opened the bonnet and looked at the engine. I didn’t really know what a bomb would look like so the chances of me spotting something amiss were slight, but there were no suspicious packages I could see attached to the car’s electrics or anything. Perhaps I was becoming paranoid. It must be all this talk of conspiracies to poison and to bomb. However, my heart was thumping in my chest a little louder than normal when I turned the ignition key to start the engine.

It sprang to life, just as it should. I revved up for a few seconds but all sounded fine to me with no clunks or clangs. 1 wiggled the steering wheel but nothing untoward occurred. I drove forward a bit in the car park and then braked hard. The car stopped with a jolt, as was normal. I drove round in circles a couple of times in both directions pulling hard on the wheel. The vehicle behaved in exactly the manner expected. I was indeed paranoid I told myself, and I drove home, uneventfully, although I checked the brakes often and with some vigour on all the straight bits of road.

*

MaryLou Fordham’s legs, or rather the lack of her legs, made further unwelcome visits to my subconscious during another disturbed night. Surely, I thought, my brain should be able to control these episodes. Surely it should realize as soon as the dream started was the right moment to wake me and put a stop to the misery. But, every time, the whole episode would play out and, every time, I would wake with terror in my heart and panic in my head. My dimming memory of MaryLou’s face did nothing to lessen the horror evoked by her legless torso.

I tried to ignore the interruptions to my rest by simply turning over and trying to go back to sleep, telling myself to dream of happier things like cuddling up with Caroline, but I would remain annoyingly awake until the adrenalin level in my bloodstream dropped low enough to allow me to drift off, seemingly only for the dream to start again immediately. It was all very exhausting.

Wednesday, when it finally arrived, was one of those May mornings to savour, especially in the flatlands of East Anglia: cloudless blue skies and unparalleled visibility. From my bedroom window I could see the white-arched cantilevered roof of the Millennium Grandstand at the racecourse and, in the clear air and the sunshine, it appeared much larger and nearer than normal.

If only my life was as clear, I thought.

My mobile phone rang.

‘Hello,’ I said, hoping it might be Caroline, which was stupid really as I hadn’t even given her the number.

‘Max. It’s Suzanne Miller. I’m afraid I have some rather bad news. I’ve received a letter this morning from Forest Heath District Council indicating their intent to prosecute under section 7 of the Food Safety Act 1990.’

Oh bugger, I thought. If they were prosecuting the racecourse catering company, who had been only the overseer of the event, they were sure to prosecute the chef as well, i.e. me.

‘Do they say exactly who they intend to prosecute?’ I asked.

‘Everyone,’ she said, somewhat forlornly. ‘There’s letters for me individually and for the company. There’s even a letter for you here at the racecourse, addressed to Mr Max Moreton, care of us.’

Oh double bugger. There was probably another letter at the Hay Net.

‘What does your letter actually say?’ I asked her.

She read it out to me. Not a single bit of good news to be found.

‘My letter is probably identical to yours,’ I said. ‘I’ll come and collect it if you like.’

‘Yes, please do. Look, Max, all the food was your responsibility and I will have to say that. All I did was organize the venue. I’m not being convicted of serving food which was hazardous to health, not with my retirement coming up later this year. I’m not losing my pension over this.’ She was in tears.

‘Suzanne,’ I said as calmingly as I could, ‘I know that, you know that, Angela Milne from Cambridgeshire County Council knows that. If anyone is taking the fall for this it will be me, OK?’

‘Yes, thanks,’ she sniffed.

‘But, Suzanne, I need more help from you. I need a fuller list of who was at the dinner and the names of as many of the staff as