Dead Heat - By Dick Francis & Felix Francis Page 0,6

had better come down to the restaurant.’ It was Carl. ‘The Public Health have turned up.’

‘She said she’d meet me at the racecourse,’ I said.

‘These two are men,’ he replied.

‘Tell them to come down here,’ I said.

‘I don’t think they will,’ he said. ‘Apparently someone has died and these two are sealing the kitchen.’

CHAPTER 2

Sealing the kitchen was literally what they were doing. By the time I arrived there was tape over every window and two men were fitting large hasps and padlocks to all the doors.

‘You can’t do that,’ I said.

‘Just watch,’ one of them replied, while clipping a large brass padlock into place. ‘I’ve instructions to ensure that no one enters these premises until they have been examined and decontaminated.’

‘Decontaminated?’ I said. ‘From what?’

‘No idea,’ he said. ‘Just doing what I’m told.’

‘When will this examination take place?’ I asked him with a sinking feeling.

‘Monday or Tuesday maybe,’ he said. ‘Or Wednesday, depends on how busy they are.’

‘But this is a business,’ I said. ‘How can I run a restaurant with the kitchen closed? I’ve got reservations for this evening.’

‘Sorry, mate.’ He didn’t sound very sorry. ‘Your business is now closed. You shouldn’t have killed someone.’

‘Who is the person who has died?’ I asked him.

‘No idea,’ he said, clipping another padlock into place. ‘Right, that’s finished. Sign here, will you?’ He held out a clipboard with some papers on it.

‘What does it say?’ I asked.

‘It says that you agree to the closing of your kitchen, that you won’t attempt to gain entry, which, by the way, would be a criminal offence, that you agree to pay for my services and for the equipment used and that you will be responsible if anyone else gains entry or tries to do so without due authority from the county council or the Food Standards Agency.’

‘And what if I refuse to sign?’ I asked.

‘Then I have to get an enforcement order and have a policeman on site at all times and you will, in the end, have to pay for that too. Either way, your kitchen remains closed. If you sign, then the inspection might be tomorrow or on Monday; if you don’t, it won’t.’

‘That’s blackmail.’

‘Yup,’ he said. ‘Usually works.’ He smiled and offered me the clipboard again.

‘Bastard,’ I said. ‘Enjoy your work, do you?’

‘Makes a change from the usual.’

‘What is the usual?’ I asked.

‘Debt collecting,’ he said.

He was a big man, both tall and broad. He wore black trousers, a white shirt with a thin black tie, and white training shoes. His accomplice was dressed in the same manner – uniform for the job. It crossed my mind that all that was missing was a baseball bat to back up his threats. I could tell that I wasn’t going to be able to appeal to his better nature. He clearly didn’t have one.

I signed the paper.

During this exchange, the second man had been placing sticky-backed plastic signs on the windows and doors. They were white, approximately eighteen inches square, with ‘CLOSED FOR DECONTAMINATION’ and ‘KEEP OUT’ printed in large red lettering.

‘Are those really necessary?’ I asked.

He didn’t answer. I knew. He was just doing his job, just doing what he’d been told.

I don’t know whether it was out of spite that they stuck one on the restaurant’s sign at the gate on their way out. There would be little doubt to passing traffic that the Hay Net was empty and limp, unable to feed a Shetland pony let alone the hundred or so people who we had booked for dinner.

Carl appeared from the dining-room end of the building.

‘It’s the same inside,’ he said. ‘The kitchen doors have been padlocked.’

‘What do you suggest?’ I asked.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘I’ve just phoned most of those booked in for tonight and told them we won’t be serving.’

‘Well done,’ I said, impressed.

‘Some said they weren’t coming anyway. Some said they had been at the racecourse last night and had suffered like the rest of us, and many others had heard about it.’

‘Does anyone know who it is who’s died?’ I asked.

‘No idea,’ said Carl. ‘I didn’t exactly ask our customers.’

‘We’d also better tell the staff not to come tonight,’ I said.

‘Done that too,’ he said. ‘At least I’ve left messages for most. And I’ve stuck a notice on the kitchen door telling everyone to take the weekend off and report for work on Monday morning.’

‘Did you tell them why?’ I asked.

‘Nope,’ he said. ‘Thought it best not to just yet. Until we know for sure what the