Even Money - By Dick Francis & Felix Francis Page 0,84

the subject. “The Coroner’s Court says that the police still have an objection to the issuing of a burial order. What is the objection?”

“Er,” he said, “I’ll have to get back to you.”

I reckoned that he only needed more time in order to think up a new excuse.

“Good,” I said, and gave him my home telephone number. “I will be in all day today, and I want to get on and make the arrangements.”

“Right,” he said almost as if he was distracted. “And Mr. Talbot?”

“Yes.”

“You still haven’t provided us with an e-fit of the killer.”

“Do you still need it?” I asked.

“Yes, we do,” he said. “There has been little or no progress with this case.”

Probably, I thought rather ungraciously, because the victim had been with a bookmaker. At the time, Chief Inspector Llewellyn had been convinced that I’d been the killer, but the numerous statements of the champagne revelers in the parking lot had all agreed that I hadn’t. And, much to his annoyance, they couldn’t all be wrong.

“I’d love to come in and do an e-fit,” I said. “I would have expected you to have chased me before this. It must surely be a bit late? Any potential witnesses who saw the killer will have forgotten him by now.”

“We already have some e-fits from the other witnesses in the Ascot parking lot, but, to put it mildly, they are not very consistent. Anything you can add may be helpful.” But don’t bank on it, his tone implied.

“Right,” I said eagerly. “When and where?”

“Any Thames Valley police station will do, provided it has the right staff and an e-fit computer.”

“Which one would be the nearest to Kenilworth?” I asked.

“Banbury, probably,” he said. “I’ll find out and call you back.”

He did so about five minutes later.

“It’s fixed for two this afternoon, at Banbury,” he said.

“Fine,” I said. “I’ll be there. And is there any news about the burial order?”

“I will inform the coroner that we have no further objection to the issue of such an order,” he said formally. Was it my imagination or was Detective Chief Inspector Llewellyn warming slightly? “But I still don’t trust you, Mr. Talbot.”

Yes, it must have been my imagination.

“I’m sorry about that, Chief Inspector,” I replied. But I suppose if I were honest, I would have to admit that he had good reason not to fully trust me. I wondered if I should ask him about a certain Mr. John Smith, but I decided it might complicate things and lead to rather more questions than I would be easily able to answer, so I didn’t.

Next, I again used my father’s mobile to call Paddy Murphy.

“Well, hello,” he said cheerfully, again with the emphasis on the final “o.” “I didn’t think I would have heard the last of you.”

“What’s the name of the man with his eyes too close together?” I asked, getting straight to the point.

“I don’t have his real name,” said Paddy.

“What name do you have?”

“Kipper.”

“Kipper what?” I asked.

“Just Kipper,” he said. “But it’s only a nickname.”

“Have you ever met him?” I asked.

“I haven’t rightly met him, but I believe I saw him once.”

“In Ireland?” I asked.

“Hell, no,” he said. “In England. Your dad was that frightened of him. Said he was a strange fellow, bit of a loner.”

If my father was as frightened of this Kipper as Paddy made out, why had he kicked out at him and told him to go to hell in the Ascot parking lot?

“What else did my father say about him?” I asked.

“He thought he was being paid too much for what he did,” said Paddy. “Moaned about it all the time, your dad did.”

“But how did he know how much this Kipper was being paid?” I asked.

“I don’t rightly know. Something about him bringing his share over from Australia,” Paddy said. “Your dad claimed that he should have been getting as much as Kipper ‘for delivering the merchandise,’ as he put it. Then he laughed, and said they’d find out soon enough that they should have been paying him more.”

“Who were ‘they’?” I asked.

“Search me,” he said.

“And what did he mean by saying they would find out soon enough?”

“I don’t know that either,” he said.

Paddy Murphy wasn’t being very helpful. He was suddenly backtracking. Perhaps he was now regretting having told me anything. I wondered if what my father had said about them finding out soon enough was to do with him stealing the microcoder.

“You told me that this Kipper worked for an insurance company,” I said.