Bloodline

I then sat on my other kitchen chair at the table to eat chicken chop suey and egg fried rice that I’d collected from a local Chinese restaurant in Edenbridge. It was not especially tasty but I was hungry as I hadn’t eaten anything since my bland hospital breakfast at seven o’clock that morning.

Had that really been only this morning? So much had happened since then.

I pushed the empty plate away and leaned back in the chair.

Where did I go from here, I wondered, and I didn’t only mean physically.

I cracked open the fortune cookie that Mr Woo at the Forbidden City restaurant had kindly put in the brown bag with the rice and chop suey.

Use your talents wisely. That’s why you have them.

I read and re-read the little strip of paper with its Chinese proverb.

What particular talents did I have that I should use wisely?

I didn’t sleep very well. Partly due to the pain in my side but mostly because of overlapping and disturbing dreams involving both Clare and Emily.

I lay awake in the darkness, trying to think what I should do.

‘Can you positively identify that man?’ Detective Sergeant Sharp had asked me in the Charing Cross police video room.

‘What do you mean by positively identify?’ I’d asked him back.

‘Could you stand up in a court of law and swear to his identity?’

‘No,’ I’d said. ‘Of course I couldn’t. I just think he walks a bit like someone I know.’

The policeman had shaken his head. ‘I’d need much more than that to interview anyone. Lots of people walk like that. And, anyway, there’s no law against walking out of a hotel with your collar up and your head down, even if there is someone dead on the pavement outside.’

‘But he might have been in the room when Clare fell.’

‘That doesn’t mean there was a crime,’ he’d said. ‘I’ll grant you, if there was someone in the room when she fell it would almost certainly be relevant to the coroner and the inquest. The man would be able to testify as to what exactly had happened, but there is no evidence that he was involved in any criminal activity, so I can hardly arrest him. And then there’s the suicide note.’

‘I’m not so sure it’s a suicide note,’ I’d said. ‘It’s not very specific.’

‘It’s a good deal more specific than some others I’ve seen.’ I’d waited while he’d fetched a photocopy of the note from his office. He’d then read the last two sentences to me out loud. ‘Please don’t think badly of me. I am so sorry.’ He’d put the note down on the desk in front of me. ‘I’m afraid, Mr Shillingford, that it looks very much like a suicide note to me.’

Oh, Clare, how could you?

I tossed and turned some more, albeit gingerly, and finally got up to go to the bathroom just before seven, with the coming of the morning light.

I felt dreadful and my reflection in the mirror showed me as grey-skinned with dark circles under my eyes. I’d probably overdone the amount of carrying that I should have attempted with broken ribs.

My side was very sore but my breathing seemed fine so I swallowed a couple of heavy-duty painkillers and went back to lie on my bed until they worked.

The phone vibrated on my bedside table.

‘Hello,’ I said, noting the Newmarket number.

‘This is Austin Reynolds. I’ve received the payment instructions in this morning’s post.’

‘Yes?’ I said, encouraging him to continue.

‘Just as before,’ he said. ‘I have to leave the money in a brown envelope under my car in a racecourse car park.’

‘Where?’ I asked. ‘And when?’

‘Kempton. Tomorrow night.’

‘What does it say exactly?’ I asked.

I could hear him nervously rustling the paper. ‘Put the cash in used fifties in a brown padded envelope and leave it up against the inside of the offside rear wheel of your car when you arrive at Kempton races tomorrow night. Park in the car park then walk away into the racecourse. Don’t look back.’

‘Good,’ I said. ‘Do you have anything declared for tomorrow night?’

‘One,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a new London owner who wants his horse to run. It’s in the fourth. What should I do?’

‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘Just go to the races and walk away from your car. And don’t leave the ten thousand.’

‘I haven’t got that sort of cash anyway.’

‘What car will you be driving?’

‘My dark blue BMW.’ He gave me the registration.

‘Will it start?’ I asked, remembering the previous Saturday morning.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I’ve had a new battery fitted.’

‘Remember,’ I said. ‘Just park it and then walk away.’

‘Shouldn’t I at least bend down as if I was putting something by the back wheel?’

‘If you like,’ I said. ‘Yes, perhaps that will be good, just in case our man is watching you arrive. In fact, place a padded envelope there. It doesn’t matter if it’s empty.’

‘I’ll put a few stones from my driveway in it to prevent it blowing away.’