Dead Heat Read online

  Contents

  Cover

  Recent Titles by Glenis Wilson from Severn House

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Epigraph

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Epilogue

  Recent Titles by Glenis Wilson from Severn House

  The Harry Radcliffe series

  DEAD CERTAINTY

  DEAD ON COURSE

  DEAD RECKONING

  DEAD HEAT

  Glenis Wilson

  This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  First published in Great Britain 2018 by

  SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD of

  Eardley House, 4 Uxbridge Street, London W8 7SY.

  First published in the USA 2019 by

  SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS of

  110 East 59th Street, New York, N.Y. 10022

  This eBook edition first published in 2018 by Severn House Digital

  an imprint of Severn House Publishers Limited

  Trade paperback edition first published

  in Great Britain and the USA 2019 by

  SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD.

  Copyright © 2018 by Glenis Wilson.

  The right of Glenis Wilson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

  A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

  ISBN-13: 978-0-7278-8858-7 (cased)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-84751-982-5 (trade paper)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4483-0194-2 (e-book)

  Except where actual historical events and characters are being described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental.

  This ebook produced by

  Palimpsest Book Production Limited,

  Falkirk, Stirlingshire, Scotland

  Dedicated to my family and especially to the one

  where the honour lies.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Nick Sayers at Hodder & Stoughton. His belief in me and the manuscripts kept me going. Kate Lyall Grant and all at Severn House Publishers. Roderick Duncan, clerk of the course, Southwell racecourse. Nick Kilmartin, manager and all the staff at the North Shore Hotel, Skegness. David, Anne and Elaine Brown, printers and friends. Wally Wharton, jockey, superb horseman and lifelong friend. Phil Ashmore for maintaining my website. Barbara Newsome for her invaluable help with the snow racing in Switzerland. Andrew Pacey. Chris Coley for sharing his knowledge on the snow racing together with racehorse trainers Nigel Twiston-Davies and John Best. The staff at Bingham, Radcliffe-on-Trent and West Bridgford libraries. All the people who have helped me in whatever way during the course of writing the ‘Harry’ novels. And of course, all my lovely readers, bless you for your wonderful comments and emails. To everyone, may I say a very big thank you – have a great read.

  ‘The legacy of heroes is the memory of a great name and the inheritance of a great example.’

  Benjamin Disraeli

  ‘To the one who has gone before, the great master of horseracing novels, Dick Francis, thank you for all those wonderful reads. I offer my sincere gratitude and humbly follow in your footsteps.’

  Glenis Wilson

  PROLOGUE

  I’d been kidding myself. Complacency had lulled me into self-congratulations for urging Annabel, my estranged wife, to avoid the murderous intentions of Jake Smith and escape to London. Only she hadn’t escaped. Neither had the man in her life, Sir Jeffrey, the father of her unborn baby.

  Sitting here on the edge of my hospital bed about to leave for home, I could hardly believe what Mike was telling me. Annabel and Sir Jeffrey were actually here too, in this hospital. I’d assumed both were safe; they weren’t – nor was the baby.

  Mike had come to collect me. I’d been told I could go home after having been seen by the doctor. My X-ray had shown no deep damage to either patella, the teeth of the electric Alligator saw, wielded by a crazed Jake Smith, having bounced off rather than grinding into the bone. I’d been grounded while the soft tissue healed but it shouldn’t take long. There was no lasting damage and I could get about with crutches. A massive relief. Sitting on my bed, bag packed, I couldn’t wait to go back home. And I’d happily related the good news to Mike. Until, seeing the grim expression on his face, I’d stopped enthusing about my good luck. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Have you seen or heard the news since you came into hospital?’

  I shook my head. ‘No, drugged up mostly, and because of the bash on the head, I’ve been asleep a good deal.’

  ‘I’ve some bad news – truly awful news.’

  I picked up the depths of his depression. ‘Tell me. Something happened to Pen?’ Penelope was Mike’s partner.

  He waved a hand. ‘No, it’s Sir Jeffrey and Annabel.’

  I stood up. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘They were setting off to drive to London—’

  ‘Yes, I know, I persuaded Annabel to go with him; she didn’t want to, but I told her she’d be safe with him.’

  He shook his head slowly. ‘I’m so sorry, Harry. Sir Jeffrey was driving. Annabel, apparently, was lying down on the back seat—’

  ‘She wasn’t feeling well,’ I put in.

  He nodded. ‘Well, that’s what saved her. They had a crash on the M1 just after they’d joined the motorway at Leicester Forest East.’

  ‘Oh my God! What injuries have they got?’

  ‘Sir Jeffrey’s pretty bad, I gather. He’s got spinal injuries …’

  ‘And Annabel?’ My fists were clenched hard.

  ‘I’m sorry, Harry. She’s lost the baby.’

  I closed my eyes. She had so looked forward to the baby. ‘How is she?’

  ‘I think she’s shaken and bruised, but otherwise she’s escaped injury. It was the offside front wing and door that took the brunt of the impact. Sir Jeffrey had to be cut free. Then
they were flown in by air ambulance.’

  ‘To this hospital?’

  ‘Yes. They were here before you were brought in, although I didn’t know about it then. Sir Jeffrey had an emergency operation, they say.’

  ‘And just how bad is he?’

  ‘Don’t know,’ Mike said, miserably.

  We were silent, taking in the implications of what he’d just told me.

  ‘I’m going to ask if they’ll let me see him.’

  ‘I’ll wait here, Harry. Don’t think they’ll let two of us in.’

  ‘No,’ I agreed, ‘and it will only be a five-minute job, probably.’

  I left him sitting beside my bed and, stiff-legged, slowly hobbled off.

  ‘Two minutes only,’ said the nurse, eyeing my crutches.

  I thanked her and sat down gratefully on the chair beside his bed. He was conscious, head held immobile in a brace.

  ‘Jeffrey, God, I’m so sorry …’

  ‘Harry …’

  ‘Mike tells me you’ve had an operation on your spine.’

  ‘Yes, T-six, seven? Likely a wheelchair job,’ he said in a weak voice.

  I shook my head in sympathy but couldn’t find the words to say how gutted I felt for him. ‘They say Annabel’s lost the baby.’

  ‘Hmm, my poor Annabel, she wanted it so much …’

  The man was amazing. In the face of his bleak future, maybe as a cripple, he was all concern for her. I could see how right Annabel was when she said he was a good man, good for her. I felt utterly helpless to do anything for him.

  ‘I don’t think she, herself, is injured, Jeffrey.’

  ‘Thank heavens.’ His eyes closed.

  ‘Amen to that.’

  Out of the corner of my eye I could see the nurse hovering.

  ‘I think I have to leave; they said only two minutes.’

  ‘Wait!’ His voice was urgent. He made a big effort. ‘Nothing’s changed, Harry. We’re still sharing her. I’ve got her affection, her company, but you’ve got her heart and soul.’

  I didn’t know how to reply.

  ‘Look after her, while I’m in here; she needs you to lean on …’ His voice weakened, trailing away with exhaustion.

  ‘Don’t worry, Jeffrey. She can rely on me to look after her just now.’

  ‘Thanks …’ His eyes closed once more.

  The nurse walked up to the bed. She didn’t need to ask me to leave. I’d already risen from the chair. I needed to see Annabel.

  She was sitting in the chair by her bed, taking sips of water.

  ‘Harry! Oh, Harry.’ She put the beaker down and stood up, holding her arms wide. I reached for her and we held each other tightly. It was debatable who needed the most comfort. We hugged … and wept … for several minutes. When we broke apart, I wiped the tears from her cheeks with a tissue.

  ‘Darling, I’m so, so sorry. It’s my fault. If I hadn’t insisted you went with Jeffrey—’

  She put fingers to my lips. ‘Hush. Of course it wasn’t your fault. You were trying so hard to protect me.’ Her eyes widened, taking in the crutches. ‘Did that monster attack you?’ She gently traced a fingertip down the side of my right cheek where the edges of the knife wound had been drawn together.

  ‘Yes. But let’s not talk about it.’

  She shuddered. ‘He said the baby wouldn’t be born. Where is he now?’

  I put my arms around her and gave her another recovery hug. ‘Not around to hurt you. The police have him. He’s safely locked up.’

  She slumped against me. ‘We’re all a lot safer now, then, and it’s thanks to you. Well done, Harry.’

  ‘With all that’s happened, that’s insignificant. I’m gutted for Jeffrey.’

  Tears flooded her eyes and ran down her white cheeks. ‘I don’t know what to do, Harry. Help me …’

  ‘You know I will. You don’t need to ask.’

  She clung to me for several minutes. I tried to inject some of my strength into her.

  ‘I’m coming out of hospital today. Are you?’

  ‘Yes. Take me home with you, Harry. Please.’

  I stroked her hair. ‘Of course. Do you mean to your home?’

  ‘No, back to the cottage with you. I don’t want to be by myself just now. And,’ she gulped, ‘it is just me. The baby’s gone, Harry.’

  ‘Oh my darling, I know, I know.’ I rocked her gently until her weeping had eased. ‘Let’s get your things.’

  ‘Jeffrey! I must speak to Jeffrey before I go.’

  ‘I don’t think you can at the moment, Annabel. He was having an injection to put him out when I left him. You can visit him tomorrow.’

  She bit her lip and nodded. ‘Home, then.’

  ‘Home.’

  Mike dropped us at Harlequin Cottage and drove off.

  Leo greeted us warmly. Annabel clutched him to her, burying her face in his warm ginger fur. There was safety and undemanding comfort in loving the cat. He submitted to the embrace, squeezing his eyes shut and purring for England. Animals offered therapy just by being themselves.

  I left them sitting on the settee and went to turn up the central heating and put the kettle on. While it was boiling, I poured us each a whisky and took one over to Annabel. It was, of necessity, a one-thing-at-a-time job. I was very much reliant upon my crutches because Jake’s antics, even if they had not broken any bones, had badly bruised the patella on each leg. He knew, of course – the entire horseracing community knew – that my left kneecap was vulnerable. No doubt, it had been that knowledge that had spawned the evil thought of how best to exploit it. As champion jump jockey, I was in a high-risk occupation; one in every eight races, or thereabouts, ended in a fall, the damage from which varied from being winded to being killed.

  The crashing fall I’d sustained at Huntingdon racecourse had landed me in a hospital bed with a raft of injuries; most seriously, it had shattered my left patella. Falls were the risk I accepted – they were part of the job – but it was this inescapable fact that had, finally, convinced Annabel that she couldn’t take seeing me suffer any more, and although she’d let me have the cat, Leo, she had left.

  The other inescapable fact was that now she was with Sir Jeffrey, not me – his gain, my loss. And it was my justified concern in trying to keep Annabel safe so Jake Smith couldn’t find her that had led to her being in Jeffrey’s car, heading for London when the crash happened.

  Jake Smith was a hardened criminal, convicted of GBH and an acknowledged main player among the low life both in and out of prison. When he pulled strings, the others jumped. It was my unpleasant luck that our paths had not only crossed but become hellishly entangled when I’d been forced into tracking down Alice Goode’s killer. Now, in retaliation, knowing she was my Achilles’ heel and what hurt her hurt me even more, Jake was gunning for Annabel.

  Alice, who had been a prostitute, had also been a caring human being. She’d helped me in the past – the only one who could, when I’d been badly beaten up. After her murder, I’d felt morally obliged to track down her killer.

  But if you will go into the jungle after tigers … And there was no bigger tiger out there than Jake Smith.

  I held out the glass to Annabel.

  ‘Thanks, Harry.’ Annabel sipped at her generous slug of whisky; within a very short time, I was gratified to see her body relax and a slight colour return to her face.

  I made coffee and together we sat on the settee, coming to terms with the events of the last two days. I knew Annabel’s safe, protected, ordered life with Sir Jeffrey steering the ship was gone for ever. That she would cope with the change I had no doubt. Once the shock had worn off, she would rise to it magnificently. Jeffrey was now a dependent, vulnerable man himself. Annabel was by nature a carer, a healer. I knew she would nurse him and look after him for however long it took.

  That thought gave me an unpleasant jolt. Sir Jeffrey’s injuries were on a par with those of Mousey Brown’s late wife. Not so severe, it was true: his injury had oc
curred lower down the spinal column, but just how bad we would have to wait to find out. None of us knew what was up front on the road we travelled, but in so many cases it seemed brutally unfair how life handed out its lessons.

  Sir Jeffrey had travelled the same roads – the M1 in particular – up and down to London all the time. It must have crossed his mind that the law of averages might one day catch up with him. But it was entirely my fault that this particular time Annabel had been travelling with him. And because of that, she had paid a heavy price and lost her unborn child. Guilt was sitting firmly on my shoulders and I didn’t know how to throw the heavy burden off.

  ‘Harry’ – Annabel put down her empty glass – ‘I have to tell you something. I know you’re blaming yourself – about the baby, I mean.’

  ‘How could I not?’

  She gripped my hand. ‘Harry, the hospital have explained the facts. I knew something was wrong because I was feeling so poorly before we started our journey. The hospital said the baby had died before we had the car crash.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Yes, it’s true. They think the umbilical cord had looped around his neck. Nothing anybody could have predicted. Even if I’d stayed at home that day, it wouldn’t have altered anything. The baby couldn’t have been saved. He’d already died inside me, probably even as much as three or four days before. They couldn’t tell.’

  ‘Annabel, my darling, I don’t have words to tell you how sorry I am …’

  ‘I know it’s awful, but I’m the one who’s sorry. It’s not your fault. It was already too late before you told me to leave with Jeffrey.’

  ‘But you were involved in the crash, too: that was my fault. And I can’t forgive myself.’

  ‘You must, Harry. If I’d stayed at the house – and it would have been just me on my own, because Jeffrey was definitely going to London – I would certainly have gone into labour, the hospital said so. And I might very well not have survived because the baby wasn’t in the right position for birth. So, I’m glad – and grateful – that you insisted I went with Jeffrey. It might actually have saved my life.’

  ‘Annabel … the whole episode is so traumatic for you and yet … you seem to have already accepted it …’ I waved a hand helplessly.