Free Kickback by Damien Boyd

his desk and powered up his computer.
    ‘We’ll find you an empty desk out here, Louise,’ said Jane, on her way out to the open plan area of the CID Room.
    Louise Willmott got up and followed her just as DC Mark Pearce appeared in the doorway.
    ‘You’re looking well, Sir.’
    ‘Thanks, Mark.’
    ‘How’s the arm?’
    ‘It’ll be fine.’
    ‘We do still need your statement...’
    Dixon’s blank expression told Pearce he needed a reminder.
    ‘Last Sunday. The Allandale Lodge. You got stabbed...?’
    Dixon shook his head.
    ‘Yes, of course. Leave it with me. If I dictate it can you get it typed up?’
    ‘Yes, no problem.’
    ‘Sorry, Mark. I’ve been a bit...’
    ‘So I’m told, Sir. Have fun.’
    ‘Thanks.’
    Dixon’s last case had been an unusual one. It was the first time he had been confronted with a severed head and, whilst he had brought the investigation to a satisfactory conclusion without further loss of life, he had paid a high price for it. He looked down at his left shoulder. The physical scar would soon be gone and he hoped the others would soon follow. Maybe when he stopped taking the damn painkillers and got a decent night’s sleep.
    He logged in to the police network and checked his email. Nothing of interest. Then he opened Internet Explorer and searched Google for the British Horseracing Authority. He clicked on Contact Us and then dialled the number.
    ‘BHA. How can I help you?’
    ‘My name is Detective Inspector Dixon. Avon and Somerset CID. I am investigating a murder at a racing stables in Somerset and need to speak to someone about them.’
    ‘About the stables?’
    ‘Yes. I need to know if there are any regulatory or disciplinary issues outstanding, any current or past investigations, that sort of thing.’
    ‘That’ll be Integrity Services and Licensing. Please hold.’
    Dixon held the phone away from his ear. He hated listening to music when on hold.
    ‘Hello?’
    Dixon explained again who he was and why he was calling.
    ‘Where’s this yard, again?’
    ‘Spaxton, Somerset.’
    ‘That’ll be Adam Spiers you need to speak to. He’s in a meeting at the moment. Can I get him to call you.’
    ‘Yes, please do. It’s very urgent.’
    Dixon left his telephone numbers, office and mobile, and then fetched himself another coffee from the machine. He spent the next twenty minutes searching Google for anything and everything he could find about Michael Hesp and Gidley’s Racing Stables. He found nothing of real interest except for a thread on a betting forum where the general consensus of opinion seemed to be that Hesp’s horses were to be avoided unless laying to lose. Dixon made a mental note to do some research into laying to lose. It was not a term that he was familiar with and that always made him uncomfortable.
    Then he reached for his dictaphone and spent the next two hours dictating two witness statements, the first dealing with events at the Allandale Lodge Care Home the previous Sunday morning and the second setting out the events of the Tuesday night inside 37 Manor Park.
     
    He had just finished when his phone rang. He checked his watch. It was just after 11.00am.
    ‘Nick Dixon.’
    ‘Adam Spiers. British Horseracing Integrity Services. I gather you wanted a word about a racing yard at Spaxton.’
    ‘Yes, Gidley’s Racing Stables. The trainer is Michael Hesp...’
    ‘The message said there’s been a murder?’
    ‘One of the grooms was found dead,’ replied Dixon.
    ‘Is this the lad who was kicked by the colt?’
    ‘Yes and no. He was dead before he was thrown into the stable.’
    ‘Bloody hell.’
    ‘What can you tell me about Michael Hesp?’
    ‘Well, I’m not sure I can...’
    ‘This is a murder investigation, Mr Spiers.’
    ‘Yes, of course. He runs a reasonable operation. The horses are well looked after so there are no equine welfare issues for us to worry about. We have been looking at his results in the last eighteen months or so