Free Front Runner by Felix Francis

they both pulled up and put their arms around each other as if they had just finished the Grand National.
    That left four who made heavy weather of the final mile, one horse falling in the back stretch and another unseating its rider at the second last hurdle. So, just two of the seven lasted the course to contest a finish, but at least they did manage to provide some decent entertainment for those in the stands.
    In a flurry of hands, heels, elbows and knees, they were finally separated only by a photograph, and, in truth, despite their less than stylish techniques, neither of them deserved to lose. The two jockeys received a good hand as their mounts were led back to the unsaddling enclosure, which is more than could be said for the others, who sneaked back to the changing room in disgrace.
    â€”
    I STAYED to watch Peach of a Day run second in the day’s featured steeplechase.
    He ran well enough, but the replacement jockey had kept him slightly off the pace for too long and the horse had just been unable to make up the deficit in the run to the line from the last fence.
    Mr. and Mrs. Valdemon appeared rather disappointed as they listened to the excuses.
    Maybe they felt that paying Dave Swinton his extra “gift” in cash would have been worth it to get the win, if only he had been alive to receive it.
    Were they wrong?
    Not one bit.
    Racing was
all
about the winning.
    There were no plaudits for coming in second.

8
    I t was definitely Mr. David Swinton in the burning Mercedes. We now have a positive identification of the remains.”
    â€œOh,” I said.
    D.S. Jagger called me at eight o’clock on Wednesday morning as I was in the shower.
    â€œDid the DNA match?” I asked.
    â€œIn the end, we didn’t need to resort to DNA. Mr. Swinton had twice broken his right leg in racing falls, once above and once below the knee. On both occasions, surgeons had inserted a titanium plate in the leg. The two plates had serial numbers stamped on them and the numbers matched those on similar plates found in the remains. There is no doubt.”
    â€œThank you for letting me know.”
    â€œThis call is also to inform you officially that, as a result of the formal identification of the body of Mr. Swinton, there will be no further investigation into the events in the sauna at his home on Sunday morning.”
    â€œYes, I understand.”
    â€œBut those events may well have had a material bearing on hisdeath and, as the last-known person to see him alive, you will almost certainly be called as a witness at the inquest.”
    â€œI didn’t actually see him. He pushed me into the sauna from behind and slammed the door shut before I could turn round.”
    â€œNevertheless, you should expect a summons from the coroner in due course.”
    â€œAre you sure it was suicide?” I asked. “Burning to death with gasoline is a particularly nasty way to kill oneself.” I shivered again at the memory of the TV images of the figure sitting among the flames.
    â€œIs there such a thing as a
nice way
?” he said. “All I can say is that, bearing in mind what he did to you and what you’ve told us, we are currently not looking for anyone else in regard to the death.”
    â€œIs that policespeak for
Yes, it was suicide
?”
    â€œI suppose it is.”
    â€œHow about the gasoline? Where did he get that?”
    â€œAn empty metal gas can was discovered in the burned-out vehicle. It matched a second one found in Mr. Swinton’s garage that was full. Mr. Swinton’s gardener has confirmed that two such cans were used to store fuel for the lawn mower and that he, the gardener, had filled both the cans the previous week.”
    So he had taken the gas from his own garage.
    â€œNot much doubt, then.”
    â€œNo.”
    He hung up and I stood there, still dripping water on my bedroom carpet.
    So Dave had been the body in the car. So much for my crazy theory