Dick Francis's Damage by Felix Francis Read Free Book Online

what is the name of the man who gave the statement to the police?”
    â€œDaniel Jubowski.”
    â€œIs he English?” I asked.
    â€œAs far as I know,” Ken replied. “I think his grandfather was Polish. Came over to fight in the Second World War and never went back.”
    â€œWhere does this Daniel Jubowski live?” I asked.
    â€œHe had a place near King’s Cross overlooking the canal.”
    â€œBut now he’s gone?”
    â€œAccording to someone he shared with. I went to find him and was told he’d moved out.”
    â€œWhat does he do for a living?”
    â€œI’m not really sure,” Ken said. “Something in the City, I think.”
    â€œHow did you meet him?”
    â€œOh, you know, at a party.”
    â€œI’d like to have a look at the complete prosecution bundle of evidence. I’m told you have a copy. Where do you live?”
    â€œI have a flat in Tower Hamlets, off Bethnal Green Road.”
    â€œRight,” I said. “I’ll see you at five o’clock at your flat.” He gave me the address and directions from Bethnal Green tube station.
    I looked up at the clock. It was eleven-twenty.
    I called the Royal Marsden again and was informed that Mrs. Calderfield had just gone down. She wasn’t expected back for at least a couple of hours.
    I fretted.
    It was a good job that Paul Maldini wasn’t looking over my shoulder. The head of operations would not have considered me good value for money on that particular day. I had probably spent only half an hour on BHA business so far.
    Perhaps if I did some work it would take my mind off what awfulness was being performed on Faye.
    I opened the blue folder from Crispin Larson to find a single sheet of paper inside:
    A male caller to the RaceStraight anonymous tip-off line has claimed that the trainer Graham Perry is using performance-enhancing substances on some or all of his horses.
    When pressed for evidence to support such a damning allegation, the caller said “he just knew” before hanging up.
    About an hour later the same or a second caller to RaceStraight made the same accusation but again gave no details.
    The last routine inspection of Graham Perry’s yard was in February this year, when all was found to be in order. In addition, an unannounced team carried out tests on a random selection of twelve of his horses three years ago and all were found to be negative.
    This is an unsubstantiated claim of a suspect nature (rated C/D3) and any investigation must be performed with utmost tact so as to protect the hitherto good name and reputation of Mr. Perry, who is currently unaware of these allegations.
    I wondered why Crispin had given it to me. I was considered to be the department’s specialist in undercover work, but surely this should be dealt with in an upfront and open manner. The usual practice would be to send a testing team back to Perry’s yard, with the bells ringing and the lights flashing, to do blood tests on all his horses, and to hell with any secrecy. The tests would either be positive, in which case he’d lose his training license forever, or negative, in which case his good name and reputation would not only remain intact but be enhanced.
    I took the blue folder down the stairs to the intelligence section and knocked on Crispin Larson’s door.
    â€œCome in,” he shouted from within. I opened the door. “Ah, Jeff, dear boy, our resident genius and champion of the dark arts. Come in and sit down.”
    I did both.
    â€œNow,” said Crispin, “what brings you down to the murky shadows of intelligence?”
    â€œIt’s about this file you left on my desk.”
    â€œAh,” he said again expansively. “The Perry file.”
    â€œYes,” I said. “Why have you given it to me and not to one of the testing teams? Is it really a matter for utmost tact? Don’t we just send in the scientists to find