“This should be right up your street, Sean,” said Gardener. “They even have names that you’ll be familiar with.”
“Nothing wrong with good honest Irish names.”
“Excuse me, are you going to let me finish?”
“Sorry,” said Gardener, not so sure it would really go anywhere, but the man did have a right to be heard.
“Conor Murphy had decided to put an accumulator bet on five of those horses. He placed £50 and won £1,000,000. He should have won three times that amount, but Bet365, which took his punt, only had a maximum of one million. Murphy wasn’t complaining.”
“I do remember that,” said Reilly. “I would have liked a slice of that. So where do you come in?”
“I wasn’t complaining either, but I’ve always been frugal. I placed a five-pound bet and picked up a little over £100,000, enough to set me up for a good while and do something I had long wanted to do.”
“Which is what?” asked Gardener.
“Travel to every UK racecourse, and solve mysteries. You see, I am a private detective.”
Gardener had heard enough. He decided to cut to the chase. “You rang the station this morning claiming to know the killer of the two people in Batley yesterday.”
“That’s correct.” Vincent finished his coffee and biscuits.
“Can you give me his name, a description maybe?”
“His name is Steve Cooper.” Vincent then took them through the mystery of the missing jug, whilst Gardener made notes.
“How do you know its Steven Cooper? You haven’t seen him since 1982.”
“Who else would know the details of my case from all those years ago?”
“Could be anybody,” said Reilly. “Maybe one of your stable friends has decided to have a laugh with you.”
“This is not a laughing matter,” said Vincent.
“Was this case common knowledge?” Gardener asked.
“It was all over the newspapers at the time.”
“As you’ve said, it’s more than thirty years ago. Why would Steven Cooper wait all this time to exact his revenge?”
“I have no idea. Criminals work in mysterious ways.”
“According to you, he’s killed two people in Batley. Did you know either of them?”
“Nicola Stapleton and Barry Morrison?” replied Vincent. “No.”
“You had no connection to either of them at all?”
“None whatsoever.”
“So why are you claiming that Steven Cooper has killed them, and is intending to kill you?”
Vincent withdrew a piece of paper from his pocket. “This email.”
Gardener took it and read it through. He had to admit the clues were interesting enough and suggested that someone appeared to know a bit about historical crimes – if they were referring to true incidents. It still didn’t prove anything, other than the fact that Vincent had crossed someone in the past and that person was very probably winding him up, considering he was Guiseley’s answer to Hercule Poirot.
He passed the email to his partner and then glanced at Vincent. “And this is all you have?”
“Isn’t it enough?”