The Phar Lap Mystery Page 4

  Oh, and one more thing. Billy came home a couple of hours after Dad, and he did get a belting (I didn’t see it, but I could hear him yelling) and he wasn’t allowed to have any dinner (though Mrs Bellini smuggled him in something later when his parents were listening to the radio in the sitting-room). Mrs Fox was a bit teary at dinner and Mr Fox was taciturn—that’s a good new word I learned, it means someone who doesn’t speak much. But Ruby obviously missed Billy. She kept asking if he was coming, and eventually even her doting dad got fed up and growled at her to keep quiet, and then she cried and Mrs Fox got upset. Meanwhile the Quinns were concerned about their baby who has a bit of colic and screamed till Mrs Quinn took him back upstairs, so all in all it wasn’t exactly the most enjoyable evening I have ever spent.

  May 3

  We are in the afternoon train coming back to Melbourne from Bacchus Marsh. I brought my diary with me so I could write everything down as soon as possible. And I’m glad I did, because otherwise I would burst with everything I’ve seen and felt!

  We left Melbourne on an early train. We had just settled into our carriage and the train had started off when we heard the sound of running footsteps, and in a moment someone had hurtled into the carriage. It was Billy! We were so surprised we could only stare at him, and as to Billy, he stared at us with wild eyes. He looked like he was about to say something when a train official in uniform came bustling in, saying, ‘Now come here you young rascal and I’ll—’ Then he saw us and stopped and said, ‘Beg your pardon, but I’m after this young rogue, he jumped on the train without paying.’

  ‘Oh, you mean my nephew,’ said Dad calmly, with a wink at Billy. ‘I’m sorry, mister, he almost missed it, that’s all. Here are all our fares’. And he paid for Billy too while I sat there stunned and Billy stood cornered, his eyes big as saucers. When the man had gone, Dad turned to Billy and said, ‘Fancy a trip to see Phar Lap, do you, sonny?’ To my utter amazement Billy nodded, biting his lip. ‘I glimpsed you at the tracks the other day,’ said Dad gently, patting the seat next to him. ‘You love horses, don’t you?’ Billy nodded again and I stared at him, remembering how he had sneered about people loving Phar Lap and how that had got him into trouble. I thought he must be very strange to do such a thing if he did in fact love horses.

  ‘Your dad was a jockey, wasn’t he, son?’ Another nod. This time I stared at Dad. How did he know all this? But then Dad is a detective and it’s his job to find things out, I suppose.

  ‘That’s why you went to see horses being exercised at the track, isn’t it?’ A nod. ‘Would you like to be a jockey too?’

  A shake of the head. Billy mumbled, ‘Nah. Strapper.’

  ‘Like Tommy Woodcock.’ A nod. ‘Why haven’t you told your parents?’

  Billy made a violent gesture. ‘He’s not my dad.’

  ‘But your mum—’

  ‘She doesn’t care what I do. Nobody cares.’

  ‘Oh, I think your mother does care, Billy. And Ruby. She kept asking for you last night.’

  Something bobbed in Billy’s throat. ‘Ruby’s all right.’

  ‘Your mother …’ Dad tried again. ‘She’s worried about you, missing school and everything.’

  ‘I hate school.’

  ‘But if you told her about your ambition, maybe she’d understand why you—’

  ‘Nah,’ said Billy bleakly. ‘Nobody understands.’

  ‘You’d be surprised,’ said Dad gently.

  Billy looked at Dad, then at me. He shrugged.

  Dad sighed. ‘Look, Billy, you can come with us, but when we get to Bacchus Marsh I’m going to call your parents, let them know you’re safe and with us.’

  Billy looked down at his dusty shoes. ‘He’ll belt me again when I get back.’

  ‘No, he won’t. Not when I explain I asked you to come and help me take notes.’

  I glared at Dad. What a thing to say! He had me to take notes! He didn’t need stupid carrot-top Puffing Billy! Dad saw my look and he gave me a glare back. I said nothing, but I felt really cross. Billy was going to spoil my day, I could just see it.

  After that we sat there in silence while the train chugged on, until pretty soon we were in Bacchus Marsh. At the station Dad made the call to Sorrento—he got Mrs Bellini who said she would pass on the message—and then a young fellow in a cap approached us and asked if we were the party bound for Underbank. When Dad said yes he said Mr Woodcock had sent him to collect us in a car, as it was too far to walk.

  Later

  Back at Sorrento now.

  Underbank is a good place set in hilly country with a big house and outbuildings and nice stables and big tree-dotted paddocks where the horses are exercised. The driver, whose name I don’t think we ever learned, dropped us outside the stables, and the very first person we saw was Tommy Woodcock himself, talking to a stable lad. I knew it was him because I had seen a picture of him in the papers. He’s quite young and he’s got a nice face, with laughing blue eyes. Dad introduced us—he said Billy was the son of a friend, who just loved horses—and Mr Woodcock smiled and said he was pleased to meet us all, and first of all, what he wanted to know was, who was paying Dad for his detective work, and why? And when he said that the smile vanished and his face hardened and his eyes were bright and cold.

  Dad told the truth: that he did not know, but had been commissioned by Mr Kane. He said that the client wanted to be anonymous, but what Dad knew was that he was a big fan of Phar Lap and was horrified by what had happened.

  Mr Woodcock’s expression softened then and he said softly, ‘So was I, mate, so was I. Bobby,’ (that’s what Mr Woodcock mostly calls Phar Lap) ‘is not just the world’s best racehorse—he’s such a beauty, you know, such a gentle soul.’ He looked at me. ‘Your little girl could ride him, he’s that gentle.’

  I said, ‘Oh, Mr Woodcock! Could I!’ and then I went red as everyone laughed and I realised it was just one of those things people say that they don’t really mean. I wouldn’t have minded so much if Billy hadn’t laughed like a drain too. I really, really wanted to kick him so hard then!

  But I didn’t have time to even glare at him, because Mr Woodcock said, ‘Perhaps you might like to meet him first, hmm, before you ask me any questions, Mr Fielding?’

  ‘Charlie,’ said Dad. ‘And yes. Please. These two—it will make their day. And mine, too,’ he added quickly.

  ‘Wait a moment,’ said Mr Woodcock. He went in the stables and a few moments later came out again—leading Phar Lap himself!

  I forgot about my humiliation. I forgot about Billy’s presence. I forgot about having to go to Nan and Pop’s. All I could think of was him. I couldn’t help staring and staring at the horse who was the most famous animal in all of Australia, and even the world!

  I’d seen him at Randwick that time, of course, but that was from a distance. And I’d seen him in newspaper pictures lots of times. But seeing him in life, close, that is so, so different! I knew he was big, but up close he was huge. His back was level with Dad’s shoulders, and Dad is a tall man. I could easily have walked under him without hardly having to duck! (Not that I wanted to!) He had a fine head with that white star on the front, and a splash of white on his back legs and that beautiful chestnut colour on the rest of him. His mane was silky and well-brushed; his eyes were dark and gentle, but lively too. He walked out, snuffling gently at Mr Woodcock’s shirt and then stood quietly looking at us while his strapper talked about what a lovely nature he has, and what a clean horse in the stable he is, never makes a mess of things, a bit of a picky eater—’But then the best are, aren’t they? He’s so clever too, you can teach him to do anything, and he just loves racing, just loves it, he loves being made a fuss of too afterwards, he just laps up those happy crowds.’ Phar Lap pricked his ears at that and looked at us with his big dark eyes, and I wished I could throw my arms around his neck and give him a big hug.

  I happened to catch Billy’s eye then and he looked back at me and actually smiled! I had only seen
him smile once before, and that was at Ruby. But Dad looked happy as well, and he doesn’t even care about horses much. Every one of us had fallen under Phar Lap’s spell.

  Mr Woodcock said that Phar Lap likes children, because Mr Telford has a young son who loves him to bits. In fact he likes people in general, Mr Woodcock said, but when he doesn’t, you can be sure they’re bad sorts, he’s a good judge of character, better than most people. Mr Woodcock also said that he was probably the person Phar Lap loved most of all, and that sometimes it could be difficult because the horse would fret if his best friend wasn’t around, and would go off his food.

  ‘I spend a terrible lot of me time with him,’ he said, smiling. ‘Often I have to sleep with him in the stable. Lucky my wife Emma’s a good sort who understands!’ Then he said, ‘Would you children like to stroke him?’ He let us come very close and gently touch Phar Lap on his beautiful nose. The horse made a little sound as though he was pleased, and he looked at us in such a way that, if he was a human, you’d have said he was smiling.

  His breath was warm and he smelt nice, of straw and that horsey smell that’s hard to describe. Dad said what a picture it made, and I knew he was regretting not bringing his camera (though Mr Telford had specified he wanted no pictures taken). But it didn’t matter to me. I would never forget it, I thought, never, never. I looked at Billy’s face and I thought he felt the same, and for a moment I forgot about disliking him and understood exactly why he wanted to be a strapper like Mr Woodcock. Not that you could expect to get a horse like his Bobby to look after, of course. Phar Lap is one in a thousand. A million.

  Later—after dinner

  Anyway, then Mr Woodcock let a stable lad take Phar Lap for a bit of a walk around, though he kept his eye on them all the time, and Dad started to ask him questions. I’ll write down what I remember of what he said in the way Dad records interviews.

  Charlie Fielding: In the first incident, when the car swerved at you—did you notice if it was the same car as in the later incident, when you were shot at?

  Tommy Woodcock: It all happened too fast for me to really tell the make of the car, or even really the colour. I think it was blue, but I can’t be sure. It was a bit of a shock, especially after I told Mr Telford and he then told me about the threats he’d received over the phone. I hadn’t known till then.

  CF: But you didn’t go to the police?

  TW: Not then. We weren’t absolutely sure if it had been deliberate or an accident. Mr Telford didn’t want a big fuss.

  CF: But he changed his mind after the second incident?

  TW: Of course. It was getting serious.

  CF: Any idea who might be behind it all?

  TW: People did talk at the time about crooked bookies who were really fronts for gangsters. Phar Lap had lost ’em a lot of money.

  CF: What do you think of that?

  TW: It’s possible. But police interviewed the usual suspects and got nowhere.

  CF: Why? Were people scared of talking?

  TW: Could be. But it could also be because they were asking the wrong people.

  CF: What do you mean? That it wasn’t bookies behind it?

  TW: Look, it was Victorian police interviewing Victorian bookies. But maybe it wasn’t Victorians who did this.

  CF: What? You mean the criminals might have come from Sydney?

  TW: Well, I heard the numberplate I saw had been registered in NSW.

  CF: Oh. Yes. That’s right. Now—I wondered, what about other possible culprits—other owners, other trainers, maybe? TW: No, mate. No way! Those people, they love horses. Besides, if it was found out they’d done such a thing, it could be done to their horses too. Tit for tat. See what I mean?

  CF: Sure. Could it have been a punter who had a lot of money riding on another horse for the Cup and wanted Phar Lap out of the race?

  TW: Could be.

  CF: What if it was a prank?

  TW: What?

  CF: A prank. A joke. I heard some people say it could have been the press.

  TW: Strewth, mate. Hardly. Remember—two attempts were made on us, but both times, they failed. Because they wanted to fail, see? It was no joke, believe me, but it wasn’t seriously meant to hurt Bobby or me or Pike, the jockey—he was told he should take care, too, you know that, right?

  CF: Yes. I did hear that.

  TW: Mr Telford put Pike under protection, too. See, the whole thing was meant to frighten Mr Telford into scratching Bobby from the Cup.

  (That means taking him out of the race.)

  CF: You mean it was an attempt to blackmail Mr Telford?

  TW: That’s what I reckon. But it didn’t work, because of course we called the police and Bobby was put under guard. He won the Melbourne Stakes that afternoon without anyone else having a pot-shot at him. Mr Telford did get another phone threat the next day, but nothing came of it, because they didn’t know where Bobby was. Nobody knew except for us and the police guards. Not even the bigwigs at the Victorian Racing Club.

  CF: And there’s been no other attempt since, is that right?

  TW: No. After the Cup, everything settled down. Mr Telford didn’t even get any more threats. And no-one’s tried anything here.

  CF: How do you explain that?

  TW: Reckon someone had a word.

  CF: You mean the police found out who it was and warned them off?

  TW: Could be.

  CF: But how does that make you feel? I mean, someone could try again one day and—

  TW: Mr Telford says it’s been sorted. Mr Telford doesn’t lie.

  CF: So you don’t think Bobby is still in danger?

  TW: No.

  CF: But don’t you want to know who—

  TW: No. Long as Bobby’s safe now, that’s all I care about.

  After that the interview ended and Mr Woodcock said goodbye to us and took Phar Lap off for his morning exercise. We stood watching them till they were out of sight. Billy said, ‘Cor!’ and that was all he said, but his eyes were like stars. Then we were driven back to the station and caught the next train back. On the way we talked and talked about what had happened, but mostly about Phar Lap himself.

  Ow, my hand’s aching, I feel like it’s going to drop off! But I’ve got to finish before I go to bed. Like Dad promised, Billy didn’t get in trouble. Dad made it quite clear to Mr Fox that wouldn’t do at all, and funnily enough Mr Fox seemed somehow glad. Both he and Mrs Fox kept saying that Billy should have told them he wanted to be apprenticed as a strapper, and if that’s what he wanted, then Mr Fox could go with Billy to visit some trainer he knew who might take him on. Usually Billy would’ve made some smart-aleck comment, but this time he just nodded, though I heard him muttering later, ‘Course they just want to get rid of me.’ But thank goodness no-one except me and Mrs Bellini heard, and we said nothing, of course! In any case, Billy was the centre of attention tonight because he just went on and on about Phar Lap, and for once everyone listened to him and didn’t tell him to shut up. I was glad he was doing the talking. I didn’t want to talk, I just wanted to think about what it had been like and how if I put my hand up to my nose, I could still smell Phar Lap, and remember the touch of his velvety skin.

  One more thing to report—Dad and I are going back to Sydney tomorrow. Dad has a lead he wants to chase up there, I think because of what Tommy Woodcock suggested about the criminals perhaps coming not from Melbourne but from Sydney. I’m going to miss Melbourne, and especially Mrs Bellini, but I’m glad I’m going home and will be able to tell Lizzie all about everything that happened! And at least it doesn’t look like I’m going to Nan and Pop’s right now. At least not for a few days, till Dad sorts things out at the Sydney end. I’m going to cross my fingers and toes and hope that will take him ages and ages!

  May 8

  I’m back at school, curses, but at least there’s been no mention of me staying with Nan and Pop. It was just great telling Lizzie and my other friends about what had happened. I’m rather famous at school cos
everyone got to hear about our visit to Phar Lap, and even the big boys who normally would trip a girl up just for fun are being suspiciously nice. That bruiser of a mick Brian Sullivan even gave me a gobstopper the other day, because he wanted me to tell him all over again about what Phar Lap looked like and what Tommy Woodcock said (I just talked about what he said about the horse, not the other stuff—Dad said I should keep quiet about that, though I did tell Lizzie after swearing her to secrecy, she is really good at keeping her mouth shut). I didn’t want Brian’s gobstopper—it was dusty from being in his pocket, and anyway he had touched it and I didn’t want his smelly germs!—but I told him about Phar Lap and Mr Woodcock and he grinned and said, ‘That’s so good, you’re so lucky.’ Then he said if I ever had any problems, he would sort them out for me! Dad laughed and laughed when I told him, but I thought it wasn’t that funny, at least not funny haha. Funny peculiar, yes!

  Another funny peculiar thing that happened was that Mrs Bennett herself even gave me a smile the other day! It was a bit scary, like when Weasel Face smiled, because she doesn’t have a face that’s built for smiling. That’s what Lizzie reckons (Lizzie doesn’t get on with her either). Dad says I should enjoy basking in Phar Lap’s reflected glory because it won’t last long, reflected glory never does. He’s been busy every day following up leads, like he did in Melbourne. He’s gone to see used car dealers and junkyards, cos he’s got this idea that the Studebaker used in the shooting was maybe driven to NSW and disposed of there, and he’s trying to find out if it went through any yard here. It’s a long and boring job and so far he hasn’t got lucky. But he says he is more and more convinced there’s a Sydney link. He’s got one of his contacts in the NSW police force to check out if someone in the transport division might have been able to lift that plate number from the registry, and he’s going to check them too. So far he is very busy in Sydney and not talking about going back to Melbourne any time soon, thank goodness.