Condemned, R.C. Bridgestock [most romantic novels TXT] 📗

You see, two years ago I couldn’t stop myself driving to race meetings. My girlfriend, Beth, and I were buying a new house at the time and we needed as much money as we could get for the deposit. I became obsessed. I’d study the horse’s form, weight, stamina, how well the jockey knew the horse, how good the trainer was, if he liked the racecourse, soft or hard ground, etcetera. I bought racing papers, books, and with the small amount of spare cash I had, I had a few mediocre wins. We put a deposit on a house. It was to be our forever home. A four-bedroomed house, at a price that was beyond our wildest dreams just a few months before. Beth was over the moon.’

At the mention of his fiancée’s name, Ricky-Lee began sobbing as if his heart would break, with tears that blurred his vision, and no amount of furious blinking would stop them from escaping to run down his cheeks. He swiftly wiped them away with the back of his hand, but it was futile, as they kept falling.

Charley lent over and offered him a tissue, which he accepted gratefully. ‘Your fiancée Beth, she knew you were gambling to get the money?’

Ricky-Lee shook his bowed head. ‘No, I never had to lie, because she never asked. She knew I couldn’t, and wouldn’t, talk about my work, and so she never questioned a new interest or hobby, and I explained it away as research, which was mostly true. You can’t go into a life-and-death undercover situation unprepared, can you?’ Ricky-Lee sniffed, and held back his head to help stop the flow of tears. ‘We were so, so happy. Then it all started to go wrong. I began to lose. I persuaded myself that it was just a little bad luck. I used credit cards to get more money, and then one day, on impulse, I stripped our savings. Would you believe I bet on the colours that a certain jockey was wearing?’ Twiddling his thumbs, Ricky-Lee’s words were no more than a whisper. ‘When Beth found out, I’d lost everything. We had lost everything.’ Ricky-Lee drew in a deep breath and looked her straight in the eye. ‘Beth moved on. There was no going back for her. I couldn’t bear living in the same place as her – hearing what she was getting up to was killing me… So, I asked for a transfer, anywhere, and there was a vacancy for a detective at Peel Street Police Station. It was supposed to be a new start for me.’

‘Tough, but you haven’t given up though, have you?’

‘I had, boss, but there was no one to tempt me here. Gambling ruined my life once. I was determined that I wasn’t going to let it happen again. Then when Ben and Terry started visiting the station from HQ, they brought the racing papers into the office, and I enjoyed their banter. I haven’t made many friends up North – let’s face it, the hours we work who would want a relationship with someone in CID? I found that talking about race meetings was something I could talk to them about, that I could join in with. It was obvious looking back, that I would be tempted, for how could I know so much about the sport and not have a flutter with them; it would have looked odd. We had a couple of wins, and then I got daily messages asking me what I fancied, in this race or that… but I’ve not only let myself down, now I have let you down, and I feel terrible.’

‘Tell me, how are you funding your gambling?’

‘The first few wins gave us the stake money to carry on for a while without it costing any of us anything. When it started to get out of hand, I called a halt to it. I’ve told them. I have. That’s God’s honest truth, that’s why I’m avoiding them now.’

Charley looked serious. ‘I have a problem with you. I want my staff focused on the murder enquiries. Not on what’s going to win the bloody four o’clock at Haydock! I don’t want any of my officers being distracted from the job in hand. Do I make myself clear?’

Ricky-Lee nodded emphatically. ‘Crystal clear, boss. I’m sorry. I promise I never did let it interfere with any of my enquiries on this job, honestly I didn’t.’

‘Well, whatever you say, the Racing Post ended up on your desk and you studied it. I saw the evidence for myself, so tell me why I should believe you now? I’ve got to decide if I can trust you to do the job which you’re paid to do, or do you need to be taken off this enquiry?’

‘Please don’t; the thought of that really scares me.’ Ricky-Lee begged. ‘I don’t know what I’d do. The job, my colleagues, it’s all I’ve got. I had a relapse, but never again, I promise. You can trust me. You know you can.’

Charley stared at the detective, shaking her head. ‘Don’t judge a book by its cover, but the first time I saw you I got the impression you were self-centred, what with your tanning and your designer clothes, but it’s only now that I know you are. As your supervisor, I can’t just take a cloth and wipe this sorry mess away. I am leading a team of people and am dusting, sweeping and mopping up their shit on a daily basis. Look at Wilkie; he’s got a disabled wife who relies on him for everything. Do you hear him wailing on, woe is me? This is life.’

She thought that Ricky-Lee had the decency to look ashamed.

‘Look at you, feeling all sorry for yourself, with not a single thought for your colleagues whom you are in danger of pulling down with you by your lack of attention to the job.’

Charley paused, and sighed. ‘Okay,’ she said. She took a moment and her expression softened