By Dick Francis
For millionaire jockey Alan York, successful is an advantage. For Joe Nantwich, victory capacity no soft backhanders; and for invoice Davidson, entrance operating on strongly fancied Admiral, triumph is an imposter. It ability homicide - his personal. Turning inner most detective, York makes use of Joe's underworld connections to head at the path of the killers - simply to attract a sequence of blanks. but if ambushed through a gang of vicious thugs, he selections up a few clues together with his cuts and bruises. Bill's homicide starts off to make extra feel. until eventually York unearths himself in health facility, and not using a memory.'Fresh and fascinating ...very lively' - "Sunday Times". 'As a jockey, Dick Francis was once unbeatable while he received into his stride. an analogous is right, these days, of his crime writing' - "Daily Mirror."
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Extra info for Dead Cert (The Dick Francis library)
The rug, I thought, might give me a clue as to where the box had come from. Most trainers and some owners have their initials embroidered or sewn in tape in large letters on the corners of their horse rugs. If there were initials on this one, it would be easy. I picked it up. It was pale fawn with a dark brown binding. I found the initials. I stood there as if turned to stone. Y. It was my own rug. Pete, when I ran him to earth, looked in no mood to answer any questions needing much thought. He leaned back against the weighing-room wall with a glass of champagne in one hand and a cigar in the other, surrounded by a pack of friends similarly equipped.
I said, as he lapsed into silence again. ' I told him about the wire. He listened with a calm, unsurprised expression, but his grey eyes were bleak. ' said Pete. 'Can't say I blame you. I can't help you much, though. There's only one thing… Bill told me he'd had a telephone call which made him laugh. But I didn't listen pro- perly to what he said - I was thinking about my horses, you know how it is. It was something about Admiral falling. He thought it was a huge joke and I didn't go into it with him to find out what I'd missed.
I don't know,' I said, perplexed and more interested in Joe's troubles than I had been before. The phone call was inconsistent, I thought, with the notes. One ordered business as usual, the other promised revenge. 'I wonder if Joe always tells the truth,' I said. 'Highly unlikely,' said Dane, dismissing it. One of the Stewards came and reminded us that even after the Champion Hurdle, drinking in the weighing room itself was frowned on, and would we please drift along into the changing room. Dane did that, but I finished my drink and went outside.