Dick Francis's Damage by Felix Francis

really. Racing can afford it. According to your own figures, the racing industry is worth three and a half billion a year.
    You will not contact the police or I will destroy all confidencein racing. The betting public will desert you in droves and British Racing will go out of business. So remember, NO POLICE.
    Send your acceptance via the personal column in The Times . Place the following announcement in the paper and you will then be sent further details: Van Gogh accepts Leonardo’s generous offer of marriage.
    â€œDon’t tell me this is the original letter,” I said with a degree of exasperation.
    He looked at me guiltily.
    â€œAnd you’ve passed it round this table?”
    He nodded
    â€œYou’re mad,” I said. “You will have destroyed any chance of getting any useful fingerprints from it. Where’s the envelope? Can we test that?”
    â€œWe are not involving the police.” Roger Vincent was adamant. “We can’t take the risk.”
    â€œThey may have to be involved eventually,” I said. And as far as I was concerned, the sooner the better.
    â€œAs may be, but we want you to carry out an investigation first, quietly and effectively, to ascertain who wrote this letter and how he doped so many horses at Cheltenham. In the meantime, we will place the announcement in
The Times
.”
    â€œBut surely you’re not going to pay this man.” I looked around the table at the glum faces. Most of the eyes avoided meeting mine. “There’s no guarantee that he won’t ask for more money next year, next month or even next week. What will you do then?”
    â€œWe feel we have no alternative,” Howard Lever said with a sigh.
    â€œOf course you have,” I said forcibly. “Ignore him or tell himto take a jump. You must call in the police so they can find out who it is and throw him in jail.”
    â€œBut what about racing?” Howard Lever said. “Things are financially precarious enough with all the Internet gambling sites now basing themselves offshore to avoid the betting levy. The Board feels that a scandal of this magnitude could bring us down permanently like a house of cards in a wind.”
    Everyone knew that things weren’t great money-wise in racing, but I had no idea they were that bad.
    â€œSo you’re going to try and keep this all hush-hush?”
    â€œThat’s the plan,” said Ian Tulloch from the far end.
    â€œWell, I think you’re all crazy,” I said, taking a liberty way beyond my station. “For a start, shutting down all communications and removing every cell phone at the office front door was as good as broadcasting long and loud that something was seriously wrong. Out there in the office it’s like speculation city. What are you going to tell the staff?” I looked around at the other members of the Board. “Mr. Pottinger,” I went on. “You’re a public relations man. Surely this could all blow up in our faces.”
    Piers Pottinger was a PR heavyweight with a special connection with the media, gaming and horseracing industries. He was a past and present owner of racehorses and had the distinction of owning the oldest horse ever to win a race at Royal Ascot when Caracciola came home to win the Queen Alexandra Stakes at age twelve.
    â€œThe PR position is very delicate,” he said. “Confidence is everything in this industry. As I see it, as long as the public has confidence in us, there is no problem. But when that confidence drains away . . . well, so would racing’s betting revenue. And pretty quickly too.” He paused for effect. “Either course of action clearly has some risk. If we say nothing to the police, andprovided the matter is resolved without any media coverage, all remains fine in the eyes of the public. However, if the story leaks, then even if we resolve the matter successfully, confidence may have been eroded