Page 41 of The Journal of a Thousand Years
Alex cleared his throat. “Have you found any clues as to Thurlow’s or the Hobsons’ whereabouts?”
The sergeant shook his head. “Nothing. The Hobson women haven’t showed up at their home or the factory, and we only have an office address for Thurlow. He wasn’t there. Men have been dispatched to the Epsom Downs racecourse, so that might yield something.”
“Willie and I already went there this morning. It’s the first place we looked. We’ll head back now and see if there’s any news. Sylvia, do you want to look around here a little more?”
“Absolutely not. I never want to see this place again.” I strode out and did not look back.
The Scotland Yardteam conducting inquiries at Epsom Downs were conspicuous because they were doing very little compared to everyone else. It was race day, but too early for the public. Most of the horses were still arriving with the trainers’ teams, and officials strode across the course with purpose. More staff came and went from the main members’ pavilion, the grandbuilding with the expansive veranda and the best views over the finish line.
We spoke to the detective in charge who had very little to report. No one knew where Thurlow could be hiding out. “I’ve just come from his office myself, and he wasn’t there. It was locked up, good and tight.”
“That ain’t normal,” Willie said.
Alex checked the time on his watch. “It’s still early.”
“It’s race day. The office would be open by now, taking bets, both good and illegal. Then he’d close up around eleven and make his way down here to oversee the bookmakers operating under his license.” She nodded at the empty betting circle.
Several of the bookmakers who would set up stands there later would owe Thurlow a portion of their takings. Those who tried to cheat him risked his wrath. We knew from personal experience what happened when Thurlow was crossed. We’d been run off the road as a result of trying to trick him. If it hadn’t been for Gabe saving us when time slowed for him, we’d have died.
Gabe.
A pain gripped my chest, as if a hand were squeezing my heart, wringing out every last ounce of strength I had left.
Alex pressed his fingers into his forehead. “All right. We’ll wait a little longer. When Thurlow’s bookmakers show up, we’ll question them.”
“Thoroughly,” Willie ground out through gritted teeth. “I ain’t leaving here without an address for that cur.”
After ten minutes of waiting, I fell into step alongside Alex. Together, we paced along the fence that separated the spectators from the track. The physical exercise alleviated our restlessness but did nothing to increase our levels of patience.
Willie had disappeared, heading in the direction of the stables. I wasn’t sure how she could think about placing a betat a moment like this, but we all coped in different ways and if checking out the runners in today’s races kept her out of our hair, then I was in favor of it.
Finally, the bookmakers began to arrive. They marked their territory in the betting circle by positioning their chalkboards and the crates they’d stand on to be seen above the crowd. There was a lot of chatter between them today, more so than the other times I’d visited on race days.
“Something’s amiss,” Alex said as he walked off.
I trailed after him, trotting to keep up with his long strides. Willie joined us before we entered the betting circle. Her fists were closed at her sides, and I knew her gun was tucked into the waistband of her trousers, hidden by her jacket. I hoped she wouldn’t need to use it, but for once I was glad she had it.
She thumped Alex’s arm and nodded at a scruffy looking fellow with a droopy left eye. “He’s one of Thurlow’s. We’ll start with him.”
The scruffy bookmaker was talking in earnest to another two men. They stopped when they saw our approach and broke apart. They recognized us.
Always as blunt as a hammer, Willie took the direct approach to questioning. “Where’s Thurlow?”
The bookmaker shrugged. “Don’t know. I ain’t seen him.”
“Don’t try that with me. I ain’t got the patience for it today.”
The bookmaker put up his hands. “I’m telling the truth. He wasn’t at the office. I thought he might come here.”
“Tell us where he’d be if not in his office.”
The bookmaker shrugged again.
Alex addressed one of the others. “Have you seen him?”
“Not today,” the man said. “None of us have. He might turn up here before racing starts.”
“Where could he be? Home? A pub?”
