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- KurzbeschreibungNew York Times bestselling author Felix Francis continues his father's legacy of suspense-driven fiction with Dick Francis's Damage ...
Undercover investigator Jeff Hinkley is assigned by the British Horseracing Authority to look into the activities of a suspicious racehorse trainer, but as he's tailing his quarry, Jeff bears witness to a bloody murder. Could it have something to do with the reason the trainer was banned in the first place-the administration of illegal drugs to his horses?
Soon it's discovered that many more horses have tested positive for stimulants-and an unknown person starts making demands, threatening to completely destroy the integrity of the racing industry. To protect the sport itself, Jeff must uncover the perpetrator. But he's up against someone who will stop at nothing to prevail.
- AutorFelix Francis
- VerlagPenguin LCC US
- Seiten448 Seiten
- Gewicht252 g
I've had the test results and the news isn't good."
I couldn't get the words out of my head.
I was sitting in the shadows at the back of a race-program kiosk near the north entrance to Cheltenham racetrack, scanning the faces of the crowd as they flooded through the turnstiles.
I was looking out for any one of the fifty or so individuals who were banned from British racetracks, but my mind kept drifting back to the telephone conversation I'd had that morning with my sister.
"I've had the test results and the news isn't good."
"In what way?" I asked with rising dread.
"It's cancer," she said quietly.
I'd feared so but had hoped desperately that I was wrong.
I waited silently. She'd go on if she wanted to.
"It's all a bit of a bugger." She sighed audibly down the line. "I've got to have surgery next Monday and then some chemo."
"What's the surgery for?"
"To remove my gallbladder. That's where the cancer is."
"Can you live without it?"
She laughed. "The gallbladder or the cancer?"
"I hope so." The laughter evaporated from her voice. "Time will tell. Things don't appear very rosy at the moment. I may have only a few months left."
Oh God, I thought. What does one do when given that scenario? Do you try to carry on as normal or attempt to cram as much into the remaining time as possible? In reality, I suspected that treatment and feeling ill would take over everything. Not very rosy indeed.
I realized that I hadn't been paying attention to the flow of humanity passing by in front of me.
Concentrate, I said to myself, and went back to studying faces.
It was Champion Hurdle Day, the first of the annual Cheltenham Steeplechasing Festival, and, in spite of the inclement weather, a crowd of over fifty thousand was expected to cram into the Gloucestershire racetrack. Everyone had an umbrella or a rain hat of some kind-ideal conditions for the unwelcome few to hide among the masses.
I knew by sight all those who had racetrack-banning orders, but I was on the lookout for one particular individual that our intelligence branch had suggested might come to Cheltenham that day.
A large man walked up to the kiosk to buy a race program, standing there while he hunted for change in his pockets. I shifted my position to see past him, looking over the head of the program seller who sat directly in front of me.
It was a role I was used to.
My name was Jeff Hinkley and I was an investigator for the British Horseracing Authority. Hence, I spent much of my time half hidden, scanning faces, watching out for those who had no place in racing. Not that being banned from entering racetracks ever stopped them trying.
Cancer of the gallbladder
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