Grey tossed another witness statement onto the never-ending pile on his desk, longing to hear the support in his wife’s voice. Their conversation had been brief—too brief. He’d asked Julia about the twins, but he’d barely listened; his mind had already been dragged back to work before she could even finish telling him about their day. It wasn’t fair to her or to them. In the cramped confines of his office, a large map of the racetrack clung to a dingy, hay-colored wall, providing a visual reference point as he sipped lukewarm coffee. He stared at a whiteboard covered in timelines, notes, and photographs like they were indecipherable question marks. It was three days after the Grand National now, and the investigation had stalled. Witness accounts were riddled with inconsistencies. Initial theories of foul play had leapfrogged into accusations of terrorism, all leading to dead ends. To make matters worse, Chief Inspector Sanderson had been up his arse, demanding something from him every few hours.
Grey rubbed his temples, the caffeine doing little to clear the fog in his mind. Sod it! Enough is enough. He grabbed his coat and set off for headquarters, dialing Dr. Walsh on the way, hoping she had something juicy to feed Sanderson. Detective Turner looked up when Grey entered the command center at his post. The room buzzed with activity as two dozen detectives worked at long desks. Phone receivers constantly rang, printers spewed out papers.
“Any progress yet?”
Detective Turner shrugged. “Not much, I’m afraid…”
“I just spoke to Dr. Walsh; she told me, based on the autopsy results, something must have severely agitated the horses before they began displaying such erratic behavior. But she has nothing conclusive as of yet.”
“Well, that’s no help!”
“Have any unusual substances been found at the racetrack? Anything related to their feed?”
Turner slipped on his black-rimmed glasses. “Just a minute, Guv. Well, this is the official statement, to paraphrase. The racetrack’s management and racing commission have conducted thorough inspections—stating that nothing suspicious was detected in the horse’s environment, stables, equipment, or feed.”
“What do you think, Turner? Do you have any fresh theories or angles to consider? You’ve been on this non-stop.”
“It could be anything: rat poison, pesticides, some industrial chemical, magic mushrooms!”
“Well, that narrows it down.”
“Hey, I’m just getting started here. Give a man a chance!”
“Alright, Detective, impress me.”
“Whoever did this likely had access to the stables. That points to an inside job: one of the trainers, jockeys, or stable hands, maybe?”
“What about a scorned bettor? Someone who lost a lot of money and wanted revenge.”
“No self-respecting gambler would go to that length over a few bad bets!”
Grey raised his hands in mock surrender. “I’m just throwing out possibilities here. You horse racing enthusiasts know the industry best.”
“Bloody right, we do. Alright, you’ve got me. Bettors are a possibility we can’t rule out.”
“Nice to see that mammoth ego of yours can be burst from time to time.”
“Keep it up, Guv, and I might have you assigned to stable duty.”
“All joking aside, Turner we’re getting nowhere fast.”
Detective Jamison, one of Grey’s best lead investigators, approached. “Sir, I have something interesting to show you.”
Grey stood up straighter, exhaustion temporarily gone from his eyes. “Tell me, Detective?”
“When I was reviewing the camera footage for the third time, as you suggested…I found something that may be significant.”
“Let’s hear it then. What did you discover in the footage?”
“Come with me. I’ll show you the footage in the media room.”
Though the media room was not as large as an incident command center, the room held enough equipment for the job at hand. Police radio chatter filled the air with an intermittent blast of radio static. Rows of monitors broadcast continuous footage from the race day. Grey and Turner sat at the central console. Turner caught a whiff of stale coffee and cigarettes next to Grey’s shoulder. Jamison leaned over with a remote control. The footage showed a tall man clad in a unique top hat, at odds with the dress code of the nearby spectators, wearing sunglasses in the VIP section. Jamison tapped the keyboard, whipping up a sequence from another security camera when he approached the sentry of royal guards. He then put the sequence on a loop so they could observe it frame by frame. Still, the man’s features remained hidden behind his hat and sunglasses.
“Jamison, what are we meant to be looking at here exactly? I don’t have all day to muse over footage that may not be relevant.”
“Let’s hear Jamison out, guv. He may have something we have not seen yet!”
“This footage is exactly ten minutes before the start of the race,” Jamison said.
“We see our guy draw closer and closer, pushing his way through. Notice how the guards stop and frisk all the other guests when they enter the royal entrance.”
Grey and Turner leaned forward, eyes riveted to the screen. “What am I looking for?” asked Turner.
“Watch this!”
Jamison adjusted several knobs, toggling through additional camera angles; tracking the guard on the left, who did a wink. Zooming in on the guard on the right, who turned away.
“What do you think?” Jamison asked.
“It’s not exactly the most riveting evidence I’ve ever seen,” said Grey.
“You’re not exactly Lieutenant Columbo, are you, Jamison?” joked Turner.
“You might change your mind when I show you what’s happening in the royal box.”
“Why not start from there, then? Instead of dicking around,” asked Grey.
“I was giving you the prelude. Now it’s time for the main course!”
Grey and Turner hawked in on the royal box when Jamison jumped the footage ahead. “There he is again,” said Turner.
“It’s not unusual for the royals to invite acquaintances to watch the race,” Grey mused.
“That may be true,” Jamison admitted. “But watch what happens when I switch to split-screen mode—it gets weirder.”
Jamison synced up the racetrack footage with the royal box footage, directing Grey and Turner’s attention. The king sat upright in his throne-like chair, transfixed by the horrifying scene on the racetrack. Meanwhile, the unidentified individual next to him watched the race with an unmistakable air of smug satisfaction, a sinister smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
“I have to admit it. It looks a little off-kilter, Guv.”
“Jamison, the man’s behavior is unusual, I give you that. But that’s not enough to hold up in a criminal court.”
Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.
“There is one more thing I noticed. Something even more troubling.”
“Out with it then! Jamison.”
“Look at the contrast. The callousness of the stranger beside our monarch’s evident distress.”
“The bastard’s eating a trifle while people are being trampled,” Turner said.
Jamison pointed out something even more bizarre. To where Shadowking crossed the finish line. The trio leaned forward. To their surprise, they saw the king’s lips curl into a subtle smile. It was a strange, almost sneering gesture, quite at odds with the evident turmoil occurring on the racetrack.
“His reaction makes no bloody sense!” said Turner.
A dark suspicion was dawning on all three of them now.
“We’ve got a person of interest,” Grey said, his tone dark.
Jamison continued. “Watch the king and the stranger leave together, they enter a private corporate box further along the grandstand.”
“That corporate box belongs to Balmoral Industries,” Turner said, recognizing the logo.
Grey was stunned. “This suggests a closer relationship. A relationship more personal than we imagined. Do we have clear optics from the security cameras inside Balmoral Industries corporate box?”
“Sir…accessing that type of footage is above my authorization level.”
“I don’t care about authorizations, Detective. We must have access to what transpired between that man and His Royal Highness.”
“Guv, honestly we cannot access such footage without a warrant or an executive approval.”
Grey shot to his feet, eyes blazing. “We’ve wasted enough time already. Every second we sit here scratching our arses, the bloody arsehole is putting more distance between us! I will sort out a warrant.”
“Turner?”
“Yes, guv.”
“Have the investigative units accounted for the whereabouts and movements of all royals, their attendants, dignitaries, and the bodyguards?”
“As far as I know, everyone has been accounted for. Why?”
Grey fell silent for a second. “Jamison, I need you to look into costume hire shops near the raceground. See if anyone recently rented a hat like that one.”
“My lads and I will head out and ask around. No problem.”
“Turner, while I deal with Sanderson, have a go at the facial recognition analysis on the still frames from the footage. We need to identify this man immediately. Just in case, it could lead to something.”
“Will do,” Turner replied, jotting down notes.
“I will get those shots scanned against every bloke in Britain.”
“And I want a lip-reading expert brought in to analyze the king’s conversation, as well as a body language expert to study this guy’s comportment.”
“A lip reader and a body language expert? That’s a stretch, guv.”
“Just make it happen, Turner. In whatever way you can manage.”
“Consider it done, guv.”
Detective Jamison and Turner hastened to catch up with Grey, marching out at the prospect of maybe a breakthrough. Back at the incident command center, Grey stepped onto the platform, his voice cut through the hum of voices with authority.
“Everyone! I need your attention.”
Grey grabbed a black marker, scrubbing out notes with hard, deliberate strokes, where he wrote in large capital letters: UNKNOWN MAN IN THE ROYAL BOX.
“This is our lead now. Footage has come to light of an unidentified man speaking privately with the King just before and after the race. Before we conduct any interviews related to the Royal family, I must first seek clearance from Sanderson. This investigation concerns the security of the King himself, after all, so a measured, authorized approach is imperative! Is that clear?”
A chorus of “Yes sir,” followed.
“Good. Starting off, Turner outline the details of the security footage for the team."
Turner was amongst them on the floor. "We’re going to analyze the footage again. Using the cameras 1, 3, and 5 with the facial recognition software. We will focus the parameters on an age range between 18 to 30. Anything above 80% confidence is a possible flag.”
An electric focus filled the command center, with everyone writing down notes to Grey’s commands. “While I’m at it, I want a full round-up of all the ushers, waiters, and servers working the royal box. Someone had to serve this man. I need you all to dig deeper, guys and gals. Cross-reference the staff schedules against guest lists—get on it now.”
Several detectives spoke into phones, mobilizing the police units to carry out Grey’s orders. Papers shuffled; detectives scraped back chairs as the investigation unit sprung into action. The police clerks hurried, opening the heavy metal filing cabinets. Dozens of narrow drawers filled with manila folders containing lists of employees, contact details, and photographs got swiped out.
“Turner, you and Jamison brief the team on the notes you have taken. I will deal with Sanderson!”
“Right on it, guv.”
Grey left the command center, mulling through the scenarios they had discovered so far. Then out of the blue the British Horseracing Authority official appeared, accompanied by a young street urchin; a lad no older than fifteen, with ragged clothes and scuffed boots.
“Inspector Grey, this young man claims to have witnessed something about your investigation.”
“This had better be important!”
The official handed him an evidence bag with an amber gel inside. “The boy found this buried in one of the outer stables. Looks like some kind of supplement pouch with various product codes and symbols, like a serial barcode. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Where exactly was this discovered again?”
The gypsy spat, twisting his ink-stained fingers. “I saw somethin’ strange in the stalls, guv’nor. Somethin’ no horse should’ve had.”
Grey fixed the gypsy lad with a pointed stare. “Did you give this to the horses?”
“Me grass? I don’t squeal like a butcher’s pig to no coppers.”
Grey towered over the lad. “I’ll make it worth your trouble, lad. Name your price and it’s yours.”
“Two hundred quid is a fair price, guv’nor, for not keepin’ me trap shut!”
“How about I take you down to the station? I’m sure you’ll enjoy explaining this to the lads down in holding.”
“I’m just a stable hand! I give horses what they tell me. I ain’t no killer, I swear!”
Grey withdrew one hundred quid from his wallet. “Who’s ‘they’?”
He took a liking to the cheeky lad. The boy’s eyes lit up at the money.
“Some bloke gave it to me for the horses, said it’d give ‘em an edge.”
The gypsy ran his fingers through the two fifty-pound notes. “Plus a whole lot more if they won.”
“Were all the supplements and treatments for the horses cleared and registered before the race as required?” Grey said, facing the official.
“Everything was checked and double-checked as usual, all was in order.”
“So you’re confirming no unauthorized substances or devices were given to the horses?”
“Now see here, we run a tight ship. Any insinuations about negligence on our part are utter—”
“—I meant no offense. I’m just crossing off all possibilities,” Grey said, holding up a hand.
“As you can see. This situation grows more perplexing by the moment.”
A somber look was exchanged between Grey and the official.
“The supplements must have been secretly introduced into the horse’s medicine or feed after official checks were completed. I can’t believe this has happened. We have the strictest protocols in place.”
“I know,” Grey replied reassuringly. “Whoever carried this out was devious and determined enough to circumvent even the most stringent of checks. Take this evidence directly to the command center.”
Seeing the boy was telling the truth, Grey withdrew another hundred quid from his wallet as a reward. “Go with him and make an official statement, lad. Tell them everything you know about the man who paid you.”
The gypsy nodded reluctantly, hoping he was not getting into trouble. Grey checked the supplement before heading for his makeshift office. He had clues now—clues that needed to be pieced together into a coherent picture. It was late when Grey finally phoned Chief Inspector Sanderson, outlining the investigation’s progress, including the mysterious man sighted in the royal box, and the newly discovered supplement taken from the gypsy stable hand.
“Grey, you’re crawling around the royal stables. You’ve got to be careful. Gather more concrete proof before accusing His Highness, if you know what I mean,”
“I understand. I know it’s a smoking gun!”
“Yeah, a very hot one!” Sanderson said before he ended the call.
He leaned back in his chair. The case was coming together, piece by piece. But the final clues, linking the culprit to the crime, remained elusive. Grey spent the late hours going over the files, and footage again. He picked at another cold cup of coffee as dawn’s light gradually seeped into the office stable windows. Another day awaited. The perpetrator of this crime would not evade him for long.
