Time for me to dive in. ‘So what would your sergeant major father say if he knew you were intentionally not winning races?’

The colour drained from his face.

‘But … but that’s not true.’

‘Isn’t it?’

His body language said it was.

He sat down on the arm of the sofa and lowered his head.

‘Tell me about Anton Valance.’

‘What about him?’ he asked, looking up at me.

‘Why did you tell me on the phone that he is not a very nice man?’

‘Because he’s not.’

I felt we weren’t getting very far.

‘Perhaps you would like to come with me to talk about him to the BHA.’

Marcus pulled a face. He clearly didn’t fancy that idea. Like all those involved in racing, he had a deep-rooted fear of the BHA, and with good reason. The BHA regularly took away people’s livelihoods with a single stroke of its unforgiving pen.

The rule of racing in question here was Rule F(37): ‘… a Jockey must, and must be seen to: (a) ask the horse for timely, real and substantial effort to achieve the best possible position, and (b) take all other reasonable and permissible measures throughout the race to ensure the horse is given a full opportunity to achieve the best possible position.’

The BHA doesn’t have to prove a breach of its rules beyond a reasonable doubt, as in a criminal court, but only on the balance of probabilities, and the penalties are harsh to discourage potential offenders—disqualification for up to twenty-five years if it’s intentional and for personal gain, or done with the knowledge that the horse has been backed to lose.

And if the BHA disqualifies you from racing in the United Kingdom, you are automatically disqualified from horse racing everywhere else in the world.

It would end even a young jockey’s career, stone dead.

‘So what is it about Mr Valance that makes him not a very nice man?’ I asked.

Marcus looked up at me again.

‘Because he traps you.’

‘How?’

He sighed loudly, as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.

‘“Just the once,” he says. And I reckon the nag has no chance anyway. So I say—okay. Who wouldn’t for an easy two hundred quid in readies? Worst bloody decision of my life.’ He sighed again. ‘Not that I rode it any different to how I would have done. I gave it every possible chance just like the rules say I should. It just isn’t quick enough to win even if it starts yesterday. Tailed off, we are, when I pull him up before the last two flights.’

‘Then you’ve nothing to worry about,’ I said, trying to sound reassuring but not believing it.