Download Dead Cert (The Dick Francis library) by Dick Francis PDF

By Dick Francis

For millionaire jockey Alan York, profitable is an advantage. For Joe Nantwich, victory skill no soft backhanders; and for invoice Davidson, entrance working on strongly fancied Admiral, triumph is an imposter. It ability homicide - his personal. Turning inner most detective, York makes use of Joe's underworld connections to move at the path of the killers - simply to attract a sequence of blanks. but if ambushed via a gang of vicious thugs, he choices up a few clues together with his cuts and bruises. Bill's homicide starts to make extra feel. until eventually York unearths himself in health center, with out a memory.'Fresh and fascinating ...very lively' - "Sunday Times". 'As a jockey, Dick Francis was once unbeatable while he received into his stride. an analogous is right, these days, of his crime writing' - "Daily Mirror."

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Extra info for Dead Cert (The Dick Francis library)

Sample text

I wouldn't like a ride in his taxi. You'd know him by his hair, I reckon. It grows nearly down to his eyebrows. Rum-looking cove. ' 'I don't want him,' I said. ' He beamed at me. 'There's another one I see sometimes, too. ' 'Thanks a lot,' I said. I gave him a pound note and his beam grew wider. He tucked it into an inside pocket. 'Best of luck, sir,' he said. I left him, with 'Midday Special' ringing in my ears, and went in to the weighing room, pondering on the information that my captors with the horse-box came from Brighton.

It grows nearly down to his eyebrows. Rum-looking cove. ' 'I don't want him,' I said. ' He beamed at me. 'There's another one I see sometimes, too. ' 'Thanks a lot,' I said. I gave him a pound note and his beam grew wider. He tucked it into an inside pocket. 'Best of luck, sir,' he said. I left him, with 'Midday Special' ringing in my ears, and went in to the weighing room, pondering on the information that my captors with the horse-box came from Brighton. Whoever had sent them could not have imagined that I had seen them before, and could find them again.

But the thorough driver had seen to it that I should not. The car would not start. Opening the bonnet to see how much damage had been done, I found that three of the four sparking plugs had been taken out. They lay in a neat row on the battery. It took me ten minutes to replace them, because my hands were trembling. By then I had no hope of catching the horse-box or of finding anyone who had noticed its direction. I got back into the car and fastened the neck of my shirt. My tie was missing altogether.

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