Culinary murder

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  • Publié le : 18 février 2010
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‘ The number 7, Dave Smith and his horse, Prince, brillantly just passes the 13, his main competitor, Brad Johnson.’ The loudspeaker yelled.
The spectators looked anxious. Who is going to win ? A lot of money was at stake.
‘Oh my god !What’s going on ? Mr Smith just fell off his horse ! It seems like he can’t move… But don’t worry, several nurses will arrive to see what’s happening and ofcourse the race continues, as we all know, the show must go on !’
Many screams ringed out from the terraces. Everyone was so shocked . The famous jockey was quietly lying on the freshly mowed grass and seemed, despite of many heart massages, dead.
The day after, by a quiet morning, a strange man came to the hippodrome . He was wearing a dark costume with an elegant black bowler, carring a littlenotebook and always scratching his mustache. His name was Chuck Turnip, the most renomned detective of the whole country and he was investigating on this case.
If you have ever readen the newspapers at this time, you would have read a lot of gossips, true or false, about the death of Mr Smith. He was on every headlines. Everyone claimed that he had a heart attack but it wasn’t Turnip’s opinion. Hewas convinced that someone had kill him. The witnesses didn’t help either ; they all trusted the

newspapers. So he asked a forensic doctor to examinate the corpse. Two days later, he discovered, thanks to the autopsy, that he had been poisoned. All night long he tried to match each clue he had to others to find a possible suspect. He notices that Mr Johnson, an other famous jockey wasmentioned in a lot of testimonies. He was competing for the first rank and he really needed the money because he had debts but after pendering over a lot, he concludes that it was too obvious, therefore too easy .
To get more informations about Dave Smith, he asked for a search warrant and rushed to his house. He was living in a nice area near to a lovely park. At first glance,everything seemed normal in the house. It was really tidy. He turned on Dave’s computer but it asked for a fingerprint or a password with 12 caracters ! ‘Oh crap’ Chuck said. But he had a plan B. He took his smartphone and pluged it in the computer, made some difficults calculs and finally managed to get into Mr Smith’s private files. What he discovered was breath taking ; Dave Smith was part of theFBI ! By looking really deeply in his folders he found some anonymous emails wich threatened to kill him if he didn’t unveil where were mysterious « gold coins ».
He was now convinced that the author of the emails was the killer. Probably the Mafia… But what were those gold coins ?
He took an appointment with Mr smith’s ostler,Tonio Fernandez, because he heard they were pretty closeto each other so he may know something about this all story.
Down his building on Picadilly Circus ; he called a cab wich

brought him to the racing stable, 20 minutes from the town center.
It was the most reputated and expensive of the country. The best Jockeys used to train here. It was really neat and exept a few whinny, calm. He went throughout an alley until he arrived toDave’s horse’s loosebox. Fortunately, Tonio was feeding Prince.
‘ Good morning Mr Fernandez, I introduce myself, I’m Mr Turnip, the investigator in chief of Mr Smith’s death. May I ask you some questions about him ? ‘
‘ Sure whatever you want’ Tonio answered.
‘ Have you ever heard about « gold coins » ? Dave was involved in some kind of nasty business and I’d like to know more…’ Chuck explained.‘No, it doesn’t remind me anything. It’s weird, he used to tell me everything. But I might know something else …’
‘I’m listening , everything you’ll say may help me alot in order to find your friend’s killer.’
‘ Well, it’s hard to say, I promised him I won’t tell, but now that he died everything’s different … I’m a good guy you know !’
‘I’m sure of that, but just tell me, the time is...