Hot Blood (Bloodwords Book 1)

by Vic Marelle

  ‘Of course. That’s a given I think. The question is why? You wouldn’t get a request for six of this and six of that would you? And in any case, these are not your run of the mill jalopies so they would stick out like a sore thumb. My guess is that they have gone overseas.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ replied the sergeant. ‘Favourite places for stolen high value cars to turn up like the Middle East, the USA and so on all drive on the other side of the road so these would be a giveaway. Changing them to left hookers would need a big workshop set-up somewhere and cost a lot. Changing the dials to read in kilometres instead of miles is straightforward but modern cars are built specifically for each market so as well as moving the steering wheel and pedals you are also into complete new dash trim with transposed binnacles and so on. I bet that they are still here somewhere.’

  Radcliffe wasn’t so sure. ‘Somewhere there is a clue that will link these thefts. I am sure of it. Nobody nicks high value motors in sixes so if we can work out either the reason why or where they have gone we might solve all the cases instead of just one. I still think that they have gone overseas, there must be some countries driving on our side, what about Malta? Go through the statements from the owners with Sean and see if you can identify any common thread. Time of the theft, age of the car, keys left in a prominent place – anything. If you can’t find anything, get back to each of them and see if you can throw up some little snippet that Sean & Louise missed the first time around. I’ve a feeling that it’s simple and probably under our noses.’

  ……….

  Walking up the aisle, Steve Wilson checked the pews on either side of the church. The Parish Council had long wanted to provide bibles for the use of every worshipper but funds had never been sufficient to purchase more than a token supply amounting to no more than one for each pew, and a pew could accommodate up to fifteen people. With small congregations they managed, but not for big celebrations when the church was full. As the queue of worshippers progressed slowly up the aisle towards the chancel rail, where in turn they would kneel to receive communion, what Wilson saw as he passed each pew wasn’t a single battered black book but numerous volumes, one for each person in fact. Beautifully bound in rich crimson leather, each bible bore a cross and the name of the church embossed in gold on its front cover, but Wilson also knew that inside, each bible also carried the legend ‘graciously donated by Stephen Wilson’ on its first page. The bibles had cost him a fortune, but the satisfaction he felt at that moment, the first Sunday since the bibles had been delivered, was heart warming.

  As the faithful filed past the vicar and progressed out of the tiny church into the sunlight, young mothers retrieved their offspring from the crèche and ancient bells high up in the tower pealed their strident toll, drowning out all conversation.

  In the porch, the vicar smiled lovingly, making a point of shaking hands with everyone and greeting as many by name as possible. The very existence of the church, and his living, depended on the offerings of these people and claiming large portions of their incomes by way of tithes was now only possible for Pentecostal and Evangelistic denominations. His smile, his chatter, and calling as many by name as he could remember, was not just PR, it was protecting his livelihood. Hardly difficult – the average age of his congregation was close to retirement age and the same faithful few attended week on week. Remembering their names was more a question of noting who had died and would not be present than learning any new ones.

  Steve and Alison Wilson were the exception to the rule however. He would definitely have to keep them sweet. Although they had only been part of the congregation for a very short time, and did not attend every week anyway, they were already proving to be an asset. Alison had become a useful helper for the crèche and Steve had really come up trumps. Not only had he found a buyer for the old dilapidated school hall, he had orchestrated a deal to build a multi-purpose replacement at lower cost than the price received for the old building, and hadn’t he also bought the new bibles? Yes, Steve Wilson must be cultivated.

  ‘Nice to see you Steve. There’s a meeting at the vicarage on Wednesday evening about the new hall if you can make it. Didn’t the bibles look magnificent - and for the first time plenty for everyone too?’

  ‘My pleasure vicar.’

  ‘And thank you for your help with the children Alison, it really is appreciated.’ With his duty done, he turned to the old lady behind them in the little procession, ‘Ah, Mrs Lucas. So nice to see you in church again. How are you my dear? We missed you at the fundraising coffee morning. Is your arthritis any better?’

  ……….

  ‘Sixty three sir.’

  ‘Sixty three what Kyle?’

  ‘There are sixty three countries that drive on the left like we do in the UK. Some of them are impoverished so expensive cars might not be appropriate, but others could be possible destinations for our stolen cars.’

  Inspector Radcliffe stared with incredulity at his sergeant. Sixty three? How many countries were there in the world anyway? And out of that lot, which were the most likely? No doubt the criteria would include being able to use the cars in their destination country or they would have little sell-on value except to collectors. If they were dealing with an organised operation, and certainly it was looking that way, then getting the cars into another country wouldn’t be any more of a problem than getting them out of the UK so looking at import regulations wouldn’t tell them much. More to the point was getting the stolen cars legally on the road, so which countries had lax licensing?

  ‘Do we know anything about car licensing in any of these countries then,’ asked the inspector.

  ‘They are stolen cars sir, why the interest in licensing?’

  ‘They may be stolen at this end but there are important issues at the other end of the supply chain Kyle,’ explained Radcliffe. ‘A thief steals to make money and he only gets that when the cars reach their destination and the customer pays up. The cars are no use if the customers can’t drive them and I bet a pound to a penny that most of the buyers don’t know that the cars are nicked so there has to be a way that they can be licensed. It stands to sense. I bet that some countries require proof of ownership, a reference from the original licensing authority or something but that others don’t, so check up on the licensing requirements for imported cars in the countries on your list. It’s a long shot, but if some countries make it hard and others don’t, we might actually have an indication of the most likely whereabouts of our cars.’

  ‘But they could still be in the UK sir,’ responded the sergeant.

  ‘No Kyle. I’m pretty certain that they are not. We are talking about almost 50 high value cars, most of them attention getters that would be hard to sell on in this country given our licensing requirements. And don’t forget the groups either. That’s a clue if we can only identify it. No, check out the licensing and look to see if there are any common denominators – anything at all that could give us a lead.’

  Nine

  ‘Another expensive car’s been nicked Guv.’

  ‘Let me guess, it’s a Jag?’ replied Radcliffe. If the sergeant’s theory on the grouping was correct, it had to be. But it wasn’t. The stolen car wasn’t a Jaguar. Rather, a top of the range Range Rover had been taken right off its owner’s drive.

  ‘So how does that fit then?’ he enquired.

  ‘It doesn’t sir. The list fits exactly into groups of six and with 47 cars so far, it only needs one more – a Jag – to complete the set. A Rangie doesn’t fit at all.’

  It didn’t sit easily. Just one car to go to complete a full set seemed too much to ask. It was too tidy by far and with no lose ends. What would happen then? Would it all stop with no more thefts? Or would the whole thing start again with more cars stolen in neat groups of six?

  ‘Where has this latest car been stolen from Kyle?’ perhaps that would be an indication.

  According to the sergeant, the Range Rover had been stolen from outside a small unit on th
e nearby industrial estate. At first it had looked like an opportune theft but when they had realised that it had a tracker fitted and that the signal had just disappeared after half a mile, they had checked it out further. It turned out that the car had been taken down a little used lane and within a few minutes the signal had stopped and the car had effectively disappeared. Although Fraser was in no doubt that the theft had been a pro job, he didn’t think that it was linked with the others because it didn’t fit the make up of the groups that they had established.

  Radcliffe mused it over. What if? Yes, what if the groupings they had put together were flawed and the pattern was ever so different? In that case, instead of one more car theft and then everything stops, perhaps there could be other gaps and the thefts could be continuing.

  ‘Are you sure that your groups are correct?’ he asked.

  ‘Definitely. Everything works out. Seven groups of six cars plus the Jaguar group with five so the next theft should be a Jag.’

  Radcliffe voiced his concerns. What would happen when the last Jaguar was stolen? Would all the thefts then stop? He didn’t think so. If the thieves had identified a foolproof system then they would milk it to the end. Profit is profit after all. He urged the sergeant to take another look at the groups. The latest theft was an up market 4x4. Surely it wasn’t the first 4x4 to feature in their list.

  Fraser spanned the list again. The luxury group of BMW and Mercedes cars had an X5 and an M Class. But take those out and the whole theory of groups of six fell apart. No, the groups were correct, so the latest theft was unconnected.

  ‘But it could be,’ responded Radcliffe. ‘It’s too much to expect that the thefts will just stop at 48 cars so unless they are going to start again with a clean sheet, which is unlikely, then there have to be more incomplete groups than just the Jag group. If you put the Range Rover with the other two off-roaders, what do we get then?’

  ‘If you do that then you get a new group of top end 4x4’s with only three cars in it, the Merc and Bimmer luxury group is then two cars short, and the Jag group is still minus one car.’

  That’s more like it thought Radcliffe. A continuing programme. And the latest theft where a tracker unit had been immobilised had highlighted the professionalism of the thieves. Questions still remained, like for where the cars were destined and where they were being hidden in the meantime, but clearly there was a higher level of skill involved than just being accomplished car thieves.

  ‘Did you go over the records for this lot?’ he asked the sergeant. ‘Did you find any similarities or anything to connect the thefts?’

  ‘A few things looked promising but nothing concrete.’

  Well with almost 50 cars stolen there would have to be a few similarities somewhere, even if they didn’t mean anything. Had they looked for specifics? Actually, no. The main objective had been to look for similarities.

  ‘OK’ said Radcliffe. ‘Get Louise back on it. We’ve got the groups of car types but see if they also group in any other way, like where they were lifted, the time of the day, day of the week or some such. And I want to know if any of them had tracker systems fitted. And if you find any, I need to know where they stopped being tracked.’

  ……….

  Using a tea cloth against the heat she checked the oven. She loved this kitchen. Working in it was a joy. Thank heavens he had overruled her plans and insisted on its layout – though out of principle, she would not admit as much. Never! Her ideas had been a combination of comfortable familiarity and ideas culled from favourite home magazines to add glitz and glamour. Formerly the complete ground floor of a farmhand’s cottage, the room was huge and her kitchen plan had served to demonstrate their wealth by emphasising its size with unusually long runs of worktops along every wall, with base units under and wall cabinets above. Standing at one end, they would seem almost to disappear into the horizon. Non-standard paint finishes and expensive fittings would provide a token break from the conventional. Quite apart from the sheer size of the room, such a vast expanse of work surfaces, cupboards and cabinets would be unbridled domestic heaven for most wives. She could imagine the envy of friends living in modern little boxes on the estate in the village. Wasn’t her kitchen almost as big as their complete ground floor?

  But, thankfully, he had changed all that. Claiming that she would have spent more time walking from one end of the kitchen to the other, one side to the other, moving between hob, worktop, oven, sink and appliances dotted along the walls, he had vetoed her ideas completely. There had been an ugly scene. Did she want a kitchen or to be in training to run a marathon had been something of an insult and she had sulked. In his alternative design her all-round work surfaces had gone, replaced by worktops on just two sides, one of which ran little more than two thirds down one long wall and the other was gently curved. The third wall had become a solid expanse of floor to ceiling cabinets with their high gloss doors creating a stunning flush wall with a deep shining lustre, and again only two thirds of the room’s length. Between these stood an island, the whole taking up less space yet providing vastly increased storage capability and useable work top, being, he claimed, far more efficient than any normal kitchen.

  And it was. Damn the man for being right! Working at the central island, whatever she needed, from whichever cabinet it was in, or on whichever worktop it stood, was little more than one step away. And the concave curved section mirrored that of the island, making the whole even more efficient. Every appliance had its own power socket and there were more for if they were needed. Hidden LED lighting lit up every space, turning winter evenings into tropical summer days. Every conceivable implement, utensil and appliance was not only available, but hidden away from sight when not in use to keep the kitchen – her kitchen – always uncluttered. And when her work was done, it was but a stride to the dining area that now nestled in the remaining section of the room.

  Working in a kitchen like hers was a pleasure. They enjoyed their food, enjoyed entertaining, and she enjoyed being the master of it all.

  With everything under control and almost a full hour before they would eat, she had gone down the three steps into the living area – itself another magnificent room far larger than the norm – and fussed around setting the silverware for dinner. Instead of eating in the kitchen / diner, this evening they would dine formally. Tonight was special. And on special days they dined in splendour. Now was the calm before the storm. Time was when she had looked forward to his return from work. She still did, and hoped against hope that today would be different. She desperately hoped that their time would be filled with laughter and fun as it used to be, yet somehow knowing that he would be fractious and grumpy. The business was in trouble. Even though he wouldn’t admit it she knew. Women had that intuition. She knew that money was tight and guessed that he had problems, business problems, to which she was not privy.

  Yet none of that would matter if the evening went well. It had been a long time since the house had been filled with laughter, chatter and fun and tonight’s dinner party would be their first for such a long time. Perhaps tonight’s get together might just do the trick. Perhaps it might bring him out of his shell and make his worries easier to bear. Perhaps she might get her funny, witty, even eccentric husband back. Well, perhaps.

  Ostensibly a celebration of their daughter’s successful exam results, they had invited three of her friends and their daughter’s boyfriend – from whom at the moment she just couldn’t bear to be parted (how on earth had she even sat exams without him being at her side?). One girl was the daughter of a business acquaintance, so in a sop to political correctness, her parents found themselves on the invite list as well. Which made the invite list extremely unbalanced. Others were added, first boyfriends and then parents, until the core group of four teenage girls had grown to a grand total of sixteen for dinner. Even so, it would hardly be a big lavish affair like those they had hosted in the past. Hopefully though, it would be a fun evening for him, and a nice easy kitchen task
for her with which she could get them both back into the dinner party scene.

  ……….

  Though the house was large, parking on its gravel drive was limited. Two more guest groups were yet to arrive and already space was at a premium. Parents were arriving together but their daughters separately with their boyfriends. How was it that teenagers could afford their own cars these days? And since affluent people tended to drive around in cars that were even larger than their ego’s, parking space would be at even more of a premium.

  He watched as another car manoeuvred through the gates, luckily not as large as the first ones to arrive and presumably one of the boyfriend/girlfriend couples. Taking the last free spot on the drive, it meant that latecomers would have to park on the road. It’s engine stopped, headlights were doused, and to his surprise, two of their parent guests climbed out.

  ‘Good evening James,’ he said as the couple crunched across the driveway. ‘I didn’t expect to see you in a Ford. Is the Bentley in for service?.’

  ‘No it bloody isn’t.’ came the terse response.

  Passing her coat to their host, James Ashcroft’s wife pulled a ‘that’s a touchy subject’ sort of face before offering an explanation for their choice of transport.

  ‘Not our usual way to arrive is it Mike?’ she said. ‘Ours was stolen two days ago and the insurance company have provided this heap of junk while our claim is sorted out.’

  ‘It’s hardly a heap of junk,’ replied Johnson, taking her coat and hanging it in the cloakroom. ‘Looks brand new to me, and I dare say a whole lot more economical than the Bentley. Come on through,’ as he led them to where their guests were relaxing with drinks and chatting. ‘You know George and his family don’t you? David and his tribe should be here soon. Dinner in half an hour folks.’