Hot Blood (Bloodwords Book 1)

by Vic Marelle

  ‘No, Mrs Wilson, we don’t know.’

  ‘Shit!’ she exclaimed. ‘You lot are bloody despicable. You must have dirty minds if you want the whole sordid details spelling out. I bet you buy the magazines they put up on the top shelf away from children don’t you? Well if you must know, while we were screwing each other up in our room at the Premier Inn, Brian asked my why I hadn’t let him do anything in the car and I told him that I wasn’t a cheap fucking tart that dropped her knickers anywhere and that I wanted a bit of comfort. I told him that if I was going to do it in a car then it would have to be a nice luxury model with leather seats – and wide enough to enjoy sex without having my knees up around my ears to avoid the gearstick.’ Looking at them even more red faced, she added pointedly, ‘There, is that what you want to know?’

  ‘Doesn’t sound like a bad position to me Alison,’ said Lescott, ‘but we didn’t need so much detail. Actually, what I am trying to pin down is who owned the car before you, how Brian knew about it and how you persuaded your husband to pay for it. Like I said before, it does sound a little cosy.’

  Regaining her composure, she paused before answering, though her thumbs were still on the move and her eyes were welling up. Lescott reached over to her and put her hand gently on Wilson’s in a reassuring move. She had drawn her conclusions and now needed to bring the woman back down onto solid ground before taking the action they had been assigned.

  ‘I think I understand your problem Alison,’ she said. ‘We are investigating a rather serious matter and you car just happens to have cropped up as you might say. Let’s keep this simple. Who did Brian say owned the car and where did Steve go to collect it?’

  ‘I don’t think he told me. No, I am sure he didn’t. He just said that a couple had split up but I cannot remember him ever mentioning them by name. And Steve didn’t go to collect it. Brian brought it here for Steve to have a look at. He said he would have it straight away so I drove him back to his house in my car. I mean the one I had then. It was a little Hyundai.’

  ‘So how did your husband pay? Did Brian give him a receipt?’

  ‘Steve got the money cash from the bank the next day and I took it to Brian at school. There was no receipt because Brian said the woman was quite distraught at seeing the car go for such a low price. He just gave us the registration document to send off to Swansea. Steve did all that.’

  ‘OK Alison,’ said Lescott in her most soothing voice. ‘Unfortunately we will have to take your car for a while. We have the documents here giving us permission to impound it and a recovery vehicle will be here in a few minutes.’ Wilson looked stunned, ‘We have reason to believe that it may have been stolen.’

  As Wilson opened her mouth to object, Lescott raised her hand to stop her and continued, ‘Actually, a number of cars have disappeared over the last few weeks and we think that yours could be one of them. If that proves to be the case then it is also possible that the identification numbers stamped into various parts, like the chassis and engine, have been tampered with to change its identity. So what we are going to do is take the car and let our forensics team check it over. If it turns out to be OK then you will get your car back. But of not . . .’ and she left the implication hanging.

  Wilson just stared ahead, disbelieving. What could she tell Steve? How could she explain? And could she keep her illicit affair from him?

  Opposite, the policewoman smiled gently. It wasn’t a smile that said ‘silly cow’, more a smile with warmth and compassion. But what the hell did she know? She was just the bearer of bad news, not the person trying to explain it to her husband. And not the person trying to hold a marriage together without disclosing a silly, stupid affair. The policewoman reached out again and took her had. There was strength and compassion in the gesture that Wilson found comforting, but she knew that that wouldn’t last.

  ‘I’ll have to call my husband,’ said Wilson, pulling her hand away from Lescott’s and restarting her thumb twirling. ‘He’ll be worried if he arrives home and my car isn’t here, he’ll think I have gone out.’ Then, as a horrible thought crossed her mind, ‘Oh no, you’ve not got him to come for it have you? He has a police recovery contract and often gets called out to bring vehicles in. He owns Wilson Motors. They have six recovery vehicles. Oh my God no.’

  ‘No Alison, it won’t be a Wilson wrecker that comes. A recovery vehicle from Karwowski Motors in Southport will be here any minute. They have AA and RAC contracts so your neighbours will probably think your car has broken down. As for your husband, don’t bother calling him. Steve and Brian are at this moment sharing cells at Southport Police Station, helping us with our enquiries.’

  The younger officer pulled out some papers. ‘Here is the impounding order Mrs Wilson,’ he said. ‘Will you just sign here please,’ then after she had written her name in a very wobbly hand, he offered her the lower sheet, ‘this is your copy.’

  Twenty-Six

  The pub was its normal quiet self, with two or three drinking at the bar and the same number in each of the two front rooms. Simon Charlton preferred the Queens Head to others nearby. It was an honest, down to earth English pub without any pretence. The Queens did not need any false beams stuck to its ceilings, copper kitchen items hung on the walls or framed photographs of nineteen thirties movie stars to make its newly refitted décor look old. The Queens was old. Thanks to no-smoking laws its walls were no longer yellowed by cigarette smoke, but all its woodwork – doors, architraves, window frames – were painted the same jet black that they had been for many years and the only concessions to modernity were flat screen TV’s in the two front rooms and a pod coffee maker behind the bar.

  Simon preferred the room off the entrance hall to the right. For some unexplained reason he didn’t like the room on the left as much, although it was a mirror image, while in the right hand room he felt more at home and relaxed. Taking a corner seat near the window gave him a clear view of a northern derby match playing out silently on the large screen TV as well as anyone else entering the room.

  ‘And what the bloody hell did you think you were doing on Sunday?’

  The question jerked Simon out of his concentration on the match. Looking up, a tall stocky man with a moustache was standing over him, clearly not happy with Charlton and ready for an argument. The Clerk of the Course with responsibility for running the cavalcades at the MotorFest, he was not used to his authority being challenged. Or comprehensively ignored.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ replied Charlton.

  ‘Sorry my bloody foot,’ cut in the CoC before Charlton could continue. ‘Did you have a bloody brainstorm or something? I said at the driver briefing that there was to be no overtaking and speeds had to be below 30mph. But what did Simon Bloody Charlton do? You only nearly pushed three cars off the road and into the crowd. That’s all.’ His face getting redder and his neck bulging over his collar, the CoC was only just getting into his stride. ‘What the hell did you do that for Simon? You knew the rules. The police were screaming at me to stop the whole show there and then. And when you shot off past the police station you nearly hit the crowd on the corner. For fuck’s sake Simon – right in front of the cop shop too.’

  ‘I said I am sorry,’ responded Charlton, who had not seen the CoC lose his cool before – or heard him swear, ‘but there were reasons.’

  ‘Reasons!’ exploded the CoC. ‘Bloody reasons. I bet there were. But that wouldn’t have satisfied the police or consoled a distraught mother if you had hit a child – and God knows how you didn’t, driving like that. I had to tell the cops that you weren’t an official entrant in the cavalcade. I said that we didn’t know who you were and that you had just done half a lap then shot off somewhere. They seemed to swallow it but they made me put more marshals and stewards on that part of the course for the rest of the afternoon.’ Then, as an afterthought, ‘I am just hoping that they don’t object to our application for next year. If they do, MotorFest is dead. And that will be your fault.’

 
; Looking at the irate man standing over him, Charlton felt his anguish. More than any other, this man had put his all into delivering a free day out for thousands of people and all he could see at the moment was its cancellation. Charlton understood his angst.

  ‘Sit down.’

  ‘I’m alright standing thank you.’

  ‘I said sit down,’ responded Charlton. ‘I’ve something to say and I don’t want to keep straining my neck looking up at you or shouting so that everyone in the pub can hear. Sit down and I’ll get you a drink.’

  Rejoining the CoC and placing a cool pint in front of him, Charlton sat next to his friend. ‘I did not intend to put anyone at risk,’ he said, ‘but there were reasons.’

  The CoC put his glass down hard on the table, spilling a little, but before he could respond, Charlton continued. ‘No, hear me out. Firstly, there will be no trouble with the police.’ The CoC opened his mouth to speak but Charlton carried on without giving him the chance. ‘That I can guarantee. Secondly, the crowd loved it. They thought it was all part of the show and they were cheering as I was overtaking.’

  ‘The crowd don’t know anything,’ he replied when Charlton had finished. ‘They thought you were recreating a rally or race but they don’t have to satisfy the authorities do they? They don’t have to worry about what will happen if somebody gets hurt. Or killed,’ he added. ‘And don’t kid yourself Simon, I will have trouble with the police. There is a debrief meeting next week and I am dreading it. The big chief will be there and what’s the betting they withdraw their permission for next year?’

  ‘I understand where you are coming from,’ replied Charlton, ‘but, believe me, you will not have any problems.’

  ‘OK wise guy, what makes you so sure?’

  ‘It’s quite simple. I had a police officer in the car with me and we were following orders from way up high. What we did resulted in a big operation taking place yesterday so I can guarantee you that there will be no repercussions.’

  ‘Up high? Up bloody where on high? And what operation?’

  ‘I’m sorry but I cannot tell you any more. I’m just a civilian and I am sworn to secrecy. You mustn’t mention this to anybody yet. Actually, it’s my bet that when you go to your debrief, the police will not even mention me, my car, or what we did.’ Changing the subject he then asked, ‘Have we got a member called Davies?’

  ‘I think there are a couple,’ replied the CoC. ‘There’s one who sprints a Ford Escort and another I think.’

  ‘This one is called Frank Davies,’ replied Charlton, ‘but I don’t think he comes to many meetings. I’ve only seen him at one but he could have been a guest.’

  ‘A lot don’t,’ observed the CoC. ‘Most of our members only join because the club is MSA affiliated and it gives them entry to events. I don’t think the bloke with the Escort has ever been to a meeting. He just pays his subs each year so he can enter sprints and hill climbs, but a guy with a Scoobie came to the last meeting we had before MotorFest. I don’t know what his first name is but I think he’s something with the police. Might be some help to stop your antics cancelling MotorFest come to think of it. I’ll have to check the records for his contact details.’

  ‘Don’t bother. Like I said, there won’t be any trouble. Unless you create some that is. Just keep quiet, that’s my advice.’ Looking up, Charlton saw an attractive young woman standing in the doorway, scanning the tables and clearly looking for somebody. Seeing him in the corner, she smiled and walked gracefully over to the table.

  ‘Hi Simon, who’s winning?’ she asked.

  ‘Hi Debbie,’ he replied. ‘Manchester United are one nil up at the moment but it’s not half time yet so Liverpool can still get back into the game.’ For the benefit of the CoC he added, ‘This is my friend Detective Sergeant Lescott. She was with me at MotorFest.’

  The CoC shook her hand then took his beer and walked off.

  ‘Your friend dashed off pretty quick when I arrived,’ observed Debbie. ‘Why did you introduce me so formally? I’m off duty so why not just Debbie?’

  ‘It’s a long story. He’s the CoC and thought he had a big problem that’s all.’

  ‘C. O. what?’

  ‘CoC. He was Clerk of the Course on Sunday. He got a chewing from your people when we broke the rules by overtaking and then shooting off after the Bentley. He’s taken it personally because MotorFest is his baby and he believes that there won’t be another because we screwed it up for him. He’s been called to a meeting and expects the police to withdraw their support.’

  ‘There’s not much chance of that,’ she observed. ‘Anyway, have you ordered?’

  ‘Of course. Your usual chicken and my steak and ale pie. I had just bagged this table when he nabbed me.’ Smiling at her he continued, ‘And what good timing, here come our meals now.’

  ‘I thought I would find you here.’

  ‘Oh hello Don,’ said Debbie looking up, her mouth full of chicken.

  ‘I know you are off duty but I wanted to check up on what you got from the caretaker,’ he said. ‘We are on our way back out to the college and it was only a short detour to call in here. Have you eaten Kyle?’ Concluding with ‘Do you mind if we join you?’ when the sergeant shook his head.

  ‘Looks like we’ve got no option,’ contributed Charlton with a sly grin. ‘It’s been like Crewe station in here. I had the third degree about the Bentley earlier and now you two have come for a cop’s get-together. Just let me finish my pie and I’ll leave you in peace.’ Turning to Debbie he added, ‘I’ll be in the other room with the CoC when you’ve finished.’

  ‘No you won’t,’ she responded curtly. ‘I’m off duty remember. We came in here for a quiet meal and I intend to have one.’

  ‘OK Debbie,’ said Radcliffe, ‘don’t get upset. I know we are gate crashing but I don’t want to spoil your get together and Simon is quite welcome to stay while we are talking anyway. We can eat at one of the other tables if you want though. Just update me on what the caretaker had to say before we go if you will.’

  ‘No bother,’ said Lescott with a sigh, adding, ‘I hear that Frank has been pulled off, leaving you holding the reigns.’

  ‘Yes, for my sins,’ taking a seat and adding, ‘what’s that you’re having Simon? It looks good.’

  ‘Steak and ale pie. It’s pretty good for the price they charge,’ adding as an afterthought, ‘and the chips are decent chunky ones instead of those thin stringy things you get these days, and they are nice and dry too.’

  ‘Sounds good. I’ll have one of those and a pint of bitter please,’ Radcliffe said to the sergeant as he took out his wallet and offered him a note. ‘This one’s on me.’

  ‘We came in too early,’ remarked Lescott. ‘We missed out on free grub.’

  As Fraser took himself off to the bar, Radcliffe turned his attention to Charlton. ‘What’s this about Bentley questions Simon?’

  ‘Not about the Bentley actually. Just before you came in I had the CoC grilling me about why we overtook cars in the cavalcade and then broke ranks and left.’

  ‘I hope you were diplomatic in your reply,’ Radcliffe responded, a concerned look on his face.’

  ‘Simon isn’t stupid Don,’ cut in Debbie. ‘He might not be employed by the police authority but he is an investigator and knows when to keep his mouth shut.’

  ‘Point taken Debbie, but let’s not forget that his not playing to the rules has already got you into hot water.’ Looking directly at Simon he continued, ‘I just want to make sure that’s all.’

  Pushing his now empty plate away, Charlton looked back at the DI, weighing up the situation and wondering how far he should go. Harming Debbie’s career was not an option.

  ‘I was out of order Mr Radcliffe,’ he said, not knowing how to address Debbie’s superior. ‘I wasn’t aware of just how serious it would be viewed. For that I am very, very sorry.’ Casting a quick glance at Debbie he continued, ‘I would not knowingly do anything to hurt Debbie. Not ever. S
he is special Mr Radcliffe. That’s why I have done everything I can to make up for my error.’

  ‘And it’s appreciated Simon. That’s why we diverted here. I guessed that you would be together and wanted to thank you for your help – as well as talking to Debbie of course.’ Picking up his knife and fork to tuck in to the meal that had just been placed in front of him he added, ‘and let’s drop the formality for a while shall we? Don will do. Now Debbie, you’ve finished your meal, why not bring me up to speed on the caretaker while I eat mine?’

  An old retired widower, the caretaker had apparently taken on the job of keeping his eyes on the college estate in exchange for free accommodation. He had no real tasks to carry out. Whenever something needed doing they called in tradesmen. A team of gardeners came every fortnight to keep the lawns mowed and the borders weed free, and one day each week a cleaner kept the place in reasonable order. Lescott had questioned whether one day cleaning each week was sufficient to keep such a big place clean but the caretaker had told her that since the place was never used it never got untidy or really dirty. For half a day the cleaner used a mechanical mop on the floors – with nobody walking on them it was really only keeping the dust at bay – then for the other half she worked through other chores a room at a time. She got through the whole building in about three months then started at the beginning again.

  When quizzed about the building at the rear of the property, the caretaker had at first claimed that he didn’t know anything about it and had never been in. Then he had tripped himself up and referred to what he had called ‘posh cars.’ When pressed, he had admitted that sometimes he did go into the car store, ‘but only when that nice Steve bloke was there.’ Apparently, the two gable ends had been opened up and double doors installed more than two years previous. At first the building still hadn’t been used for anything, then after a while, Wilson’s classics had started appearing.

  The caretaker, who went by the name of Bert Skulley, was interested in cars and went to chat to Wilson whenever he was on site, though he never knew his full name. He just knew him as Steve. The other cars had only started to appear some six months later and the strange thing was that while the cars would come or go at any time, other than a driver collecting or removing a car, nobody else ever came during the day. At night it was a different proposition, with quite a lot of people coming and going. Cars usually stayed there for several months, the normal procedure being that when a car was delivered it would be worked on during the first week or so, then moved over to the other side of the store and kept in a plastic greenhouse.