by Simon Wood
‘The man going in is Detective Brennan of the Wiltshire Police Force.’
‘Fan-bloody-tastic.’
Despite Derek’s long wait for Brennan, their meeting didn’t last long. Both men emerged from the pub fifteen minutes later and went their separate ways.
‘What do we do now?’
‘Stay on Derek. If Brennan’s involved in something, he’s not going to be too blatant about it. Besides, Derek didn’t bring his big rig for nothing.’
Derek pulled away, heading towards us. Both of us ducked down out of sight. When we sat up, Brennan had pulled a U-turn and was heading back the way he came.
I gunned the Subaru and followed Derek. The heavy cloak of fatigue from sitting around for the last few hours lifted. We’d got what we came for. Action.
Derek circled around to join the M4 motorway and we did the same. He lived up to his name as a long distance driver. He followed the M4 all the way to the outskirts of London before picking up the M25 circular and taking the southern route around the city.
I wondered if he was picking up a load from an airport, but he failed to turn off at Heathrow or Gatwick. Suddenly, a sea port made sense. The junction for Dover was a few miles ahead, but when he passed the Dover junction, I stopped guessing and just settled for the fact we’d get to wherever we were going when we got there.
Derek got off the motorway in Kent and I wondered if he was going to Brands Hatch, until he drove into Gravesend. He turned into an industrial park. This was trouble for us. No one else was going there at this time of night on a Saturday. We risked being spotted.
I pulled over at the side of the road. ‘Let’s give him a minute to get to where he’s going.’
Dylan nodded.
The good thing about the industrial park was it wouldn’t be hard to find Derek amongst the buildings. The downside was we’d be just as easy to spot.
I turned into the park. It didn’t take long to find Derek. He’d pulled into a Hancock Salvage facility. Hancock himself was there to greet him. He checked the street for prying eyes then closed the salvage yard’s doors the second Derek was inside.
‘A bit late for a sponsor meeting,’ Dylan said.
‘Maybe Derek does some off-the-books trucking work for Hancock,’ I said. ‘Derek wouldn’t be the first driver to do a little extra-curricular work in return for his sponsorship cash.’
‘Do you really believe that?’
‘Let’s just wait and see.’
‘You’re being surprisingly level-headed for once.’ Dylan grinned. ‘You know this is going to turn out dodgy.’
I said nothing and watched the entrance. Dylan was right. As much as this night time rendezvous meant nothing in itself, I found the association between Hancock and Derek curious. Why had Hancock decided to sponsor Derek? He must know about Derek’s death threat. Maybe Hancock just didn’t care who he sponsored as long as he had a winning driver. This late night meeting between Derek and Hancock put a fresh spin on Hancock’s odd tone during my sponsorship pitch meeting. He’d been overly interested in my closeness to Alex. Why? Did Alex know something he shouldn’t have? The petty motives behind his murder now seemed like a smokescreen for something far more insidious. Had Derek’s death threat been a diversion to take attention away from the real motive? I didn’t want to speculate any further. This could be nothing or it could be a whole bunch of something. I needed to see more. I drove past the yard and parked in the shadows between two buildings.
Spotlights lit up Hancock’s yard, but the high fences and walls blocked our view. It was half an hour before all was revealed. Derek re-emerged pulling a commercial car transporter with six damaged, high-end cars loaded onto it.
‘Transporting cars at this time of night?’ Dylan said.
‘Maybe Derek’s trying to beat rush hour traffic.’
Dylan frowned at me. I smiled and gunned the engine.
We followed Derek back to the M25 and all the way back to the south-west. It looked as if Derek was going home. We were running low on fuel. I filled the tank at the M4 motorway services at Swindon. Once I had the car refuelled, I kept the accelerator floored to catch up to Derek. I needn’t have worried. He kept to the speed limit and it didn’t take long to catch him up.
We followed him all the way to Bristol. He threaded his way through the city to a street area filled with shabby and rundown industrial units. He stopped in front of an anonymous looking workshop with no company signs, but protected by a chain link fence. It was close to midnight, but a crew was there to receive him. They helped unload the cars off the transporter and into the workshop.
‘Do you recognize those two?’ I said pointing out Morgan and Strickland.
Dylan’s expression turned angry at the sight of Derek’s two shotgun buddies. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘This is getting pretty intertwined.’
From the way Morgan was ordering Strickland and the others around, this was his place.
‘What do you think they’re doing – running a cut and shut operation?’
A cut and shut is a Frankenstein-style approach to car salvage. Say you have two identical car models but one has front end damage and the other has rear end damage. Instead of repairing both, the cars are cut in half and two good halves are welded together.
‘I don’t think so. Derek delivered six different cars and that place isn’t big enough to hold another six matching cars.’
‘He could be stripping them for parts.’
I shook my head. The cars he’d delivered were high-end and obviously handpicked based on their value. While their spare parts value was high, they were worth even more as the complete cars.
My mobile rang. I pulled it out. Steve’s name appeared on the small screen.
‘Hey, Steve.’
‘Aidy?’ Steve croaked.
Steve sounded sick.
‘Steve, are you OK?’
‘I’m at Archway. Come get me.’
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Someone tried to torch the place.’
‘Are you OK?’
‘Just get back here.’
Lap Sixteen
The Subaru’s headlights bore holes in the darkness. I chased the light with my foot planted on the accelerator, hoping to catch it.
Dylan had taken my phone and put it on speaker. ‘How are you doing, Steve?’
‘OK.’
Dylan and I shared a glance. He didn’t sound it.
‘Are you hurt?’ Dylan asked.
‘I took a bit of a pounding, but I gave back as good as I got.’
I was trying not to panic, just concentrate on driving, but I was failing miserably. Nasty images kept filling my head.
‘Who came after you?’ I asked.
‘I don’t know. The bastard was wearing a balaclava.’
It sounded like the same person Derek had sent to take care of Paul.
‘Steve, have you called an ambulance?’ I asked.
‘No.’
‘I’ll call,’ Dylan said,
‘No,’ he insisted. ‘If you call an ambulance, they’ll take me away and this place will be totally at Derek’s mercy.’
Steve was right, but I wasn’t about to lose him over Alex’s car. I was going to nail Derek one way or another, with or without the car. ‘Steve, if you’re hurt bad, you need a doctor.’
‘I’m OK for now. Just get here. How far out are you?’
‘We’ve just gotten out of Bristol. We’re at least an hour out,’ Dylan said.
‘I’ll survive.’
Dylan covered the phone. ‘He sounds bad, mate.’
‘Keep him talking.’
Dylan nodded. ‘What happened, Steve?’
‘I was working on the car for the Festival. I’d put the ratios in the gearbox and was setting the car up with the factory settings.’
‘We were going to do that tomorrow,’ I said.
‘I was enjoying myself and I wanted to get a jump on tomorrow. I heard a car pull up. I thought it was you
coming back. I called out your name, but I didn’t get an answer. Nothing happened for a minute. I called out again. This time the door opened and a man in a balaclava came in carrying a petrol can. He opened it up and started splashing it about. I rushed him and he knocked me down.’
‘Jesus,’ I said.
‘He thought he’d dealt with me and went straight for Alex’s car. He yanked the drop cloth off and started looking the car over as if he wanted something off it. When he didn’t see what he wanted, he shoved it off its stands and came back for his petrol can. I think he was going to torch it, but that’s when I got him back.’ Steve coughed out a laugh. ‘I lamped him with the adjustables. Got him good in the ribs. I had to have broken one. He turned on me after that, but that was just so I wouldn’t follow him. Once he had me out of the way, he made off.’
Dylan kept Steve talking. He asked him how the Mygale was shaping up against my old Van Diemen and got little anecdotes out of him. Each story helped eat up the miles.
I kept my speed around a hundred. It was easy to do at that time of night. The first signs for Reading flashed by and my fear began to subside. We were only twenty miles away.
Steve was talking when he suddenly trailed off in the middle of a sentence.
‘Steve?’ Dylan asked. ‘You there, Steve?’
Steve didn’t answer.
‘Shit, Steve, you’re scaring me,’ Dylan said. ‘Talk to me.’
Still, Steve didn’t answer.
Dylan checked the phone. ‘The call might have dropped.’
We both knew he was trying to find an excuse not to scare us.
‘Call him back.’
Dylan redialled Steve’s number. ‘I’m not getting through.’
‘Call an ambulance.’
Steve punched in 999. The call got picked up after twenty long rings. ‘Hello. Yes. I need an ambulance out to Archway Restoration, Six Goswell Arches. There’s a man there. He’s been assaulted. We had him on the phone and he lost consciousness. Thank you.’
‘Christ, I hope he’s OK,’ I said.
‘He will be.’
I pushed the Subaru to its limit. The speedometer needle hovered near the hundred and twenty mark. We were travelling at two miles a minute and it still felt slow. I wanted more out of the car, but I wasn’t getting it.
‘Aidy, slow down,’ Dylan pleaded. ‘You’re going to get us killed. And what good would that do Steve?’
I shot him a glance. Dylan had purposely pressed one of my buttons and I bottled the urge to lash out at him. I had no tolerance for reckless driving because of my parents. I drove fast on the roads, but never stupid. I always left the high speed stuff for the racetrack. I took my foot off the gas and the needle dropped down to ninety. It was as slow as I was willing to go.
We covered the rest of the distance in less than twelve minutes. I threw the Capri into the service road behind the Archway units. The ambulance hadn’t arrived yet. The Capri slithered on the loose surface and Dylan grabbed the handhold over the door to steady himself. I stamped on the brakes and the car slithered to a halt outside the workshop entrance. Dylan jumped out of the car before I did and yanked open the shop door.
The acrid stink of spilled petrol burnt the back of my throat the moment I raced through the doorway. A five gallon can lay on its side in a pool. It was a lethal hazard, but I ignored it.
Steve lay on the ground propped up against a workbench, a large adjustable spanner in one hand. He wasn’t conscious.
Dylan got to him first, but I shoved him aside. I was sick with fear and my mind was in a panic. I didn’t know whether to check Steve’s pulse, lift him up, leave him where he was or kick a hole in the wall and I was too frightened to do any of these things in case I made it worse.
‘Steve, it’s me.’
He stirred. His eyes opened, searched the room, failed to lock onto anything, then closed again.
God, it was a relief to see even that small response. I got my arms under his shoulders to lift him.
‘Maybe you shouldn’t move him,’ Dylan said.
‘Steve, come on, mate. Wake up.’
He came around, this time more alert. He tried to sit up. I got behind him and guided him into a sitting position.
‘Take it easy,’ Dylan said.
‘Are you OK?’ I asked.
‘Get me up,’ he said. His voice sounded cracked and broken.
‘An ambulance is on the way,’ Dylan said.
‘No hospital. Just get me up.’
‘No, you’re going to hospital, Steve,’ I told him. ‘You don’t have a choice.’
‘We’d better check you out,’ Dylan said.
Dylan and I got Steve up onto his feet. He groaned.
‘Just get me to a chair. Anything’s better than being stretched out on a concrete floor.’
We carried him to one of the two ratty armchairs we kept in the workshop. They were dirty, greasy things we kept around for when we took a break from working on the cars. They were hardly the most sanitary place for an examination, but Steve would be comfortable.
I helped Steve to sit forward while Dylan helped him off with his shirt. His chest and stomach were mottled with palm-sized, red bruises. Many overlapped to make one big bruise. Steve looked so old and frail there in the armchair. He’d always seemed so invincible to me. It was frightening to see how easily he could be dethroned.
‘I’m sorry, Steve. I’m so sorry.’
Dylan took over. He pushed me aside and looked Steve over as best he could. He was fantastic. I was useless. I was shaking, but I didn’t know if it was from rage or fear. Probably both. Derek had struck too close to home. This was far too personal for me. Now I understood why doctors rarely treated family members. It wasn’t an ethical boundary, but one of objectivity. They couldn’t view the patient as just a patient, or a set of symptoms or an injury that needed fixing. It was a loved one. One screw up on their part could make it worse. I stepped back and gave Dylan the space he needed.
Sirens wailed outside before becoming deafening.
‘They don’t need all the details,’ Steve said. ‘As far as the world knows, this was a bungled robbery. No mention of Derek, Alex or anyone. You got that?’
‘Steve, no,’ I said.
‘Yes, Aidy. We can’t trust the cops yet. This stays between us. Promise me.’
I didn’t like it, but understood it. ‘Whatever you say.’
‘What about the petrol?’ Dylan asked. ‘How do we explain that? A burglar wouldn’t be throwing it around.’
‘Shit,’ Steve mumbled. ‘I’ll tell them I used it as a weapon to scare the tosser off.’
Two uniformed police officers called out to us as they barged their way into the workshop. Naturally, the 999 call had brought the police.
‘Here,’ I said. ‘Quick.’
They raced over and shoved Dylan and me aside to get to Steve while tossing out questions. I had no problem letting them take over. One of the officers gave Steve a cursory examination and asked him how he was doing.
The other officer distanced Dylan and me from Steve so his colleague could question Steve alone. He asked us who we were and what had happened then called for a detective and a scenes-of-crime team.
The ambulance arrived before we were through explaining. The paramedics rushed in. They worked on Steve for a minute before loading him onto a stretcher and into the ambulance.
The officer who’d checked Steve out said, ‘I’m going with the victim to get his statement.’
Dylan and I went to leave too, but the second officer stopped us.
‘I need someone to stay here.’
‘I’ll stay,’ Dylan said.
I followed the first officer out. He pointed to his patrol car and I got in with him. He introduced himself as Officer Luke Pine. The ambulance roared off and we followed.
The ambulance took us to King Edward VII hospital in Windsor. The second we arrived at the hospital, the paramedics rushed Steve into the accident and em
ergency centre. The doctors pumped me for details and Steve’s medical history, then eased me into the waiting room.
Officer Pine remained with Steve and the doctors but emerged a few minutes later. He was in his forties and he radiated the type of assuredness that came with experience. He sat next to me.
‘Your grandad is going to be alright,’ he said.
I exhaled. ‘Thank God.’
‘It’ll be a while before the doctor is out to talk to you. OK if I get your statement?’
‘Sure.’
‘Any idea why someone would do this?’ Officer Pine asked.
‘Archway is well known. There are a lot of expensive tools there and the cars are valuable.’
Pine swallowed our cover story of a random break-in gone wrong and filled out an incident report. It didn’t take long to get my meagre account down on paper.
When he had it all down, he said, ‘Well, it sounds like your grandad gave the bastard a crack in the ribs. If he seeks medical attention, that’s as good as a confession.’
I hoped the police did pick up balaclava man. His identity could prove interesting. Depending on who it was, it might put Derek in an awkward position.
Pine excused himself to report in and left me alone.
Knowing Steve was going to be OK dissolved my fear, but anger replaced it. Derek had actually done it. He’d come after me, but his thug had gotten the wrong person. Well, the stunt had backfired. Instead of destroying Alex’s car, it was now under the police’s watchful eye. There wouldn’t be a second chance at the car. Not tonight.
The doctor came to see me after a couple of hours. She smiled at me as she approached.
‘Your grandfather is going to be OK. Nothing’s broken. He’s just banged up. He took a pretty big knock to the head resulting in a mild concussion and because of that I’ll be keeping him in overnight for observation.’
‘Can I see him?’
‘Of course.’
The doctor showed me into Steve’s room. He looked drained, clinging loosely to consciousness. I pulled a chair up to his bedside and sat before picking up his hand and gripping it. He squeezed back and fixed me with a lazy stare. A tear rolled down my cheek.
‘Hey, kiddo.’ Steve’s voice was thick with fatigue.