by Simon Wood
A stack of sealed cassette tapes sat next to a clunky looking tape recorder at the end of the table. Brennan made no move to record the interview. Instead, he opened the plastic bag and spilled the contents on the table. He sifted through the items like a pan-handler searching for gold. He picked up and examined the hacksaw blade with the masking tape wrapped around one end for a makeshift handle. ‘I have to admire your persistence, Aidy. You’re not one to give up.’ He tossed the blade down. ‘But it doesn’t mean I have to like it. You want to tell me what’s going on?’
I didn’t. He had me fair and square, but that didn’t mean I was about to say anything. I was more interested in how he’d known to stake out the workshop tonight. I put this down to a self-inflicted wound. When Steve had called the other night to tell me he’d been hurt, I hadn’t been very subtle in my escape. Someone could have seen me and reported it back to Brennan. It was a pretty safe bet that I’d want a better look. I hated being the predictable one in this relationship.
‘Not talking, eh? That’s OK. I’ll talk. I think it’s better that you listen to what I have to say.’
Brennan separated the drill, the hacksaw blade and the screwdriver from the rest of my possessions. ‘These I find interesting. Not exactly the tools of an expert burglar, but they’re a nice starter kit. The way you got into that building was relatively neat and efficient for a novice. You deserve an A for effort. Where you deserve a resounding F is in what you took.’ He poked about amongst my wallet, keys and loose change with the screwdriver. ‘You didn’t take anything. If you’re going to go to all the bother of breaking and entering, you really should add theft to the equation. You deserve a reward for all your endeavours.’
Theatrically, Brennan’s interest fell to the digital camera. He cast the screwdriver aside and picked it up. He switched it on and scrolled through the images. ‘Hmm, very interesting. Judging by the pictures of you, this seems to be your camera. Why on earth would a thief want a camera at a job?’
Since I didn’t have a choice, I endured Brennan’s theatrics. He knew the answer already. He just wanted to flex his muscles and that was fine. He’d get around to the point eventually.
‘There are some interesting images of vehicles captured here. Trying to get a jump on your racing competition? Except these don’t look like racing cars.’ He went suddenly wide-eyed. ‘Oops. I seem to have accidentally deleted all the pictures you’ve taken tonight. Sorry, I thought I was scrolling through them. I really wish there was some way of making up for my mistake, but I think you have bigger problems than some lost photographs.’ He put the ruined product of my hard work on the table between us.
It was a petty and obvious move on Brennan’s part, but it struck a raw nerve in me. I was sick and tired of the mess around me. Cover-ups. Intimidation. Threats. Lies. Protection. Alex was murdered and that wasn’t of prime importance to anyone, not even the police. It wasn’t right. I lost my grip on my temper. ‘You’re a piece of work, Brennan.’
‘That’s Detective Brennan to you.’
‘Well, for a detective, you’re a pretty shitty one.’
‘You watch your mouth, son,’ he barked.
I’d gotten to him where it hurt. He boiled underneath, but he kept his rage contained. I shouldn’t be pushing the likes of Brennan. He held the reins to my future. But at this point, I had nothing to lose. I’d lost already. I couldn’t make it any worse for myself.
‘You keep protecting Derek Deacon – why? He’s a killer and you know it.’
‘I told you already. Mr Deacon is no killer.’
‘Yeah, stupid me for forgetting. He’s a law-abiding citizen.’
‘He is, unlike you. And I don’t see what Mr Deacon has to do with the property you broke into. It doesn’t belong to him.’
Brennan was baiting me. He was after what I knew. If I hadn’t been on my guard, I would have told him about seeing Derek delivering the cars.
‘It looks like I made a mistake then.’
‘Not your first.’
I didn’t like Brennan’s smug look, so I removed it for him.
‘What’s it like being Derek Deacon’s bent copper? And does anyone here know? I’m sure they’d be interested.’
Brennan lunged for me with both hands and yanked me across the desk, sending my possessions and my chair flying. I bounced off the floor on my back, my legs slamming into the wall. He kept me pinned to the floor with his foot on my chest.
‘You really do need to watch your mouth.’
The door burst open and the duty officer stood in the doorway, stunned by the sight before him.
‘Get him in a cell,’ Brennan barked.
The play-acting ended there. The duty officer marched me down to the cells. There were no idiotic jokes or jibes, not even any conversation. It was all business. They put me in a cell, locked the door and presumably threw away the key.
The cell was a depressing box consisting of a stainless steel toilet and thin mattress covering a concrete slab jutting from the wall for a bed. I was alone. Dylan was in his own cell somewhere.
I didn’t know what came next. A solicitor? A courtroom? A judge? It was a new and different world. I guessed nothing would happen tonight.
I dropped onto the rock hard bed. I should have tried sleeping, but I was too wired. Tonight’s work was all for nothing. I had no proof and worse still, Brennan would feed it all back to Derek. Worst of all, I was looking at a jail term. Probation at best. I leaned back and resigned myself to whatever came next.
The head of steam I’d worked up dissipated and engaged the gears in my head. I hadn’t been cautioned. I hadn’t been charged. I wasn’t positive, but I thought that Brennan was supposed to have had a second officer in the interview room and he should have recorded the interrogation, for his protection as well as mine. Why did he bring us here to this police station and not his assigned station in Chippenham? The answer was simple. He couldn’t get away with this in front of his own people. Too many questions would be asked.
Without my watch, I didn’t know what time it was, but just as the first signs of dawn were showing through the narrow window, the cell door opened and a disapproving officer filled the doorway.
‘C’mon, let’s go.’
‘Where?’
‘I don’t care. To whatever rock you crawled out from under. You’re free to go.’
I sat there in stunned silence for a moment.
‘C’mon, I don’t have all day.’
I stepped out of the cell. Dylan stood in the hallway. We shared a sheepish smile.
They led us back to the booking area. All our possessions were returned to us. I was glad to see nothing had gone curiously missing other than my digital photos. No charges were being filed and we were free to go.
Brennan was nowhere to be seen.
The duty officer took us out to the waiting room. It wasn’t a joke. We were free. This time, our smiles weren’t so sheepish.
‘Don’t look too pleased with yourself. You should count yourself lucky that the detective decided to show you some leniency.’
‘Where is the detective?’
The duty officer slammed the security door shut in our faces. I wasn’t about to argue and we walked out.
Brennan stood outside waiting for us with a cigarette in his hand. ‘I thought I’d cut you some slack. Let it be a reminder of how close you came to being on the wrong side of the law.’
We said nothing.
‘Don’t thank me all at once.’
‘I won’t,’ I said.
Brennan laughed. ‘Ah, the stupidity of youth. You don’t know when you’re being given a break. Seriously, don’t squander this gift I’m giving you. I don’t want you in my business or Derek Deacon’s. Is that understood?’
‘Why do you keep protecting him?’
The detective took a long drag on his cigarette then exhaled. ‘I’ve got some advice for you and I want you to take it. Leave Derek Deacon alone. Forget all about him. You’
re interfering in things you don’t understand and I can’t protect you from getting yourselves hurt.’
‘You’re protecting us? That’s a joke.’
‘You look a little older and smarter than our friend here,’ he said to Dylan. ‘Maybe you can explain the facts of life to him.’
As Brennan walked over to his car, I asked, ‘Are you going to give us a ride back?’
He laughed. ‘You like to push, don’t you, son?’
Lap Twenty
A cab returned Dylan and me to the scene of our botched crime. The Subaru sat parked in the same place, untouched and still intact. Brennan had had plenty of time to put a call into Derek’s boys and I half expected to find a smoking husk as our punishment for poking our noses where they weren’t welcome.
We looked across the street at the workshop. No one watched us from inside. The place had remained just as intact as the Subaru. Our little night-time escapade had failed to provoke a reaction. There’d been no dawn raid to clear the place out and cover their tracks. We hadn’t caused them to lose a moment’s sleep. I didn’t know whether or not to be insulted.
‘That proved to be a less than successful night,’ Dylan said.
It was hard to disagree. We had nothing physical to show for our efforts, but a little more of the puzzle had been revealed. Derek was showing exactly how far his influence stretched. Maybe the stories about his links to organized crime were true. He did seem to have friends everywhere.
‘Could have been worse,’ I said and tossed the keys to Dylan. ‘We could still be in jail.’
He snatched them from the air. ‘Don’t remind me. Let’s get out of here before someone changes their mind.’
Dylan’s bitterness was hard to miss. I was pushing our friendship to the limit. There was no point in apologizing. It would only be pouring petrol on a fire.
We got into the car and headed home.
I checked my mobile. Steve had left six messages. I woke him up with my call and filled him in.
‘Jesus, I was worried sick.’
‘I know. I’m sorry. If we could have called you, we would have.’
‘I’m just glad you’re OK. Now get your arses back here. You’re meant to be testing today, if you’d forgotten.’
I didn’t argue.
By the time we got back to Archway, it was time to leave for Brands Hatch. Steve had the van packed and ready, including my race gear. All we needed to do was load the car onto the trailer and connect it to the van.
I hadn’t slept during the night and I was in no condition to even think about driving on a track, but I had little choice. The Festival was nine days away and I needed track time in the new car. Despite Vic Hancock’s connection with Derek, I had an obligation to him as my sponsor to do well. I wasn’t in a position to back out on him. It was pretty obvious after our sponsorship meeting he was suspicious of what I knew about his relationship with Alex. Pulling out on the Festival would only validate his suspicions.
We loaded up the car and headed out without a pause for breakfast, which wasn’t such a bad thing. I was agitated. The last thing I needed in my stomach was food.
Steve drove. Dylan sat up front, but soon fell asleep. I bedded down in the back of the van with the tools and equipment and rested my head on my kit bag. I thought I was too wound up to sleep, but one minute I was thinking about Brennan and the next Steve was sliding back the van’s side door and telling me to wake up, we’d arrived.
I slid from the van and checked my watch. I’d gotten an hour and a half of sleep and felt worse for it. The short nap left me feeling hung-over.
Dylan climbed down from the van.
‘You look like shit,’ I said.
‘Back atcha, buddy.’
‘Hey, enough,’ Steve barked. ‘You’ve had a crappy night. Big deal. Think of today as an endurance test. If this was a twenty-four hour race, you’d be feeling a damn sight worse. Aidy, you can wake yourself up by checking us in with race control.’
I jogged down the pit lane to get my blood flowing and flush the fatigue out. It didn’t help. I wanted to throw up and I was a little bit wobbly on my legs, but I never felt good before I went out on the track, so it wasn’t such a bad sign.
I cast a look down the pit lane. All the garages were full. I recognized most of the faces and teams. Of course, all the factory backed Formula Ford teams were present. A couple of the European teams were there getting in some early practice for the Festival. It was going to be a busy test session. Brands Hatch’s short circuit, the Indy circuit, isn’t much over a mile. Regulations restrict the number of cars on the track to twenty-six. We’d be divided up into timed sessions. It was a sensible approach and it prevented everyone from going out when they pleased. Normally, I found this a pain, but in my current condition it was a blessing. There were two groups and I was in the second group.
By the time I got back to our pit, Steve and Dylan had unloaded the car and wheeled it into the pit garage. They’d even gotten the timing gear out and all the tools set up. We looked professional and ready for action. All we needed was the driver.
I changed in the back of the van. The day was chilly and it felt good to have my flame retardant underclothes under my race suit to keep the cold out.
The officials sent the first group out for their timed session and I wandered out to the service road behind the pit garages and looked up at the sky. The forecast predicted rain, but the sky was relatively clear. It was cold, but if the weather held, it would make for a good day.
‘Aidy,’ a voice called.
From the far end of the service road, Alison was waving. She wasn’t alone. Her father was with her. She was smiling. He wasn’t. I groaned. I didn’t need trouble before I went out.
I walked over to them and met them halfway. Alison gave me a quick hug and her dad shook my hand and not my throat.
‘Thanks for coming out,’ I said. ‘You didn’t have to be out here so early.’
‘There’s a reason for that,’ Mr Baker said, looking embarrassed. ‘I wanted to apologize for my behaviour towards you.’
‘That’s OK.’
‘No, it isn’t. Alison’s told me about what you’ve tried to do for Alex and the resistance you’ve received. The last thing you need is me acting like a fool. This is a difficult time for everyone. Alison lost her husband to be and I lost my future son-in-law. But that’s no excuse and I hope you’ll accept my apology.’
‘Of course,’ I said and we shook on it.
Alison grinned.
‘Part of my apology is that I’d like to offer my help to you. I’m good with my hands.’
‘He is,’ Alison said. ‘He rewired my flat and redid the kitchen at home.’
I remembered Mr Baker’s well-equipped garage where I’d collected Alex’s car. If he used half the tools he had on the racks, he’d be useful.
‘We can always use an extra set of hands. You’ll have to do what my grandad says though,’ I said with a smile.
‘Deal,’ Mr Baker said.
I led them back to our pit garage. Things were looking up. I had one less headache to worry about. It lifted my spirits and did more to revive me than a decent night’s sleep.
I introduced everyone and Steve orchestrated the last minute tinkering consisting of retorquing the wheel nuts, checking tyre pressures and a spanner check to make sure every nut and bolt was tight.
Steve checked his watch. ‘Fifteen minutes before the cars from the first session come in. It’s time to fire it up.’
He inserted the key in the master cut-off switch and turned it, then flicked on the ignition. He nodded to me to press the start button. ‘It’s your car.’
I smiled, leaned in and pressed the starter. The engine turned over a few times before catching. Once it caught, it gathered strength and burbled with pleasure.
‘Aw, listen to that,’ Dylan cooed. ‘That’s a dirty, dirty sound. Automotive porn. Pure filth.’
The remark got a laugh out of everyone and
for the first time, I was looking forward to today.
Steve left the engine running to get the water and oil temps up and the oil pressure down.
When the chequered flag came out to end the session and the cars began pouring back into the pits, I climbed into the car and belted myself in. Steve handed me my helmet and I pulled it on.
He knelt down next to me. ‘Take it easy out there. Don’t worry about times. Today is about getting a feel for the car and getting the set-up right for the Festival. Push the car, but don’t push the car. Be smart. Got that?’
I nodded.
He patted me on the helmet. ‘Good lad. Now go make me proud.’
I eased the car out of the garage and joined the line of cars waiting to be unleashed. The second the track marshal gave us the green flag my foot was on the gas. I joined the track, bursting through an invisible membrane separating racing from the real world.
As I came around to complete my first warm-up lap, Steve leaned over the pit wall with my pit board to show me where to look for my lap times. Alison was with him with a stopwatch in hand. I liked seeing her there.
At Steve’s request, I took it easy for the first couple of laps. The Mygale was stiffer and more unforgiving than my Van Diemen. Having a fresh engine at my back made the cocktail even more volatile. I let cars overtake me to find a gap in the traffic. I wanted some alone time with the car to feel it out. Despite its skittish feel, it was predictable, so I went for it. I made a target out of the pack of cars ahead. While they got in each other’s way, too eager for that flying lap, I steadily reeled them in. The lap times came down. They weren’t mind blowing, but they were respectable. I came in at the end of the session to a row of smiles.
‘You looked good out there,’ Steve said. ‘Where do we need to make improvements?’
Steve tinkered with the set-up, adjusting the anti-roll bar settings and ride heights. When I went out for the next session, he put Alison and her dad on the pit wall to record lap times while he and Dylan took up positions on different bends around the circuit to watch my performance on the corners. Their reports and the improved set-up brought the times down. At the end of my fifth session, I was consistently lapping a second and a half faster than my personal best around Brands. I didn’t know if it was the new car, the new engine, the feeling of a solid budget behind me, sleep deprivation, or the support of my friends, but whatever it was, it was working.