by Graham Smith
Evans fired off the same list of questions he had bombarded Helen Salter with earlier. When he was finished answering the questions, Larry heaved his huge frame off his seat – which Campbell could have sworn gave a sigh of relief – to show them where the safe was kept. It was an old-fashioned style of safe, the kind you would expect to see in any John Wayne western. Standing three feet high and two wide it would weigh in excess of six hundred pounds, but it was opened with a single key.
‘Who has keys for the safe?’
‘There only is one.’
‘And who has that key?’
‘Me, of course.’
‘Who else, Larry? If you’d stolen the money then you wouldn’t still be here, you’d have fucked off away from the reach of the Leightons.’
‘There’s just one key and I keep it on me at all times.’
‘Don’t lie to me, Larry. If you have the key, someone must have picked the lock twice to steal the money.’
‘Twice?’
‘Of course twice, you imbecile.’ Evans fixed Larry with a stare. ‘You said a minute ago the safe was locked and when you opened it you discovered the money was missing. So either you stole the money, which we’ve already established didn’t happen. Or the thief picked the lock to open it, stole the money and then picked the lock closed again. So tell me where the fucking key is kept.’
Larry’s shoulders drooped as Evans shouted his last sentence. ‘It’s kept here.’ He opened a door leading into a storage cupboard with a nail hanging from it.
‘We made sure the staff knew who they were working for so that they wouldn’t dare steal.’
‘Someone dared, didn’t they?’
As they made to leave Evans turned to Larry. ‘What have you told the Leighton brothers?’
Larry’s face was filled with self-pity. ‘The truth, for what good it done me. They have added the missing money onto my debt but are charging twenty per-cent interest on it.’
‘They can’t do that to you, can they?’ Campbell’s mouth hung open.
‘It was that or a one-way boat trip to the middle of Lake Windermere. Please, Harry, you’ve gotta find the thief and get the money back, or I’ll never be out of debt to them.’ Larry’s eyes began to moisten.
‘Then you better tell me the truth about everything and stop lying if you want us to catch this fucker.’
‘OK, OK.’ Larry took a long pull of his cigarette before continuing. ‘The alarm is bust and has been for three months. The Leightons believe their reputation will keep the locals away and make me keep the safe key there so that they can come and get a few grand whenever they please. I called them yesterday to ask how much they took as they have always left a note in the past and I thought they had just forgotten.’
‘Are you sure they aren’t just tying you tighter to them with this apparent theft? You have this place booming most days and the profits must be good as they’re hardly likely to have any mortgage to pay.’
‘No, they’ve always been seen and usually have a drink in the bar before going to the safe. Besides I have been paying Emily’s debt off religiously. They’ve even been sending the managers of their other hotels here to learn from me. I’ve got cancer, Harry, and they want me to teach their other hotel managers before I kick the bucket. The doc has given me eighteen months. I would’ve been free from them in six months. I planned to spend the time with my Emily before the cancer gets me. We’ve missed too much of each other’s lives with me working all the hours God sent and her being off her face.
‘Anything else to tell me?’
‘Is that not enough?’
‘Probably too much. You let me know if you think of owt else.’
While Evans took the A591 towards Keswick, Campbell put a call through to Chisholm. As he updated the DS, Campbell watched Lake Windermere flash past on his left. There were secluded marinas among the various hotels that bordered the lake. Out on the lake itself, boats of all different sizes powered or sailed their way forward. A steamer packed with waving tourists was rocking smaller boats with its wash.
When he’d finished his task, Campbell asked Evans who the Leighton brothers were.
‘They’re the ones who run most of the serious crime in Cumbria. I’ve got a file on them six inches thick but I’ve never managed to convict them. They’re a right pair of bastards. They’d kill for fun, but their elder sister is the brains behind the operation. They’re nothing more than the front that the criminal element knows about.’
As they were skirting Ambleside, a call from Lauren came through. Evans punched the button to answer the call through the car’s hands-free system.
‘Guv, we have four suppliers in common. They are Bandits’ Express, Euston Vintners, Cumbria Food Service and Peters, Waugh and Beckett who are the accountants for each of the affected businesses.’
‘Arrange a meeting with their head honchos for later today or first thing tomorrow, an’ let me know who I’m meeting along with where and when.’ He paused the conversation to berate a driver, who had the temerity to slow him down by driving at the speed limit.
‘Put Bhaji Boy on the line.’
‘You’re on speaker, guv.’ Bhaki’s voice was easy to identify against the harsh Cumbrian accents of the other team members.
‘Why didn’t she tell me that from the start? I could have been using profane language or being politically incorrect about one of my team. Tell the stupid splitarse never to fuck me over like that again.’
‘Enough with the bullshit, Quasi! Get to the bloody point!’ DCI Grantham’s roar almost deafened Campbell and Evans.
‘Hello, sir. Could I please inquire of DC Bhaki as to which garages have been conned and if there is any pattern?’ Evans’s voice was sweetness and light as he winked at Campbell.
Campbell could picture Grantham’s apoplexy and had to bite his lip when the slamming of a door came through the speaker.
Bhaki filled the silence echoing down the line. ‘Sir, there’s been seven garages complaining of the con over the last six days.’
‘We’re halfway between Ambleside and Keswick, are there any near us?’
‘Duncan’s in Silloth and the Gateway Garage in Cockermouth are the nearest. Do you want directions?’
‘No, I know where they are. How much did they each have missing?’
‘Duncan’s were down by two thousand exactly; so was the Gateway Garage. Both sold a car for five grand.’
‘Did any of them have CCTV?’ Campbell joined the conversation.
‘No, they didn’t, but Duncan’s sold their car to a woman and the Gateway Garage sold theirs to a man.’
‘What about the other garages, did they all have a two grand deficit on a five grand motor?’
‘Yes, and they all said the customers walked into the showroom and done the deal there and then. In each case, they drove the car away. Sometimes they bartered down the price to five grand and sometimes they paid the asking price of four nine nine five. All of the garages sold a car to a person who gave their address as fifty-one News Street, Wigton. DS Chisholm looked the address up on Google StreetView and it’s the police station.’
‘Get onto them all and get descriptions of the people who ripped them off and compare them. Lauren, what have you found out about the farm robberies?’
‘I’m still working on it and compiling lists for cross-referencing, but from what I can gather about a dozen places have been affected in the last week alone.’
‘Send it through to us and let me know as soon as it’s been sent.’ Evans hung up.
‘I’ve seen this kind of thing before, and think I know how they are doing it.’
‘How?’ Evans fumbled in his pockets for a lighter and lit his cigarette as they rounded a sharp bend.
‘By jumping up numbers when counting. This is done by distracting the seller with questions. When we get to a shop I’ll get some playing cards and show you. It’s easier than explaining.’
They arrived at the Gateway Garage in
Cockermouth and found the salesman who had made the sale. Campbell took the lead with questioning him, asking for details of the car and its number plate and vehicle identification number.
He also asked if the V5C paperwork had been sent off to the DVLA yet to register the car with its new owners.
‘Yes, of course it has.’ The salesman took Campbell across the forecourt and through the tired showroom with dirty windows in desperate need of a clean to a small office.
Campbell pulled out the two packs of playing cards he had bought on the way to the garage. He handed them to the salesman and told him to count out one hundred cards.
‘Why?’
Campbell noted a marked difference between the salesman’s accent and the harsher more guttural sound of East Cumbrians like Evans and Lauren. The salesman possessed a softer, more drawn-out accent. His words were stretched, rather than the abbreviated slang common to quick-speaking Carlislers.
‘I’m gonna show you a trick. Harry, come and see this.’ Evans had wandered around the forecourt and was paying more attention to a second-hand M5 than he was to Campbell.
Campbell got Evans to re-count the cards the salesman had counted and they both agreed there were one hundred playing cards in the pile.
Picking up the stack of cards, Campbell sat down at a desk and motioned for the salesman to sit on the opposite side. Once the man was seated, he started counting the cards onto the desk.
‘One.’
‘Two.’
‘Three.’
‘Four.’
‘How many cars have you for sale today?’
The salesman took a moment to calculate the number before he answered Campbell. ‘Twenty-three.’
Campbell laid a card down. ‘Twenty-four.’
‘Twenty-five.’
‘Twenty-six.’
‘How old are you? You look near retirement age?
‘I’m only fifty-four, so a few years yet.’ The salesman pulled a face at Campbell’s question, irritation creeping into his voice.
‘Fifty-five.’
‘Fifty-six.’
‘Fifty-seven.’
‘Fifty-eight.’
‘Sorry about that. I’m twenty years younger than you. I was born in December seventy-nine.’
‘It’s OK.’ The salesman nodded at Campbell’s apology.
‘Eighty.’
‘Eighty-one.’
‘Eighty-two.’
‘Eighty-three.’
‘I’ve heard the temperature is to hit ninety-eight this weekend.’ Campbell laid down another card as he spoke.
‘Really, ninety-eight?’
‘Ninety-nine, one hundred.’ Campbell crossed his hands on the table.
‘Please, can you count the cards I have given you?’
‘Again? They been counted three times now: first, I counted them and then he counted them and then you counted them in front of us both.’
‘Just count them for me please.’
‘This is where you learn how you’ve been tricked, you imbecile.’ Evans made no attempt to hide his disdain of the salesman.
The salesman counted the cards that Campbell had laid on the table, and looked up in amazement when he finished. There were only twenty-one cards in his hands.
‘Are you looking for these?’ Campbell lifted his hands to reveal the other seventy-nine cards.
‘How the hell did you do that?’
‘I distracted you by asking you questions which had numbers as the answer or were about different numbers. When I started counting again I carried on from the number which had just been spoken.’
‘Well, fuck me sideways with a pickaxe.’
‘Was that familiar?’ Campbell ignored Evans’s outburst, and directed his question at the salesman.
‘Yeah. That’s just what it was like.’ A hand rubbed the salesman’s reddening face. ‘Mebbe the jumps in numbers weren’t as big, but that’s just how it was when he counted the money out.
Campbell was elated at discovering the method used to con the garages. As they drove out of the forecourt he explained the methodology to Evans. ‘It’s a simple enough scam if you have the confidence to pull it off and if you use the same questions at each garage you get the same amount of money. The key is the questions. The ones I chose were designed to annoy or interest him, which gives the bigger distraction. Also I overcooked it for effect. He would never have missed the jumps in numbers if I had given him notes instead of playing cards.’
‘So these folk are walking in with three grand and driving away with a car worth five? That has to be one of the best cons I’ve ever heard of. When we catch them we should give them a medal for services to motorists.’
‘Is it even illegal?’
‘If both parties agree to the amount of money that changes hands, I think it’d be very hard to prove otherwise in court.’
‘That’s what I was thinking. Say we do catch the folk who’re doing this, what then? We know how they’re doing it, but it’ll be a nightmare to prove without CCTV footage. Any halfway competent solicitor will get them off the hook in a few minutes.’
Evans gave a twisted smile. ‘I’ll think of something. There’s no way we can let people get ripped off like this.
While Evans rocketed the BMW to Silloth with his usual disregard for traffic laws and other road users, Campbell used the time to call Bhaki, instructing him to get onto the DVLA and flag up the cars on their system. With luck they could trace the new owners and find out who was behind the scam.
When they reached Silloth, Evans declined Campbell’s suggestion of a visit to the garage, instead pulling into the sprawling caravan site that housed Jumpers Entertainment Centre. A disco-pub, family-style restaurant and games machines were all housed in one shed-like building.
There were rows of static caravans running perpendicular to the Solway Firth, most had cars parked in front of them. People wandered back and forth in holiday clothes despite the cool sea breeze carried from the nearby shore.
Pulling into a disabled parking space, Evans switched off the engine, pulled out his mobile and sent off a short text which Campbell did not get to see.
A groundskeeper approached them and pointing out they’d parked in a disabled space. Evans fixed the man with an icy stare. ‘I’ve got Tourette’s. Fuck off.’
‘You can’t speak to members of the public like that.’ Campbell struggled to keep his face straight while getting the right amount of condemnation into his voice, as the bemused groundskeeper walked away shaking his head. Despite being shocked by Evans’s cavalier attitude to public relations, he couldn’t help but laugh at his terminology.
‘Jobsworths get right on my tit end. Why is this place not open yet? Don’t they want to get back on track? Or are they having a coupla days’ mourning for the missing wonga?’
‘There’s somebody in there.’ Campbell had ignored Evans’s latest diatribe and was peering through the window. He banged on the glass and the person who came across to the door was in charge of something or other, if the flashy suit and expensive haircut were any indication.
This guy has to be a wanker; he’s dressed like he’s managing the Waldorf Astoria, when in reality he’s in charge of a shitty little caravan site in a godforsaken, weather-beaten hellhole.
‘DIs Campbell and Evans.’ Campbell made the introductions to the man who identified himself as George Davis, the manager. ‘All we need to trouble you for is a look at where the safe is, our colleagues have got most of the details we require.’
‘Just follow me and I’ll show you where it is.’ Davis led them through the building into the back of house area. An emergency exit and the door to the public areas were the only means of accessing the area.
‘Is this door alarmed?’ Evans peered at the back door looking for wires or contact sensors.
‘No, it’s not, unfortunately. I’ve asked the proprietor to have the alarm system added to it, but he was reluctant to spend the money.’
‘He’ll m
ebbe have more of an incentive now.’ Evans turned to Campbell. ‘Right, mara, take a look at this safe then tell me what the code number is.’
Evans scribbled on a piece of paper he retrieved from his pocket, while Campbell scrutinised the safe.
Campbell studied the safe for a moment and when he felt confident he straightened up and faced Evans. ‘0898A.’
Evans unfolded the scrap of paper he’d written on. ‘0898A.’
‘How the hell do you both know that?’ Davis was now questioning the validity of these policemen who had waltzed in and cracked the safe code in less than two minutes.
‘The numbers eight, nine and zero are practically worn away, while all the others are virtually factory fresh, as is the letter B while A is again very much worn. By the look of the safe it dates back to the early nineties at most. This was a time when the number oh eight nine eight preceded all the phone sex lines, so it would be a good mnemonic.’
Campbell was enjoying the look of dismay washing over the pretentious Davis.
‘Bloody hell, it’s obvious when you explain it like that.’
They made their way out with Evans pausing to look at a scenic calendar that hung in the manager’s office.
Campbell got a text from Lauren informing him that they had a meeting with Bandits Express’s owner at 3 p.m., Cumbria Food Service’s manager at 4 p.m. at their respective offices in Carlisle. Euston Vintners was a national company whose head office was in London, but she had arranged for their area manager to meet Evans and Campbell at Carlton Hall – the regional HQ – the next day at 10 a.m. Peters, Waugh and Beckett were Kendal based and the managing partner had rearranged his schedule to see them at noon the next day.
Campbell relayed the information to Evans who checked his watch.
‘Right, let’s get some brain stimulus. We’ve got an hour before we meet with Bandits Express.’
Evans was a good as his word and he pulled into the car park of the Coach and Horses at Wigton just off the A596 – the main artery from Carlisle to West Cumbria.
‘Two pints of Jennings, please, Mike.’ Evans again ordered the drinks without asking what Campbell wanted.