Hot Seat

by Simon Wood

  ‘He’s my grandson.’

  ‘Your boy died, didn’t he? I remember now. That’s how we met – it was over your boy.’

  Steve was a statue.

  ‘What’s your name, son?’

  ‘Aidy,’ I answered.

  ‘You follow in the family business?’

  ‘I race.’

  ‘Good for you. I like legacies.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re busy, Eddie. We just have a few questions for you,’ Steve said.

  Stores’ smile remained in place, but his gaze hardened.

  ‘You want to know about Andrew Gates. Is that right?’ Stores said to me.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘We’ve got our reasons,’ Steve said, ‘and we’d like those reasons to remain private.’

  Stores dropped the weight of his gaze on Steve. Steve’s lack of reaction seemed to satisfy him and he nodded to himself. ‘Understood. I can’t say I like the prick, so nothing leaves this room. You have my word on it.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘Andrew Gates was in your line of work, wasn’t he?’

  Stores’ grin intensified until he exposed two rows of expensive dentistry that looked out of place on his melon-sized head. ‘I like your tact, son, but we don’t need to be polite. I’m a loan shark, and so was Andrew. We got started at the same time, back in the early eighties. With two-plus million unemployed, it was a good time to be in the lending business.’

  ‘He moved into the property business, though,’ I said.

  ‘Kind of. Andy got lucky in eighty-nine when his dad pegged out. His old man didn’t approve of what he did, but he left him a share of the house. Eighty-nine was at the end of the Thatcher boom years when house prices were at their peak. He bought out his mum, sold the house and used the cash to stick a zero on the end of the amounts he sharked.’

  It was interesting that, to Stores, a death constituted luck.

  ‘From there, Andy started lending to small businesses and as the interest payment grew, he took slices of the businesses, usually in the form of property. Before these fuckers knew what was happening, Andy owned the whole shooting match, leaving them out in the cold. That’s how he got into the property business. Not my kind of thing, though. Property is like shifting sand. One minute it’s up, the next, it’s down. I stick with money. That doesn’t change. I like to keep things on a smaller and more personal level. Don’t I, Steve?’

  The jibe bounced off Steve, but I saw the cracks appearing. A vein at his temple pulsed. It was time to end this before it hurt Steve any more than it had already.

  ‘So Andrew doesn’t shark anymore?’

  ‘I wouldn’t say that. When you conduct your business with a baseball bat over a few hundred, you’re a loan shark. When you use lawyers for a couple of million, you’re a corporate raider. It’s all about the packaging.’

  It was an interesting philosophical outlook. ‘What about business ventures? Does Andrew have any sidelines?’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘I don’t know – drugs, illegal exports, prostitution. You tell me.’

  At this point, I was open to anything that would explain what was going on.

  ‘He’s a money man, son, not Don-fucking-Corleone. Andy is like me. He likes things simple and without complication. He stuck to sharking. I know he didn’t like drugs. He once hammered one of his blokes who did a little dealing on the side.’

  ‘Do you know who?’

  ‘Nah.’

  ‘What about enemies?’

  ‘When you’ve fucked over as many people as Andy and I have, all you have are enemies.’

  Stores shot me a wink. I couldn’t make out if his bravado was an act to make Steve squirm or if he honestly thought he was a loveable rogue.

  ‘Someone killed Andrew’s brother two weeks ago. Do you think that could be in retaliation for something he did?’

  ‘You’ve seen too many movies, Aidy. We don’t cut the noses off our debtor’s faces to spite our own. Dead clients don’t pay. We only provide motivation.’ Stores picked up the dangerous-looking receipt spike.

  Steve went rigid.

  ‘I’m old fashioned. All my money has a hole in it because I make my punters put it on this nail. And when they don’t pay, I make them put something else on the nail.’

  Stores bounced his palm on the top of the spike.

  Steve jumped up from his chair. ‘Thanks for your time, Eddie. I think we’ve got everything we need.’

  I chased after Steve. When he reached for the doorknob, I saw the scar that marred the palm of his left hand. The pencil-wide disfigurement had been there for as long as I could remember. Steve yanked the door open and was gone.

  Stores belted out an ugly laugh. He rounded his desk and sidled up to me.

  ‘Today’s been a bit of a revelation for you, hasn’t it, son?’

  ‘Yeah and you’ve had your fun.’

  Stores slapped me on the back. It felt like a shovel striking my spine. ‘You’ve got balls, just like Steve.’

  I bit back the urge to tell Stores to go fuck himself. I was here for something bigger than a petty thug. ‘You liked your cash on the nail trick. What was Andy’s way of keeping his punters in line for failure to pay?

  ‘Knives. Andrew liked to cut his delinquent payers.’ Stores drew a line across his forearm with his finger. ‘He’d cut you every time you were late. He called them stripes. Only bad payers earned their stripes.’

  I knew where I’d seen those stripes.

  Lap Twenty-Three

  I called Gates as soon as I was outside and free of Eddie Stores’ corruption. As the phone rang, I watched my grandfather storm back to his Capri. His head was down and his fists balled. I’d never seen Steve angry from shame. The sight only served to boil me up inside.

  The clamour of kids shrieking and laughing spilled down the phone line when Gates answered. ‘Morning, Aidy,’ he said over the din.

  ‘We need to talk. Now.’

  ‘I’m a little tied up with business at the moment. I’ll call you later.’

  ‘Not acceptable. I said now.’

  Gates chuckled. ‘That can’t happen if I don’t tell you where I am.’

  ‘You lied to me. Where are you? Don’t make me track you down.’

  The cocky note went out of Gates’ voice. ‘What have you found out?’

  ‘Not over the phone.’

  ‘OK,’ he said and gave me an address in Watford before ending the call.

  I found Steve in the passenger seat with the keys dangling from the ignition. ‘You drive,’ he said.

  I didn’t argue or ask him if he was OK. He wasn’t. It couldn’t have been easy for him to reveal a side of himself he’d kept secret from Nan and me.

  ‘I need to talk to Gates,’ I said.

  ‘You need me?’

  ‘No. I’ll be OK.’

  I drove Steve back to Archway and left him to his work.

  Again, I was meeting Gates alone on his turf. I was sure the address he gave me would be another secluded spot where he had the upper hand, but I was wrong. It turned out to be the home of a kids’ community and play centre called Open Gates. The place looked to be a converted business unit with the car park turned into a play centre. Banners plastered the side of the building claiming ‘Grand Opening’ and ‘Welcome’. Dozens of cars lined the street, including the mayor’s Bentley, forcing me to park on the next street.

  Inside, close to a hundred kids under twelve ran riot from the climbing frames outside to the video games inside. Parents and play centre staff did their best to corral their enthusiasm by handing out cake and soft drinks. A photographer snapped shots of the mayor with Gates. What the hell was going on?

  Crichlow sidled up to me without me noticing. He’d kept in my blind spot so I hadn’t seen him.

  ‘Wait until Andrew finishes with the mayor,’ he said, ever the faithful pit bull.

  It was several minutes before Gates made his excuses and slalom
ed between the kids shooting back and forth. A little boy no more than seven ran straight into him. He ruffled the kid’s hair and sent him on his way.

  When he got to me, he swung his arms out wide. ‘Impressed? This is the sixth place I’ve opened up. It might look like it’s all games, but we’ve got a library and an after-school homework program here. We’ll be starting up under-tens football and netball teams. If we keep the kids engaged and occupied, they won’t grow up to be like Crichlow and me.’

  I couldn’t make Gates out. One minute he was threatening to hurt Steve and the next he was building community centres for kids. This was either a front for something or his attempt to atone for his ugly past.

  ‘I think we should take our business outside,’ I said.

  Gates guided me across the street with Crichlow in tow, then glanced back at the community centre. ‘I bet you’re wondering how I came by this property. Well, not in a good way. I have a bunch of places that I own at someone else’s expense. I’m making use of them now for something worthwhile.’

  ‘Excuse me for not sharing in your special day after what you’ve put me and my family through.’

  Crichlow took a step forward, but Gates blocked his path.

  ‘You want to get down to this? OK. Let’s get down to it. You said I lied to you. Got anything to back that up?’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me Rags was a client?’

  The colour drained from Gates’ face. ‘Who told you that – Rags?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter who. And don’t tell me he wasn’t. I’ve seen the scars on his forearm. That means he was behind on his payments to you three times. So what happened? Did you have Jason working teams from the inside so when he found one in trouble, he could let them know his big brother could bridge the shortfall? Is that how it worked?’

  Before I could say another word, Gates grabbed me by the throat and slammed me against the wall of the building behind me. ‘Jason had nothing to do with it. I told you he was never part of my business.’

  Crichlow stepped in and peeled Gates off me. ‘Remember where you are, Andy.’

  Gates shrugged Crichlow off. ‘Yes, I lent money to Rags. He got behind so I had to leave my mark. He knew the risks.’

  I didn’t care how many raw nerves I grazed. I wouldn’t be intimidated by Gates. I pushed myself away from the wall. ‘When did he start taking money from you?’

  ‘Five years ago.’

  That coincided with the start of Rags’ on-track success. ‘And he paid you back?’

  ‘Yeah. Eventually.’

  ‘Eventually? I don’t get the feeling you do eventually.’

  ‘You’re right. I don’t. After about a year, he was in over his head. The interest was killing him. He made me an offer. He knew Jason wanted to get into the sport and he said he’d let him apprentice at Ragged in exchange for wiping out his debt.’

  Suddenly, two pieces of the puzzle fell into place. ‘But you never told Jason how he got the job. He thought he’d gotten it on merit and when he found out, he walked out on the team.’

  Gates nodded. ‘Not my finest hour.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell him?’

  ‘He wouldn’t have taken it. He wanted to get in on his own, not because of his brother’s arm twisting.’ Gates smiled weakly. ‘He had integrity.’

  ‘How’d he find out?’

  ‘Rags let it slip.’

  ‘Is that why Jason wasn’t talking to you?’

  Gates nodded. ‘Yes. The second he found out, he left me a message telling me what he thought of me and that I was dead to him.’

  That explained why he’d left the team, but it didn’t explain why he’d started snooping around Ragged Racing. ‘Do you own a piece of Ragged Racing?’

  ‘No. I had no interest in being an owner. The property is leased and cars have no substantial value.’

  ‘Did you lend Rags money just the once?’

  ‘About a year ago he tapped me up again, but I told him to sling his hook. He burned me once. I wasn’t about to make it twice.’

  ‘Three months ago Jason dumped his girlfriend. She got the feeling it was because he wanted to protect her from something. Is that date significant in any way?’

  Gates shook his head.

  ‘Got any theories?’ Crichlow asked.

  Instead of feigning ignorance, I wanted to gauge their reactions. ‘There’s a couple of prevailing theories. Either Ragged Racing is cheating or mixed up with drugs, and Jason was on to them.’

  Gates shared a confused look with Crichlow. ‘Cheating I get, but drugs?’

  ‘Didn’t you have a problem with drugs within your organization?’ I knew I was on risky ground here.

  ‘And it was taken care of,’ Crichlow snapped.

  ‘How’d you come across that nugget of information? Gates asked.

  ‘I’m not giving you names. You’ve lied to me and threatened me. I don’t trust you.’

  ‘Don’t forget, we have a deal, Aidy.’

  ‘We have nothing. I’ll find Jason’s killer, but I don’t have to tell you how I’m doing it.’

  Gates grabbed my wrist and yanked me to him. ‘Remember your place.’

  I nodded over at the mayor and her husband, who had appeared on the steps of the centre and Gates released his grip. ‘Remember your reputation. You wouldn’t want to tarnish it. When you feel like telling me the truth, let me know,’ I said and walked back to the Capri.

  I arrived back at Archway to find the place deserted. With Dylan spending his time at Ragged, Steve was working alone now. He’d left a note on my desk saying he’d gone out to pick up parts.

  I let myself into the situation room and updated the murder board. I now had a direct link between Gates and Rags with Jason caught in the crossfire. I looked at the milestones I now had on the timeline. I had an explanation for why Jason left Ragged. I had a date when Rags started taking money from Gates. I still didn’t have an explanation for what had sparked Jason’s interest in Ragged. If I knew that, I’d have the corner piece to solve this puzzle.

  ‘Tell me what happened, Jason.’

  The doorbell rang before Jason’s ghost could answer.

  I locked the situation room and jogged through the workshop to the rear entrance. I opened the door to find Sergeant Lucas standing there.

  ‘What can I do for you, Sergeant?’

  ‘I’ve come to examine the van.’

  I glanced over at the empty space where it usually sat. ‘My grandfather is out in it at the moment. You should have made an appointment.’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘Oh. He didn’t mention it. He shouldn’t be long then. Do you want to come in?’

  ‘No, I need to examine the trailer. But can you call your grandfather and tell him to hurry it along? I don’t have all day.’

  I retreated back into the workshop and called Steve. ‘Sergeant Lucas is here.’

  ‘Shit, let me finish up and I’ll be back in half an hour.’

  I hung up and rejoined Lucas outside. He was crouched over the trailer with a camera in hand.

  ‘Steve says he’ll be back in thirty minutes.’

  Lucas frowned.

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘I’ll give him thirty minutes. I’ll let you know when I’m through.’

  I didn’t like leaving Lucas unsupervised. He didn’t exactly have my best interests at heart. ‘I’ll stick around if that’s OK.’

  Lucas went back to taking photos. ‘Suit yourself.’

  He spent the next fifteen minutes taking pictures and making notes. When he was finished, he stood and checked his watch, then looked at me.

  ‘Find anything?’ I asked. ‘Any signs of recent repairs?’

  ‘No. The trailer is clean.’

  ‘So I couldn’t have run her off the road.’

  ‘I haven’t seen the van yet.’

  ‘You won’t find anything there either.’

  ‘The victim could have overreacted to an aggressive manoeuvre yo
u made.’

  The word victim grated against my skin. ‘I thought you said she claims I crashed into her.’

  ‘She may have thought that, but after the bang on the head she took and crash she endured, I doubt she was aware of a lot that happened.’

  ‘It looks as if you’ve made up your mind regardless of the evidence and my statement.’ I put my hands together and held them out. ‘You’d better take me in.’

  Lucas looked at my outstretched hands and frowned. ‘If there’s an arrest to be made, I’ll decide when it’ll be made.’

  ‘We pissed off a lot of people that day. They should remember the incident. Have you asked for witnesses?’

  ‘If that proves necessary, it will be done. You know what the shame of this is? It was her new car.’

  ‘New?’

  Lucas jerked a thumb at my Accord. ‘OK, it wasn’t new-new like yours, but not everyone is as lucky as you. It was new to her. She’d had the car just two days before the crash.’

  I found that interesting. Another milestone to be added to the timeline.

  My mobile rang. It was Steve.

  ‘You need to pick me up, son. Some prick nicked the Transit.’

  ‘Shit,’ I murmured. This looked bad. Actually, worse than bad. ‘I’ll get over there as soon as I can,’ I said and hung up.

  Lucas crossed his arms across his chest. ‘Problem?’ he asked.

  ‘I’d like to file a police report on a stolen van.’

  Lucas’ look of disapproval said everything.

  Lap Twenty-Four

  ‘It’s going to be OK,’ Dylan said for the third time.

  We were driving to Ragged Racing. Today was the day I had to deliver the sponsor’s tuned-up Honda Accord to Germany. We’d spent the drive to Banbury discussing the significance of someone stealing Steve’s van. Dylan saw the theft as a potentially good thing.

  ‘Without the van, the cops can’t prove the case one way or the other.’

  While that was true, the van’s disappearance didn’t look good to Sergeant Lucas. It appeared as if we’d stage-managed the van’s theft to prevent it from being examined. Without it, there was nothing left to investigate and it was put up or shut up time for the police. I had the feeling I’d be returning home from this trip to find charges filed against me.