Say You're Sorry: A Gripping Crime Thriller (A DCI Campbell McKenzie Detective Conspiracy Thriller No 1)

by IAN C. P. IRVINE

  The police officer and Jonathan came to where the two bumpers of the cars were almost touching each other.

  "Okay," she said reaching for a black electronic pad in her jacket, "let me take a few particulars, and I'll help you swap insurance details."

  "Are you the owner of the car that drove into the back of this gentleman?" the police officer asked, switching on the electronic device, extracting the stylus from the pouch on its side, tapping the keyboard a few times, and then looking up at the tall man who had been driving the other car.

  "Oh...shit..." Jonathan heard her say under her breath as she looked up at the man. "May I ask, sir, what is your name?"

  The man with the blue eyes scowled back at her.

  "Thomas," he replied. "Thomas McNunn."

  Chapter 7

  Willowbrae Road

  Edinburgh

  Wednesday 7.30 p.m.

  "Mr Thomas McNunn?" the woman police officer repeated, nervously.

  "Yes. Like I just said. I'm Thomas McNunn."

  The police officer seemed a little flustered, and Jonathan caught her glancing over at the other officer who by now had held up the traffic on the main road and was taking it in turns to let cars from either side pass around the accident at the traffic lights.

  "Excuse me a second," she muttered, and walked away towards her partner.

  Jonathan watched her talk to him briefly. The male officer looked over at them both, staring for a few moments at the tall man, then exchanging a few more words with the woman PC.

  She nodded, adjusted her hat, and started back over towards them, climbing carefully through the gap between the two bumpers.

  "Are either of you hurt at all? Would you like me to call an ambulance?"

  Jonathan thought for a moment.

  "I don't think I need an ambulance, but I think I've hurt my neck, and my chest hurts a little."

  The police officer looked at him quite sternly.

  "Would you like me to call an ambulance?"

  Jonathan felt under pressure. He didn't want to make a fuss. His chest hurt, but it had been hurting a little for the past few days, so it probably wasn't truthfully anything to do with the accident. His neck did hurt, and his shoulders, but he could walk and calling an ambulance would probably be a bit over the top.

  "No..." he started to reply. "No. I think I'll be okay."

  "And you, sir?" she asked the tall man.

  "I'm fine."

  "Ok, good." she started. "Then I'll just confirm a few details which you can also exchange with each other, and then we can all get on our way. Okay?"

  "Yes, thanks. But could you please take a photograph or something, and give me your details so that I can ask you to be a witness for me?" Jonathan asked.

  The woman police officer looked up at the man who had driven into Jonathan - Mr McNunn - and then across at Jonathan.

  "I can give you a reference number when I'm finished, but I won't be able to act as a witness. That's now a matter for you to both work out with your insurance companies. As no one has been badly injured, it's now an insurance matter, not a police matter."

  "But you're here now. You can see that I'm not to blame. Unfortunately, this gentleman drove into the rear of my car whilst I was stationary at the red lights. It's obviously his fault, and not my mine. If possible, officer, I'd just like you to be able to state that to my insurance company, if you could, please?"

  "Like I said, sir, this is now really a matter for your insurance companies, and I'll repeat that since no one is injured and requires medical assistance, we can shortly all get on our way. Now please, can you give me your names and addresses..."

  A little shaken, and slightly frustrated by the unhelpfulness of the police officer, Jonathan started to rattle off his personal details in reply to the police officer's question.

  When her attention finally turned away from him and passed over to the other driver, Jonathan reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his little-notebook. As the man, Thomas McNunn, recited his own details to the officer, Jonathan fought with his shaking fingers and tried to copy as many of the details down himself.

  He got his name, number plate, telephone number, address, make of car, and the name of the other driver's insurance company: it was Swiss Insurance - they were both insured with the same company.

  "Okay," the woman officer spoke aloud, engrossing herself in the screen on her little hand-held terminal, and seemingly avoiding both their gazes, "I can confirm that you are both who you say you are, and that your details are correct. Your vehicles are both insured and taxed, and you now both have each other's details..., yes? Good. Mr Stuart, is your car safe to drive? Will you be able to make it home safely?"

  Jonathan seemed a little perplexed by the question.

  "I don't know if it's safe to drive... What do you think? Can I drive it?"

  The officer looked at Jonathan, said nothing, then bent down and examined what was left of the rear bumper.

  "Yes, if it drives okay, then it's okay to drive straight home or to a local garage. I don't think this would pass an MOT as it is, so I suggest you take it to a garage as soon as you can and get it looked at properly. You should get it fixed as soon as possible. I don't think your insurance will be valid any more until you do. But only your garage can really tell you if it's safe to drive, or not."

  Jonathan was even more confused.

  "So, can I drive it now or not?"

  "Like I said. Now, yes. To get home or to the garage, but probably not after that. You need to get it made roadworthy."

  She turned to the tall man, the other driver.

  "Same goes for you, Mr McNunn. Although it looks like you got off more lightly than Mr Stuart."

  Jonathan stood there fiddling with his notebook. His hands were still shaking, and he started coughing again. He knew there was something more he wanted to ask the PC, if he could only calm down enough to remember what it was.

  "Excuse me... Miss, officer...Can you give me that reference number or something else, so that I can prove to the insurance company that you were here?"

  The police officer almost scowled at him.

  "Certainly, sir... One moment please."

  She looked at her tablet again, tapped it a few times with the stylus, and then read him out a string of letters and numbers.

  "Just quote that." She said. "Now, if you are both feeling well enough to drive off, let's see if we can clear the junction. This is the main road into Edinburgh here, and I'm afraid the traffic is probably backed up all the way down to London by now!"

  She stood in the middle of the road, glaring at them and opening her hands up in a gesture which basically instructed them both to get back in the cars and get on with their lives.

  The tall man, Mr McNunn, smiled at the officer and walked back to his BMW and got in.

  Jonathan stood there for a moment longer, staring at the damage the man had done to his car, and wondering if there was perhaps more that he should be doing just now.

  Was that it?

  Was that all?

  A few cars further down the queue started beeping their horns. Feeling under pressure and still shaking, he coughed a few times to clear his throat, and then turned and walked back to the front of his car.

  Starting the engine, he waited for the lights to change to green, then let go of the handbrake and slowly started away from the lights.

  Behind him he could hear his car protesting, and what was left of the bumper dragging along the ground.

  A few hundred metres further along the road, he turned into the first road on his left, pulled over and came to a stop.

  Closing his eyes, he thought of Sally, took several deep breaths and tried to calm down.

  Chapter 8

  Andheri

  Near Mumbai, Maharashtra

  India

  Thursday

  10.31 a.m.

  "Swiss Insurance, good morning, how can I help you?" Anand said automatically, answering his first
call of the morning. It was more of a statement rather than a question, an automatic reaction to the light that flashed on his phone and indicated that a call had been queued up for him.

  The UK had just come online. They were open for business.

  "Hello... Is that Swiss Insurance?" A man's voice. Nervous. They were all either nervous or angry. The angry ones were the best. The nervous ones were painful. Sometimes embarrassing.

  "Yes, sir. It is. And how can I help you this morning?" he repeated.

  "I...I...," the man began, stumbling over his words. "I had an accident last night. It was too late to report it by the time I got home, but I'm calling first thing this morning."

  "An accident?" Anand enquired. Challenging him. With just a little edge in his voice that might put the caller off balance.

  "Yes, I'm sorry. It wasn't my fault. Someone drove into me from behind, whilst I was stationary at the lights."

  "Oh dear. I'm sorry to hear that. Did you get their details?"

  "Yes. A police officer attended the scene, and I've got a police reference number too." The man was speaking better now. Less scared. "I'm sorry, I don't know what to do. My wife would have known, but she's dead, you see."

  Anand perked up.

  "Dead? She was killed in the accident?" he asked quickly. This would be his first fatality that month. Less boring. Maybe even interesting.

  "Dead? Sally? Yes, but not because of the accident. She died of cancer several years ago... She would've known what to do, you see. She took care of all the difficult paperwork. What do I do?"

  "Don't worry, sir. That's why we're here. We're here to help you." Another statement. One of the very first lines that Anand had been forced to master, to say perfectly with just the right amount of concern and sympathy to fool the caller into thinking that they really cared.

  It never failed.

  "Oh, wonderful. Thank you." The man sounded relieved.

  "Can I have your policy number? Do you have it with you?"

  "Oh yes... yes I do."

  Anand typed the letters and number the man gave him into one of the little boxes on the computer screen. "... Oscar Yankee Delta? Was that correct?" he repeated the policy number back to the man.

  "Yes."

  "Mr Jonathan Stuart?"

  "Yes."

  "Could you please confirm a few more personal details for me?"

  "Certainly."

  Anand checked off the man's name, address, postcode and age against the details the Customer Relationship software package presented to him on screen. They all matched.

  "Thank you, Mr Stuart. So how can I help you?" Anand asked.

  "I want to report an accident."

  "I'm sorry to hear that. Can you tell me please what happened?"

  The man spent the next ten minutes explaining in detail what had happened, assuming that Anand was recording most of what was being said. He wasn't. In fact, he briefly flicked to another screen and checked out the cricket scores whilst the man was speaking, only half-listening to what he was saying.

  "Oh dear, it sounds like you've had a terrible time. Thank you for explaining that to me, Mr Stuart."

  "So, what happens now?"

  "Mr Stuart, my name is David Black. I'll be your incident manager from now on. At the end of the call I'll give you my extension number, and if you need to speak to me at any time, please call and ask for me. I'm here most days."

  "David? Are you English?"

  "Yes, sir. I'm in England in the Birmingham call centre."

  "Excellent. I much prefer to speak to someone local. For a moment, I was worried that I'd be put through to a call centre in India or something."

  Anand laughed. Just the right amount. Just like he'd been taught.

  "No, sir. Don't worry. I'm English through and through. And I'm here to help you..."

  "Good. That's a relief. So, what happens now? Oh, I've asked that already. I'm sorry. I've never had an accident before you see. This is my first one."

  "Don't worry, sir. It'll all be okay. Now, I'm going to send you a form at the email address you gave me. May I ask you to fill it in, and write down in as much detail as possible, exactly what happened. Include the police reference number and try to answer all the questions as accurately as possible."

  "A form? Oh... I thought you'd been doing that for me when I just told you everything just now."

  "Thank you, sir. Yes, I did take some notes, and I captured all the main points, but we'll need to get a statement from you, too, which you can sign and send back to us."

  "If I must."

  "I can see from your file that you are seventy-four sir, may I ask, are you okay with emails, and filling forms in on a computer?"

  "Absolutely. I was a computer programmer until twenty years ago. Before I retired. Fortran, Basic, and C++, and I can still do some coding today. It's still a bit of a hobby of mine. Don't worry, I know my way around computers okay. That won't be a problem."

  "Excellent. So, where is your car just now?"

  "In the street behind my house. The police officer said it's probably not safe to drive."

  "I can see from your details that you're entitled to a replacement car, sir. For up to twenty-eight days. Would you like me to arrange one for you?"

  "Can I think about that? I definitely need a car, and I can't drive mine, but I'm not too sure if I should make a claim on the insurance or not. Perhaps it'd be cheaper for me to get the car fixed locally and not make a claim? The car's very old."

  "You've had it since 1996?"

  "Yes. Since new."

  "You must've looked after it well, Mr Stuart?"

  "It's my pride and joy. It's never broken down, or given me any problems. It sailed through its MOT last month. Nothing wrong with it at all." Anand could hear the pride in the man's voice. "Until now, that is. Now I can't drive it..."

  "Well, I think we should get it inspected for you, and see how bad the damage is. Shall I arrange for someone to come and collect it and take it to a local garage to have the damage assessed?"

  "I don't know... "Mr Stuart hesitated.

  "Don't worry, Mr Stuart," Anand immediately started to reassure him. Word for word, in accordance with his training. "Let's just get the damage assessed and see if we can fix it for you?"

  "Do you think you'll be able to fix it?"

  "Hopefully, if it's just the bumper and nothing else we can't see. Sometimes, the damage is not just superficial. When you take a look inside the bonnet, for example, you may find that the crumple zone has been compromised. Not always, but we do need to check that out."

  "And once we know, I can then decide whether to make a claim? I mean, I'm not sure yet. The last thing I want to happen is to lose the car. I need the car. I can't afford to buy another one."

  "I understand, sir. Honestly." Anand lied. He was so good at this now that he could talk and lie whilst thinking of something else completely. Like the cricket.

  "So, you'll come and get the car, have a look at it, and then once we know what the damage is, I can decide then whether to make a claim or not?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Good."

  "Well, that's it for now. You'll get a call very shortly from Porty Motors, the local garage we use, and they'll arrange to come and pick it up from you."

  "Excellent, thanks for your help."

  "No problem. It's our pleasure. Mr Stuart, can I ask you a question? I can't help but notice that you're in Edinburgh. The home town of Hibernian Football Club?"

  "The Hibs? Yes. Why? Are you a fan?"

  "A big fan. I've never seen them play live, but it's always been my dream to come and watch them in their home stadium..."

  "Easter Road?"

  "Yes. Sorry, it's been a while. It was on the tip of my tongue."

  "Have you ever been up to Scotland?"

  "No. Not yet."

  "Well, you really should. It's beautiful. It's an easy train ride up from Birmingham. Not that long, and if you book a saver in advance, i
t's cheap as well. You should come."

  "I'd love to. One day."

  "Well, how about if you come up when my car is fixed, I can pick you up from the station and I'll take you to a match. It's probably been ten years since the last time I went to one. But when Sally fell ill, I couldn't leave her alone, and when she died, I just never thought about it again."

  "Sally?"

  "My wife."

  "Oh, I can see that you still have a Mrs Sally Stuart down on your insurance policy. Would you like me to take her off for you?"

  "Take her off?" Mr Stuart asked, a hesitancy immediately returning to his voice. "No..., no, I don't think that's a good idea. She loved to drive."

  "Are you sure? I don't have to. I can leave her there if you wish."

  "Please. If you can."

  The man hesitated again.

  "Can I just say something, please David. Thanks for your help. I was quite nervous, actually, probably a little scared about calling you. But you've really helped. I was worried you'd automatically write the car off, but now I know you won't, I feel much better. I'm serious about the offer to take you to the football. It's the least I can do for you helping me."

  "Thanks. I'd love to go! But let's get your car fixed first. And as soon as possible. Please check your email in a few hours and fill in the form and send it back to me. As soon as I've checked it, and we hear back from the garage, we can talk again."

  "I look forward to it. And to getting the car fixed!"

  "No problem, sir. We're here to help!"

  Chapter 9

  Andheri

  Near Mumbai, Maharashtra

  India

  Thursday

  12.02 p.m.

  "Swiss Insurance, good morning, how can I help you?" Anand repeated for the umpteenth time that morning. The same false promise he had been repeating for months. Day in day out.