Did Not Finish

Lap Fourteen

With Alex’s car now in my possession, I needed an excuse to go back down to Stowe Park to see Paul about his recording. I could make another parts run, but I was pushing the limits of believability. Having the parts mailed to me was far cheaper than a two hundred mile round trip. But a reason presented itself in the form of Tony and Pete Hansen. They needed me to fill in as an instructor at the racing school.

Pretty much every circuit in the UK operated a school. The schools operated by the high profile circuits like Silverstone, Donington and Brands Hatch were well respected. Stowe Park’s school wasn’t in the top echelons, but that didn’t matter. The majority of the people attending the classes were only doing it for one of those adrenalin-filled days they’d always remember.

On Friday, I drove down to Stowe Park. I liked being an instructor. It was a chance to play on the track and meet some new people while I got paid for my time. If I’m being honest, it was also good for the ego. I got to play racecar driver to people who didn’t know any better and they revered me for it. Call me shallow, but it’s nice to be adored once in a while.

Tony had called Graham Linden in to help out too. Tony had a sizeable class of twenty-five or so punters for the morning session and the same again in the afternoon. These were pretty good numbers for the Stowe Park school. I wondered if the bump in numbers had anything to do with Alex’s death. It had brought the circuit increased notoriety because of the press coverage associated with the fund-raising, which probably explained my call up today. My presence raised the school’s profile.

Tony gave the in-class instruction, but the on the track duties would be split between Tony, Pete, Graham and me.

While Tony went through braking, clipping points, and accelerating through bends, Graham and I helped Pete prepare the cars. The half day session broke down like this. They got thirty minutes of in-class instruction, then went out for a fifteen minute session on the track in a modified Ford Focus before getting ten laps in a Formula Ford. The three of us picked a Focus, made sure it had fuel and the tires were pumped up to the right pressure. The road cars are pretty self-sufficient and don’t need much preparation. The Formula Fords are far more sensitive and need checking out fully before a novice driver gets behind the wheel.

I needed more people like Paul on my side to force the police into reopening the investigation. Graham’s involvement made for an unexpected windfall. He’d had the closest view of the crash. He had to have seen something, despite what he’d said at Alex’s funeral. He’d make for a powerful witness when combined with Paul’s recording. I took a clipboard with the student scorecard attached to it and tossed it on the passenger seat. I grabbed my helmet and followed Graham over to the Formula Fords.

‘How’s it going, Graham?’

‘Pretty good.’

‘It’s going to be weird getting back on the track after Alex’s crash.’

Graham looked out across the track in the direction of the Barrack Hill bend and nodded. He went to climb into one of the Formula Fords when I stopped him.

‘You know you told me about Derek’s threat the night before Alex’s shunt?’

I felt Graham retreat from me without moving. ‘Yeah.’

‘I know we’ve talked about this before, but you were behind Derek and Alex before the crash, right?’

‘Yeah, I told you, I didn’t see anything.’

‘You were right behind them. Are you sure?’

‘Of course, I’m sure.’

‘Is it possible that Derek moved into Alex to put him out of the race?’

‘They collided. That’s all.’ Graham’s hands were balled into tight fists. ‘Don’t go trying to make more of it.’

‘Everything OK there?’ Pete asked from behind one of the Focuses.

Graham got an answer in before I did. ‘Yeah. Just talking.’

‘Well, get those cars on the track. Our clients will be out soon.’

Graham shot me a withering look and pulled on his helmet.

I guessed that was the end of that. This was a different Graham than the one who’d gloated to me in the clubhouse the night before the race. Despite his outburst, he was scared. He was a local, unlike me, and within Derek’s reach. Derek had to know Graham was an eyewitness to what he’d done. He wouldn’t have let that loose end go untied. Had Derek threatened him? Shoved a shotgun in his face? I could see it. Derek was bullying everyone into silence.

I torqued the wheels and kissed my mum’s St Christopher before pulling on my helmet and belting myself into one of the Formula Fords. I guided the car onto the track and focused on driving. I pushed the car, but I wasn’t trying to set any lap records. This was a quick check to make sure the engine, brakes and tires functioned properly. The engine is a minefield of potential problems from sticking throttle linkages to misfiring ignition systems. Tyres have a limited shelf life and, once it’s reached, the grip degrades. Silicon brake fluid absorbs water and destroys braking performance. Any deficiency in these three areas is dangerous. Any and all of these factors might send a student flying off the track. I settled into putting in some consistent laps to watch the oil and water temperature gauges rise and the oil pressure drop into safe running conditions.

I maintained a safe distance from Graham. He wouldn’t have appreciated me hounding him on the track as well as off.

As I passed the pit lane, Pete joined the circuit behind me. Normally, he let the hired help like Graham and me handle the cars on the track while he worried about logistics. I put his presence down to the numbers of people we had to get through today. It also explained his pace. He was eating up the track behind me. He looked as if he was on a flying lap and not a warm up.

Seeing Pete catch up to me, my competitive streak kicked in and I upped my pace, but he still reeled me in. Ahead, Graham peeled off into the pit lane, but I stayed out for one more lap with Pete. With everything that had been going on, I needed to blow off some steam. A dogfight with Pete was just the remedy.

Pete wasn’t the fastest of racers but he was outdoing himself. He was making mincemeat out of my speeds. He closed within fifty yards and my stomach dropped. I recognized the helmet design. It wasn’t Pete’s, it was Derek’s.

If Derek wanted to tangle with me, I wasn’t going to give him the privilege. I came off the gas a little.

Derek closed in behind me, so close that he disappeared in my mirrors. That meant he was a car length off my gearbox. The noise bleeding into my helmet confirmed it. The mirrors on a single-seater give limited rear-view vision and that’s when a driver relies on his other senses. When two cars get within a car length of each other, the sound of a screaming engine changes. There are two engines and resonance comes into effect. In a race, it tells you you’re about to be overtaken and it was no different this time. Derek moved out from behind me. My heart fluttered when he drew alongside me, slowing to match my speed. We were heading towards Barrack Hill and Derek inched slightly ahead of me then elegantly slipped his left rear wheel in front of mine. He was teeing me up for the same fate as Alex.

Carefully, I inched left and untangled myself from the web Derek was weaving.

Derek moved in again and looped his left rear in front of my right rear. I had nowhere to go. I was at the edge of the track. Taking to the grass run-off would be just as lethal. Derek and I were interlocked; our wheels inches apart. One wrong move could kill us both.

Our cars were so close that if Derek and I reached out for one another we could have shaken hands. I looked over at him. The only view I had of him was the letterbox slot in his helmet. Derek’s eyes were dots where his cheeks were bunched up. The bastard was grinning.

We bore down on Barrack Hill and Derek made no move to untangle his wheels from mine. The turning point was seconds away. I couldn’t do a thing. Derek held my fate.

We hit the turning point for Barrack Hill. We had no choice but to match each others’ moves. For once, we worked as partners. If either of us got out of step or phase, we were both going off the track and into a wall. Derek turned for the bend and I turned with him. I synchronized my driving with his. It was all I could do. We exited the corner together and I released a relieved breath.

Derek eased his wheels out from mine. I glanced over at him. He flashed me the thumbs up then accelerated ahead of me.

I guess I’d just been threatened for the second time.

I kept to myself for the rest of the day, chatting with the punters instead of hanging out with my fellow drivers. I needed someone to watch my back and the punters were the best I could lay my hands on.

The Hansen brothers had used me. Today had been set up to teach me a lesson. They tossed me into the den with Derek so he could prove yet again he could get to me at any time. It was a point well made. Derek had friends down here. I couldn’t trust anyone. No matter what I did, someone would be there to protect him. A curtain was being drawn around this circuit and its dirty little secret and I was on the wrong side.

When the last of the clients went home, I left Tony and Pete to put their cars away. I wasn’t helping them. I changed and collected my cheque for playing patsy.

Derek had left before I came out of the changing room. Now that my fight or flight senses had been set off, I didn’t take his absence as a good sign. It wouldn’t surprise me if he was putting together something else for me. I knew I wouldn’t be following any detours on my way home.

I tossed my kitbag and helmet in Steve’s Capri and jogged over to Chicane’s. I hadn’t checked in with Paul yet in case Derek pulled a stunt like he did on the track and took the tape from me. It was best to get it from Paul on my way home.

Chris greeted me with a smile when I walked into Chicane’s.

‘Is Paul around?’ I asked.

‘He’s at home, recovering.’

‘Recovering from what?’

‘Didn’t you hear? He was mugged. The guy roughed him up real good.’

This had Derek Deacon written all over it. No wonder he wanted to show me his moves on the track today. He’d gone after Paul. Paul would have talked. I didn’t blame him. Paul would have been outnumbered and probably outgunned.

‘That’s terrible,’ I said. ‘Where’s he live? I’ll drop ‘round and see him.’

Chris looked at me suspiciously. ‘Why would you do that?’

‘I like Paul. He’s been good to me. He did me a favour and I owe him a drink. The least I can do is give it to him after this.’

Chris’s suspicion didn’t ebb away, but he gave me Paul’s address. I hoped Chris wasn’t in Derek’s circle of friends, but I had to assume that he was. It was too late to worry about that.

I drove over to Paul’s place. He lived in a converted loft above a barn at a working farm on the outskirts of Chippenham. This wasn’t some trendy affair, but the cheapest accommodation Paul could find on his small income.

The barn was a quarter mile from the farm itself. I liked that. It gave us the privacy I wanted. I parked and bounded up the wooden staircase to the loft door. There was no doorbell, so I knocked.

No one answered. I’d parked next to Paul’s VW pickup that Chris had given him for making local pickups and deliveries. He was home.

‘Hey, Paul, you in there?’

Paul didn’t answer, but I heard movement. There weren’t any windows, just skylights built into the roof. I tried the doorknob, but it was locked.

‘Hey, Paul, it’s me, Aidy.’

Just as I said my name, a shotgun blast punched a fifteen inch diameter hole in the door, spitting thousands of wood splinters at me. Dozens embedded themselves in my face. The shock sent me staggering back into the crudely constructed wooden safety rail. It gave way against my weight and I plunged over the side and stuck the soft dirt on my back. I just lay there, too winded to move.

Paul appeared at the doorway. He saw me, muttered something and disappeared back inside.

When he didn’t emerge, I rolled over and I climbed to my feet. I picked splinters from my face and counted myself lucky it wasn’t buckshot.

I was a little too dazed to comprehend how close I’d come to having my head blown off as I re-climbed the stairs. This time, I stopped short of the open doorway and pressed my back up against the buckshot-proof brick wall.

‘Paul, it’s me, Aidy. Can I come in?’

‘OK,’ a sheepish voice came from within. ‘Sorry, Aidy.’

‘That’s OK,’ I said, hoping that I could trust him.

I peered through the doorway before venturing inside, just in case Paul was still in the shooting mood. He sat on the corner of a single bed pushed up against the far wall with the shotgun spread across his lap.

Whoever had roughed him up had done a good job. His face was a painter’s palate of reds, blues and purples. Swelling almost closed his right eye. I felt sorry for bringing this upon him.

‘Do you want to put the shotgun down before it goes off again?’

He nodded and held it out to me. ‘It’s not mine. My landlord leant it to me.’

I took the twelve bore. I broke the gun open and removed the cartridges before setting the weapon against a wall.

‘What happened?’

He looked up at me, disappointment moulded into his swollen features. ‘He took the tape of the race.’

I’d guessed as much, but I wasn’t prepared for the disappointment this news brought. One of the few pieces of hardcore evidence was gone.

‘I came home from Chicane’s late last night. It was dark. I didn’t see anyone until someone smacked me across the back with a baseball bat.’

‘Did you see who it was?’

‘No, he was wearing a balaclava and before I could get up, he pulled a bag over my head. That’s when he started beating me, punching and kicking. You think my face is bad, you should see my back.’

I winced in sympathy.

‘How many people did this to you?’

‘One, I think, but I’m not sure.’

‘He took the tape?’

‘Yeah. After he beat me, he dragged me inside here. He wanted the tape. I told him I didn’t know what he was talking about. He beat me again when I said that. I wasn’t trying to play dumb. I really didn’t know. All I could think about was why someone was beating me. Then he asked for the tape of the race with Alex’s crash. I gave it to him.’ Tears leaked down Paul’s face and he palmed them away. ‘I had to, Aidy. I think he would have killed me if I hadn’t.’

‘That’s OK. You did the right thing. I would have done the same thing myself.’

‘It doesn’t feel like the right thing.’

Even Paul was having doubts about Alex’s death. No matter what Derek tried, he wouldn’t be able to keep his crime a secret. It was going to come out. I wished Paul had watched the tape. It might have turned things around.

‘Did you go to the police?’

Paul shook his head. That spoke volumes about who he thought was responsible.

‘Did he tell you not to?’

Paul nodded.

‘Do you know who did this to you?’

Paul didn’t answer.

‘Paul, he could have killed you. Who did this to you?’

Still, Paul didn’t answer.

His lack of a reply told me all I needed to know.