Did Not Finish

Lap Fifteen

The Mygale car Hancock had leased for the Formula Ford Festival arrived at Archway on Saturday. The chassis was pristine in every way from the gleaming bodywork to the fresh rubber on the tires. It was all new. Untouched. Perfection. I buzzed with the kind of confidence that knocked half a second off lap times.

The engine Hancock had leased from Armstrong’s had arrived the day before. Engines are a commodity of their own and they don’t come with the car. Hancock must have pulled some strings to have gotten one built by Armstrong’s. They were one of the top engine builders in the country and you just didn’t get one by asking for it, regardless of how much money you had.

With the Festival two weeks away, I didn’t have much time to get this car prepped and tested before it would be go time. Dylan came over to help Steve and me and the three of us jumped on the Mygale. With all of us working, it didn’t take long to get the engine connected up to the chassis. Hooking up the pipes and wiring took a little longer. My plan was to have the car functioning on Saturday and set up in racing trim by Sunday night. I hoped to grab some track time the following week.

We broke for lunch around two. Seeing as I was taking up everyone’s Saturday, I went and picked up lunch. We sat and ate around the car. None of us could take our eyes off the damn thing. This was a glimpse into the future where racing with the latest equipment and fresh engines built by the likes of Armstrong’s was commonplace. It was a blissful moment and of course, someone had to break it.

‘We’re going to have to change tactics if we want to prove Derek killed Alex,’ Dylan said.

I didn’t want to talk about this, but it wasn’t like deciding my next move wasn’t a constant thought at the back of my mind. ‘Change how?’

‘Derek has done a nice job of shutting you out.’ He counted off on his fingers. ‘He’s leaned on witnesses, he’s got the cops on his side, he’s got the tape of the race and he proved he can get to you whenever he wants. And what have we got?’ He jerked a thumb at Alex’s wreck hiding under a sheet. ‘Alex’s car and that doesn’t tell us much.’

‘So what do you suggest?’ I asked.

‘We focus on something Derek can’t intimidate or eliminate. Derek himself.’

‘That sounds a lot like trying to tame a lion by putting your head in its mouth.’

‘Maybe, but it makes sense,’ Steve said. ‘You need to catch Derek in the act.’

In the act of what? The only thing I could see Derek doing was coming after me again. ‘There’s nothing to catch him in the act of. He killed Alex and he’s got the witnesses, evidence and police covered. What else is there?’

Dylan frowned.

‘You’re assuming he’s got everything covered. You don’t know that,’ Steve said. ‘Derek might like to pretend he’s in control, but his stunt on the track yesterday and beating up Paul are signs of a desperate man. Desperate men don’t think straight. They overthink the situation and do dumb things. He could be making moves on someone as we speak or destroying something he believes is relevant. If we do nothing, then we’ll never know.’

I tried to imagine a desperate Derek Deacon and couldn’t conjure the image. All I could see was Derek with a shotgun and Derek grinning at me from under his helmet. Both of these versions of Derek were confident men, but Steve had a point. Everything Derek did was reactive, in response to something I did. My poking my nose in Derek’s business got me a shotgun jammed in my face. My talking to Paul got him beaten up. Even Alex’s murder was reactive. He saw Alex as a threat to his crown, so he killed him. Derek was like that on the track too. Despite his wins and championship titles, he never led from the front. He battled for the lead.

This trait worked in my favour. Derek would fight me every step of the way, but if I kept a couple of steps ahead, he’d never catch me. It was a nice theory that could work but it would be putting me and those close to me in harm’s way.

‘I think we should follow him,’ Dylan said.

‘Surveillance?’ I said.

‘Yeah. He won’t be expecting that. Who’s to say where he’ll lead us?’

Dylan was getting far too excited.

‘Dylan, his friends pulled a gun on you a week ago. You up for that again or worse?’

Dylan coloured and looked at his food instead of me. The shame of that day wasn’t going away in a hurry.

‘We’re beyond the point of no return,’ Steve said. ‘Derek has you marked as a target. He can’t trust you to forget this. He has only one option and that’s to come after you. It’s better you get something on him before he gets to you.’

The idea of being in Derek’s sights scared me. He’d proved he could get to me any time. I wasn’t safe. Not on the track and not away from it.

‘Dylan’s right. We should follow him. He won’t be expecting it.’

I wasn’t sure I agreed, but I didn’t have any other ideas. ‘We’re going to need a car. He’ll recognize the Capri and the van.’

‘Don’t worry,’ Steve said. ‘I’ve got that covered.’

Within a few hours, Steve had gotten us a Subaru Legacy wagon. It was a few years old and came with a couple of dents to prove it. It was the kind of car that blended in well with rural and urban settings, but had some power behind it to get us out of trouble should it present itself. Steve had borrowed the car from a client with a used car dealership. The guy didn’t look like he had a pot to piss in, but it was all part of his act as a used car salesman. Steve maintained his collection of classic MGs.

Dylan and I set off after Derek, while Steve stayed behind to continue working on the new car. Even in an unknown car, I didn’t like the idea of tailing Derek in daylight. The man was a predator, not the prey. We arrived in Wiltshire just after five. It was already getting dark and I liked that the cover of night added to our anonymity.

I didn’t know how much Derek knew about me, but I knew little about him. I knew he raced, worked as a long distance lorry driver, was married and lived in Chippenham. I remembered his address from the initial fund-raising drive I’d done with Myles and Eva Beecham.

On the drive down, I remembered one other thing. His wife ran a stall at the Saturday market at the circuit. We arrived at the circuit too late for the market. It had closed. All that was left was the last of the stallholders packing up. Derek’s wife wasn’t one of them.

We drove on to Derek’s house. He lived on a cramped housing estate where the houses were squeezed up against each other and cars were parked in front. There was no mistaking Derek’s house with the big rig parked outside.

We pulled up in time to see him helping his wife unload her car. She was a heavy woman, but she came with curves. She must have been something twenty years ago. She seemed to put all her stock into her fluffy, over-bleached hair. She and Derek looked to be the perfect match for each other.

I’d seen enough. I turned down a connecting street, pulled a U-turn and headed out of the estate.

‘Where are you going?’ Dylan said.

‘We’re sitting ducks in there. We need something with a better vantage point.’

The estate was effectively a teardrop design with one road in and out. I parked in a pub car park across from the estate. It was half full with late afternoon drinkers and it overlooked the estate entrance.

‘There’s no need to watch Derek at home. We’re only going to get something when he leaves and when he does, we’re going to see him.’

Dylan looked at me. ‘You’re getting too good at this.’

We bedded in. Nothing happened. Derek’s neighbours came and went, but Derek remained home. Sitting there was tedious. On the good side, no one bothered us from the pub.

Dylan reached inside his pocket and brought out his bag of sunflower seeds.

‘Hey, not in here. This isn’t our car, remember?’

‘If you’re expecting me sit around here for God knows how long, I need something to do,’ he said and slung a handful of seeds in his mouth.

I was regretting my decision to bring Dylan along. ‘Well, just don’t get them all over the place.’

‘Already got that covered.’ He brought out a plastic bag and spat the shells into the bag.

‘God, that’s disgusting.’

‘They’re good for you. Don’t knock them until you try them.’

‘One day you’re going to crap out a sunflower.’

‘Haven’t so far.’

‘Let’s hope for a change of fortunes.’

It was seven when Derek’s big rig stopped at the entrance to the estate waiting for a gap in the traffic. Both Dylan and I sat up. I didn’t know what hours a distance lorry driver worked, but starting his day on a Saturday night didn’t seem normal.

‘It’s go time,’ Dylan said.

I waited until Derek merged into traffic before starting the Subaru. The car came with the annoying feature of daytime running lights. If I’d started the car the moment I saw Derek, I would have hit him with my lights.

‘Keep your eyes on him,’ I told Dylan.

Derek had a sizeable lead on us, but that was OK. His big rig stood head and shoulders above everything else on the road, making him hard to miss and making my first surveillance job an easy one.

He headed north out of Chippenham. I expected him to turn towards the motorway, but instead, he drove into the countryside.

‘Where’s he going out here at this time of night?’ Dylan said, echoing my thoughts.

Traffic thinned out in the country and I had to back off so he didn’t spot the Subaru. I’d backed off so much I feared I was going to lose him until I saw the signs for Langley Hill. Then, I knew exactly where he was going and I backed off even more.

‘You’re going to lose him,’ Dylan said.

‘I don’t think so.’

When I drove through Langley Hill, Derek’s big rig stuck out in the street in front of the Green Man pub. I drove past, turned around and parked a safe distance from the pub, but with a clear view of anyone entering or leaving.

‘A drink before work?’ Dylan said.

‘Not likely.’ It didn’t seem like a smart move for a trucker.

‘What do you want to do?’ Dylan said.

‘Just wait.’

Dylan frowned. ‘I want to go in.’

‘He knows you.’

‘I know. I just want to do a walk-by to see who he’s drinking with.’

I didn’t like it, but it was a good idea. ‘OK. Go. Just be bloody careful.’

Dylan hopped out of the car and crossed the street. My chest tightened when he stepped inside and didn’t reappear immediately.

‘Don’t push it, Dylan,’ I murmured in the darkness.

As if he heard me, he reappeared. He walked at a normal pace back to me.

‘He’s in there alone talking to the barman,’ Dylan said getting back into the car.

‘Did you recognize anyone else in there?’

‘Nah. What do we do now?’

‘Wait.’

I cracked a window when the car started to mist up. We’d been waiting for an hour in the cold while Derek sat in the pub’s warmth.

Dylan rubbed his hands together to get some heat in them. ‘Al Capone knows how to spend a scintillating Saturday night.’

Derek wasn’t entertaining himself. He wouldn’t bring his big rig when he had the convenience of a car at his disposal. He was here to meet someone and we didn’t have to wait much longer.

‘Here we go,’ I said.

‘What?’

‘The man going in is Detective Brennan of the Wiltshire Police Force.’

‘Fan-bloody-tastic.’

Despite Derek’s long wait for Brennan, their meeting didn’t last long. Both men emerged from the pub fifteen minutes later and went their separate ways.

‘What do we do now?’

‘Stay on Derek. If Brennan’s involved in something, he’s not going to be too blatant about it. Besides, Derek didn’t bring his big rig for nothing.’

Derek pulled away, heading towards us. Both of us ducked down out of sight. When we sat up, Brennan had pulled a U-turn and was heading back the way he came.

I gunned the Subaru and followed Derek. The heavy cloak of fatigue from sitting around for the last few hours lifted. We’d got what we came for. Action.

Derek circled around to join the M4 motorway and we did the same. He lived up to his name as a long distance driver. He followed the M4 all the way to the outskirts of London before picking up the M25 circular and taking the southern route around the city.

I wondered if he was picking up a load from an airport, but he failed to turn off at Heathrow or Gatwick. Suddenly, a sea port made sense. The junction for Dover was a few miles ahead, but when he passed the Dover junction, I stopped guessing and just settled for the fact we’d get to wherever we were going when we got there.

Derek got off the motorway in Kent and I wondered if he was going to Brands Hatch, until he drove into Gravesend. He turned into an industrial park. This was trouble for us. No one else was going there at this time of night on a Saturday. We risked being spotted.

I pulled over at the side of the road. ‘Let’s give him a minute to get to where he’s going.’

Dylan nodded.

The good thing about the industrial park was it wouldn’t be hard to find Derek amongst the buildings. The downside was we’d be just as easy to spot.

I turned into the park. It didn’t take long to find Derek. He’d pulled into a Hancock Salvage facility. Hancock himself was there to greet him. He checked the street for prying eyes then closed the salvage yard’s doors the second Derek was inside.

‘A bit late for a sponsor meeting,’ Dylan said.

‘Maybe Derek does some off-the-books trucking work for Hancock,’ I said. ‘Derek wouldn’t be the first driver to do a little extra-curricular work in return for his sponsorship cash.’

‘Do you really believe that?’

‘Let’s just wait and see.’

‘You’re being surprisingly level-headed for once.’ Dylan grinned. ‘You know this is going to turn out dodgy.’

I said nothing and watched the entrance. Dylan was right. As much as this night time rendezvous meant nothing in itself, I found the association between Hancock and Derek curious. Why had Hancock decided to sponsor Derek? He must know about Derek’s death threat. Maybe Hancock just didn’t care who he sponsored as long as he had a winning driver. This late night meeting between Derek and Hancock put a fresh spin on Hancock’s odd tone during my sponsorship pitch meeting. He’d been overly interested in my closeness to Alex. Why? Did Alex know something he shouldn’t have? The petty motives behind his murder now seemed like a smokescreen for something far more insidious. Had Derek’s death threat been a diversion to take attention away from the real motive? I didn’t want to speculate any further. This could be nothing or it could be a whole bunch of something. I needed to see more. I drove past the yard and parked in the shadows between two buildings.

Spotlights lit up Hancock’s yard, but the high fences and walls blocked our view. It was half an hour before all was revealed. Derek re-emerged pulling a commercial car transporter with six damaged, high-end cars loaded onto it.

‘Transporting cars at this time of night?’ Dylan said.

‘Maybe Derek’s trying to beat rush hour traffic.’

Dylan frowned at me. I smiled and gunned the engine.

We followed Derek back to the M25 and all the way back to the south-west. It looked as if Derek was going home. We were running low on fuel. I filled the tank at the M4 motorway services at Swindon. Once I had the car refuelled, I kept the accelerator floored to catch up to Derek. I needn’t have worried. He kept to the speed limit and it didn’t take long to catch him up.

We followed him all the way to Bristol. He threaded his way through the city to a street area filled with shabby and rundown industrial units. He stopped in front of an anonymous looking workshop with no company signs, but protected by a chain link fence. It was close to midnight, but a crew was there to receive him. They helped unload the cars off the transporter and into the workshop.

‘Do you recognize those two?’ I said pointing out Morgan and Strickland.

Dylan’s expression turned angry at the sight of Derek’s two shotgun buddies. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘This is getting pretty intertwined.’

From the way Morgan was ordering Strickland and the others around, this was his place.

‘What do you think they’re doing — running a cut and shut operation?’

A cut and shut is a Frankenstein-style approach to car salvage. Say you have two identical car models but one has front end damage and the other has rear end damage. Instead of repairing both, the cars are cut in half and two good halves are welded together.

‘I don’t think so. Derek delivered six different cars and that place isn’t big enough to hold another six matching cars.’

‘He could be stripping them for parts.’

I shook my head. The cars he’d delivered were high-end and obviously handpicked based on their value. While their spare parts value was high, they were worth even more as the complete cars.

My mobile rang. I pulled it out. Steve’s name appeared on the small screen.

‘Hey, Steve.’

‘Aidy?’ Steve croaked.

Steve sounded sick.

‘Steve, are you OK?’

‘I’m at Archway. Come get me.’

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Someone tried to torch the place.’

‘Are you OK?’

‘Just get back here.’