Did Not Finish

Lap Eighteen

‘I don’t like this,’ Dylan said for the umpteenth time.

If he was hoping that repetition was going to change my mind, he was mistaken. It just served to turn me off, though I was inclined to agree with him. There was a lot not to like. The butterflies in my stomach told me I wasn’t a huge fan of my plan either but I needed to make something happen. I kept my eyes on the road ahead and kept driving.

‘You know what is really crazy about this?’ Dylan continued. ‘It breaks up the team. Here we are on our way to Bristol leaving Steve alone. Déjà vu, anyone? Anyone?’

I couldn’t dispute this point and it was the main cause of my butterflies. Derek’s team outnumbered us. Dividing in two left us vulnerable, especially Steve. I believed the arson attempt on Archway Saturday night had been bungled. Mr Balaclava hadn’t been expecting anyone to be at home. I doubted he’d make the same mistake again.

The fragility of our team made me wish we had more people on our side, but there was no one else I could trust. Everyone close to this had ties connecting them to Derek or Alex. I could have enlisted Alison’s help, but I wanted to keep her out of this for her own safety.

‘This isn’t the way I want to spend a Tuesday night, especially when we’re supposed to be on our way to Brands in the morning to test the car,’ Dylan said.

I stayed silent and Dylan gave up trying to persuade me. When we reached Bristol, I filled the tank. If we ended up on another long distance excursion, I didn’t want to run low on fuel again. I drove back to Morgan’s workshop where Derek had dropped off the cars and parked in the same spot I’d used Saturday. We were using the same Subaru. I would have liked to have changed the car for another, but Steve’s influence only went so far with his friends.

‘They like to work late,’ Dylan said.

It was after eleven and I’d hoped Derek’s friends would have called it a night by now, but they were still going at it. Light shone from the windows and the whine of pneumatic tools split the air.

‘I just hope they aren’t waiting for another delivery from Derek.’

Dylan shook his head. ‘I doubt it. He offloaded six damaged cars. They’re a small crew. How many of them are there — four? It’s Tuesday. They couldn’t turn them around in four days and be ready for more.’

We slumped down in our seats when a roll-up door slid up. A guy I didn’t recognize in overalls and a paper face mask emerged from the workshop. He pulled the mask down around his neck and went to one of the three cars parked in the cramped car park. He grabbed a packet of cigarettes from inside the car and lit up.

Morgan stormed out of the open doorway. ‘Oi, dickhead. Do you want the whole world to see?’

I didn’t catch the cigarette man’s reply, but Morgan gave him the finger then slammed the roll-up door shut.

‘That answers the question about whether the work going on inside there is kosher or not,’ Dylan said.

Cigarette man finished up his fag and wandered back inside. Then we were back to watching and waiting. Time slipped by with all the urgency of a lazy summer afternoon. The dashboard clock ticked past midnight.

‘Aidy, I don’t know how long I can keep this up. Between these little jaunts and babysitting Archway, this has become a twenty-four hour job. That’s fine when you’re the cops, but we aren’t. I fell asleep at work today. It’s midnight and we’re stuck out here. This is crazy.’

We wouldn’t have been on this quest if the police had done their job and people had spoken up. If that had happened, Derek would be in jail and we wouldn’t be running around in the dark. Every time I tried to prove Derek’s guilt, the more complicated that simple task became. I liked to think I was doing something positive, but everything that had happened proved I was having little effect on the investigation. All I was achieving was hurting those people close to me. ‘I’m sorry, mate. I didn’t think this would go this far.’

‘I know that. I’m not blaming you. I’m just letting you know where I stand.’

‘I understand if you need to back out.’

‘Maybe you should walk away too. This isn’t your fight.’

Dylan was right, but I’d made it my fight and so had Derek. ‘I can’t walk away. I have to follow it through now. I can’t let Derek get away with murder and what he did to Steve and Paul.’

Dylan sighed. ‘I thought you’d say that.’

‘Look, we’ll stick around for another hour. If they’re still working, we’ll call it a night. Deal?’

‘Deal,’ Dylan conceded.

Derek’s crew beat us to the punch by filing out of the workshop thirty minutes later. Their fatigue must have set in before ours. Morgan locked up while the rest of the guys left. I didn’t move until he drove off.

‘It looks as if we’re on,’ I said.

There was disappointment on Dylan’s face. ‘Let me come with you.’

‘I need you to be my eyes out here.’

I gave it ten minutes before leaving the car just in case anyone came back. I looked both ways for any familiar cars before I trotted across the road.

I pulled out my mobile and called Dylan’s number. ‘Stay on the line,’ I said when he answered.

‘The same applies to you.’

It surprised me not to see some kind of alarm or security system. I put this down to the workshop trying to keep a low profile. A fancy security system alerts everyone to the fact that there’s something worth stealing. It was a theory that worked as long as no one knew what went on here.

The chain link fence and gate surrounding the property weren’t going to be hard to scale, but the spiral of razor wire fringing the top was. I tossed a floor mat from the Subaru over the razor wire and clambered up and over the fence without any problems. I yanked the mat off the wire and left it on the ground for my return trip.

‘You’re getting too good at this crap,’ Dylan’s voice came over the phone.

I didn’t answer him and jogged over to the roll-up doors. Heavy padlocks locked them to the ground. I had a makeshift hacksaw, but I didn’t fancy spending ten minutes in the open sawing through the lock.

I went around the side to the rear of the building. I had the choice of a couple of doors, but it meant drilling out the lock. I didn’t think the noise would bring anyone, but I didn’t want to put my theory to the test. I looked up for my best way into the building — the windows. If a chain was as strong as its weakest link, a building was as secure as its windows. The workshop had a row of narrow windows running underneath the eaves.

‘How’s everything look?’ I asked Dylan.

I heard the crunching of sunflower seeds down the phone line. ‘Good,’ he answered.

‘OK, I’m going in.’

I dragged a couple of rusted oil drums over to the side of the building. The building wasn’t tall, just a single storey, and when I climbed on top of the drums, I was nose high to the windows. I thought I’d have to break one of them to get in, but the single-pane windows were old and the wooden frames were rotted. I slipped a screwdriver between the window and frame, then leaned on the screwdriver and the latch on the inside snapped, flying off into the darkness.

I pocketed my tools, grabbed the ledge and heaved myself up. The window only opened so far, making it hard for me to squeeze through. Dylan would have never fitted. I managed to worm my head and chest through the tight gap before I stopped. I pulled out my torch and snapped it on. Its beam fell on a workbench against the wall. No long drop for me.

I pocketed the torch and squeezed the rest of myself through. I made an untidy landing on the workbench, but at least I didn’t break my neck doing it.

I found the light switches and flicked them on.

‘I’m in,’ I said into my phone.

‘OK. Make it quick.’

Dylan had been right about the crew’s work rate. Of the six cars Derek had offloaded here only three had been worked on and only one of those was close to completion. The car was a BMW 7-series. It had been metallic blue when Derek delivered it, but now it was black. The rear end damage had been repaired and the missing door replaced. The other two cars were going through similar transformations.

I had an idea as to what was going on here.

I pulled out my camera and snapped pictures of the cars, their number plates and vehicle ID tags. The vehicle ID tag on the BMW looked as old as the car, but the rivets holding the plate to the car were brand new. The BMW had another peculiarity. The number plate on the front was not the same as the one on the back. I found a stack of number plates in a box on the floor.

I wished I’d gotten pictures of the cars’ particulars before any work began. It would have made proving what was going on so much easier. The BMW was a lost cause. I wouldn’t be able to prove anything for certain, but the untouched cars were a different matter. I made a special effort to photograph every distinguishing feature of these cars. If I kept returning every couple of days, I could record their transformation. Then I would have something.

I wanted something else: paperwork. Pictures would prove one side of the story, but paperwork would tell it all. A makeshift office consisting of plywood and Plexiglas filled one corner of the building. Inside was a desk, a couple of chairs, an ashtray filled with cigarette butts, a couple of girly calendars on the walls and the pièce de résistance: a filing cabinet. The cabinet wasn’t locked, so I went through the drawers. I didn’t find anything connected to the six cars out there or Vic Hancock or Derek. It made sense that they’d be running a paperless operation where it counted. I slammed the filing cabinet closed and cursed.

‘I’ve got all I’m going to get. I’m coming out,’ I said into the phone.

Dylan said nothing.

I went around the workshop making sure I hadn’t left anything out of place. I didn’t think Derek’s crew was the particularly observant type but I wasn’t going to take any chances. I switched all the lights off and climbed onto the workbench to make my escape.

Using the rafters for support, I got myself onto the window ledge. I fed my legs through the window first so I would land on my feet instead of my head and squeezed my body back through the window. It was harder coming out than going in. My clothes kept snagging on the frame, but I made it through and lowered myself down.

I had a certain expectation as to where the drums were. Instead, my feet connected with air. I kept lowering myself and my feet still hung in the air. I looked down. The drums were gone.

Before I could do anything else, a fist drove itself into my left kidney. I yelled out, lost my grip on the ledge and came crashing to the ground. I landed hard on my feet. Pain crackled up through my legs and into my groin. I lost my balance and came down on my back.

A heavy shoe pinned me to the ground by my neck and a torch beam blinded me.

I wasn’t going down like this. I grabbed the foot, lifted it up and twisted. My assailant wasn’t expecting that and toppled back.

I flipped over onto my front then onto my feet, ignoring the tingling in my legs. I rushed my assailant then stopped when he spoke.

‘Don’t add resisting arrest and assault to breaking and entering,’ Detective Brennan said.