Hot Seat

Lap Thirty

I met with Claudia and Barrington the following morning at the Holiday Inn next to Heathrow Airport. The room overlooked the airport road and the drone of passing cars penetrated the windows. There was coffee and a collection of notepads on a circular table, with an empty chair for me. The whole affair came over more like a sales-rep meeting than a clandestine meeting for HM Customs. It made me wonder how big an operation Barrington was running. It seemed pretty small-time, but it could be the iceberg approach, where I got to see the tip and nothing more.

Claudia brought out a digital recorder and placed it at the centre of the table. ‘Tell us everything you discovered last night.’

I outlined every detail. Barrington hung on my every word. For once, he didn’t mock me or exert his power. I guessed I was being useful to him.

‘Now you’re sure it was drugs inside those tyres?’ Barrington asked after I was finished.

‘As sure as I can be,’ I said. ‘The tyres were packed with bags of white powder.’

‘Didn’t you open one?’

‘No way. I wasn’t touching that stuff. And I wouldn’t know cocaine from caster sugar.’

‘It better not be caster sugar.’

‘Who packs tyres with caster sugar?’

That silenced Barrington.

‘Hiding the coke in the tyres is genius,’ he said. ‘I have to give the crafty bugger that. There’s no chopping the car up or hidden panels and the drugs come gift wrapped in an easy to transport package. They’re hidden in plain sight. There are dozens of wheels and tyres flying around, so everyone is going to ignore them.’

‘I bet these loaded wheels get put on at the end of the race and taken off when the cars are back at the workshop,’ I said.

‘Have you seen anyone take the tyres?’ Claudia asked.

‘Probably, but I haven’t been paying attention.’

‘Who’s responsible for changing them?’ Barrington asked.

‘No one special. All the guys are capable, from Rags on down, but Dylan’s part of the furniture now and he hasn’t seen anyone acting shady when it comes to the tyres. Which isn’t surprising.’

‘What makes you say that?’ Claudia asked.

‘If all the guys were involved, they’d either be cutting Dylan in or excluding him. Whoever’s switching wheels must be doing this after hours when no one is watching.’

Barrington got up from his chair and paced up and down in front of the window. He flicked his thumbnail against his index finger as he paced. I thought I heard the gears turning.

‘We could go in now,’ Claudia suggested. ‘We’d have enough to bury Rags. He’d give up his connections for a deal.’

Barrington turned his back on the mundane view. ‘No, I don’t want the mule, I want the network. I don’t want to risk Rags not talking.’

‘He’ll talk,’ Claudia said.

‘I’m not so sure,’ I said. ‘Rags isn’t a pushover.’

‘I agree,’ Barrington said. ‘You say the wheels with the drugs in them are on the cars?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Where are the cars going?’

‘We’re testing at Zandvoort in Holland next Wednesday.’

‘Why Zandvoort?’ Claudia said. ‘The ESCC has no scheduled race there.’

‘I know.’

‘Then why?’

‘After catching a rival spying, Rags says he wants to test somewhere with a little privacy. Kurt Haulk has connections at the circuit and got us in.’

Claudia and Barrington looked at each other.

‘So let me get this straight. Ragged Racing will be travelling to mainland Europe with almost a hundred kilos of cocaine to a secluded place where you have no business being,’ Barrington said.

‘Pretty much.’

‘You want to catch them during the exchange?’ Claudia asked.

Barrington grinned. ‘Oh, yes.’

My emotions got stuck between floors. I’d be happy if Barrington wrapped up his investigation on Wednesday because it would mean our association was at an end, but so would my time with Ragged Racing. I’d told Russell Townsend I wouldn’t torpedo my drive for him, but it looked as if I’d be doing that for Barrington.

I drove back to Archway to fill Steve in on the next phase. Instead of finding him hard at work, I came back to find half a dozen police cars and a police van filling the parking area. My stomach sank. This was it. Sergeant Lucas was finally here to arrest me. The heavy police presence seemed like overkill, but I supposed he was still pissed off over the van theft. I stopped the Honda behind a cop car, blocking it in.

I climbed out and a uniformed officer came rushing at me with hands out.

‘You can’t go in.’

‘I think I’m the person Sergeant Lucas is expecting.’

The cop gave me a confused look. ‘Wait here.’

He disappeared inside Archway and a moment later, Steve and DI Huston emerged. Her presence confused me.

Steve broke away from her and got to me first. ‘It’s going to be OK,’ he whispered.

‘What did he say?’ Huston demanded.

‘He told me it was going to be OK. What’s going on?’ I asked.

‘We’ve been led to believe that you’re in possession of the weapon used to kill Jason Gates, Mr Westlake.’

‘What are you talking about? Is this is a joke?’

‘No joke. Please come with me. I’d like you to explain this.’

I looked to Steve for answers. He just shook his head in bewilderment.

We followed her back into the workshop where half a dozen officers were ransacking tool cabinets and emptying toolboxes. Others were pawing over the cars Steve was restoring for Gates. It was like watching wild dogs tearing apart a defenceless animal.

‘I’m so sorry,’ I said to Steve.

‘I’d like your opinion on this,’ Huston said and pointed at the situation room.

I groaned.

She stopped in the doorway where a couple of officers were removing the whiteboards, using Steve’s tools. ‘What are these?’

‘What do they look like?’

‘It looks like a suspect board. Have you been running your own investigation, Mr Westlake? It goes some way to explaining why I keep finding your paw prints all over my case. How about you explain the rest?’

‘It’s nothing. Just idle speculation. There’s nothing wrong in that. Remember, I was a witness to Jason’s murder.’

‘Just a witness?’

‘Just a witness.’

‘Inspector,’ an excited voice shouted. ‘We’ve got it.’

I looked at Steve. I read the dread on his face.

A female officer burst from the toilets brandishing a cutthroat razor sealed in a plastic bag. Water dripped from the bag. ‘It was in the toilet’s cistern. There’s blood on it.’

I closed my eyes. I knew what was coming next.

‘Turn around, Mr Westlake. I’m arresting you.’