Hot Seat

Last Lap

I was alone at home when DI Huston rang.

‘How are you doing?’

‘I’m fine.’

It had been four days since the fire at the Ragged workshop. The gash Crichlow had given me hadn’t been serious. Soft tissue only, according to the doctor, but it was annoying. Every time I moved or stretched, the two edges of the wound seemed to shift. I was still coughing out the smoke from the fire and I’d picked up a couple of second-degree burns under my chin and around my ankles. I’d also come away with a mild case of whiplash when I crashed my car. These injuries would keep me out of racing for a couple of weeks. Not that I had any racing to go back to. Ragged Racing was no more.

‘You up for a road trip?’ Huston asked.

‘Who’s driving?’

‘You. You’ll have to meet me here.’

‘Where are you?’

‘At that factory you told me belonged to Andrew Gates.’

‘I’m leaving now.’

I arrived at the factory to find Huston outside, leaning against her car. It had been a couple of days since I’d seen her. After the fire, Rags and I spent two days being questioned by HM Customs and the police from our hospital beds. Despite helping to identify a murderer and bringing down a drug-trafficking ring, no one seemed to be in a hurry to congratulate me. Oh, well. Huston opened my door and helped me out.

‘I’ve got something to show you,’ she said. ‘This way.’

Crime-scene tape crisscrossed the entrance to the factory. I felt uneasy at the thought of what she’d show me. I prayed it wasn’t a body. She snapped the tape and I followed her inside.

The area where Gates and Crichlow had interrogated me weeks earlier was staked out. A rust-coloured stain over four feet in diameter tainted the concrete floor.

‘Is that blood?’

‘Yes.’

I thought Rags had lost a lot of blood from his neck wound, but it paled in comparison to what had been lost here. I couldn’t imagine anyone surviving that amount of blood loss.

‘We’ve tested the blood. It’s the same blood type as Dominic Crichlow’s. It’ll be a while before DNA testing proves whether it’s his or not.’

No DNA testing was required. It was Crichlow’s. Gates had caught up with his brother’s killer and gotten his revenge. I winced at what Gates had done to spill so much blood.

‘Have you found a body?’ I asked.

‘No.’

And I doubted that they would. With all the properties Gates owned, what was left of Crichlow was likely propping up a foundation somewhere.

‘Have you spoken to Andrew Gates?’ I asked.

‘He’s an absentee landlord now, so I doubt we’ll get the chance.’

‘He’s gone?’

‘He, his family and his mother left the country on different flights to different countries the day after the fire.’

‘Where do you think they’ve gone?’

‘I’m sure they’re sunning themselves in a non-extradition country somewhere. We’ll find out which one eventually. Not that we’ll be looking too hard. It’s only the guilty preying on themselves. The innocent have already been avenged. We have what we need. The only question I have is, did you tip him off about Crichlow?’

‘No.’

‘Someone told him. Now, I wouldn’t blame you if you did after what Crichlow did to you.’

‘I didn’t.’

‘Is that your official answer?’

‘It’s my only answer.’

She eyed me up, looking for a sign that would give me away. She wouldn’t find one. There wasn’t one to find.

‘OK. I had to ask.’ She had a file folder under her arm and held it out to me. ‘I thought you’d like to take a look at these.’

The file contained eight-by-ten photos of Crichlow, Rags and a bunch of men I’d never seen before. Some of the shots showed them stripping the wheels off the Ragged cars. Others showed the tyres being pulled off the rims and packets of white powder being loaded into bags. Several of the pictures were taken at the accident-repair garage in Milton Keynes. The rest were taken at places I didn’t recognize.

‘After a ton of man-hours, our techs managed to get these off Jason’s phone a few days ago. If you’d given me the phone when you’d found it, we could have prevented last night.’

It might have prevented the fire at Ragged, but it wouldn’t have prevented any of the other collateral damage associated with the case.

‘You might be interested to know that the crash centre you discovered belonged to Andrew Gates. I’m guessing we’ll find out that all these buildings pictured belong to Gates and that Crichlow was using them as a front. I think these pictures are what Crichlow was after the night he killed Jason. He was scrabbling to cover his arse. It would explain why he ransacked Jason’s flat and when you started getting close, he planted the razor on you.’

I’d guessed as much. Every time I updated Gates, I updated Crichlow. He knew my every step and so I made it easy for him to pull something to derail me.

‘Have you shared this with Barrington?’

She nodded.

I handed the folder back. ‘I’m sorry for all the trouble.’

‘You should be.’ A smile came with the put down. I saw the mother instead of the cop for once. ‘Stick to the driving in the future.’

‘I’ll do my best, but no promises.’

I left Huston to her crime scene and drove to Archway. I found Steve and Dylan at work on Gates’ cars. Now that Ragged Racing no longer existed, Dylan was back working for Steve. I broke the news that Gates had skipped the country while it was likely that Crichlow had skipped the planet.

‘What are we going to do with all these cars?’ Dylan asked.

‘Gates paid us to restore them and that’s what we’ll do. We fix them up and return them,’ Steve said.

‘To who?’ Dylan said. ‘The man is gone and never coming back. I say we bloody keep them as compensation for all our trouble.’

‘They don’t belong to us,’ Steve said. ‘It’d be theft and I for one don’t want to see any cops for a while.’

Both of them had more than a valid point. As much as I felt we were owed, Gates’ cars weren’t our property. ‘How about this then? There’s no one we can hand these cars over to, so I suggest we just hold on to them until Andrew asks for them back. Naturally, we would have to drive them to ensure they are in full operating condition.’

‘Sounds more than fair,’ Dylan said.

‘I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this crap, but OK,’ Steve said. ‘Pick a favourite. The rest I’ll mothball until further notice.’

Dylan pounced on the red Triumph TR5, wrapping his arms around its flat bonnet. I sidled up to an original, canary yellow, 1970 TVR Tuscan with a V8 engine in it. It was a lot of engine for such a small car.

‘OK,’ Steve said. ‘We’ll dress up the other cars, but we’ll give these two the full business.’

‘Can I talk to you alone?’ I said to Steve.

Steve looked to Dylan.

‘You two talk. I’ll get lunch. It’s on me. Today is a good day.’ Dylan grabbed his jacket and shot out the door.

‘Please remind him he’s only minding the car, not bloody keeping it,’ Steve said.

‘I’ll try, but I’m not sure he’s listening.’

‘OK, what do you want to talk about?’

‘The night of the fire. Someone tipped off Andrew Gates about Crichlow. I can only think of one person who’d do that.’

Steve opened the passenger door of the MGA he’d been working on and took a seat. He patted the driver’s seat. I rounded the car and slipped behind the wheel. I remembered doing the exact same thing when I was so small my feet didn’t reach the pedals and Steve telling me what I could expect when I grew big enough to drive the car. Those were great days that would always stick with me. I loved my grandfather so much.

‘Crichlow was in the wind and with his connections he’d be out of the country,’ Steve said. ‘He’d left you to die and I couldn’t let him get away with that. You’re my family. My only family. So yes, I called Andrew and told him. Am I proud of it? No. Did I want justice at any cost? You bet your life.’

This wasn’t what Steve had taught me. Doing right was his credo. Throwing Crichlow to someone like Gates was only justice if you wanted to delude yourself. Well, I wanted to be deluded.

‘Thank you,’ I said.

‘You’re welcome, son.’

Someone pulled back the workshop door and Claudia appeared in a blast of sunlight. ‘Morning gentlemen. Time to crack the whip again, Aidy.’

Claudia had been dropping by daily to follow up on various points in the case. Barrington never showed his face. After pulling everyone off me and leaving me defenceless, he’d been smart to send Claudia.

‘I won’t be long,’ I told Steve.

Claudia and I went around the corner to Alexandra Gardens. It was nice down there, especially by the river. It was quiet at this time of the day. Tourists were in short supply. She slipped her arm in mine as we walked.

She eyed the burn under my chin. ‘It’s ’ealing nicely. I don’t think it will scar too badly.’

It was unlikely I’d ever have to shave there again.

‘What’s the latest on everything?’ I asked. Where I’d been forthcoming with everything I knew, Barrington hadn’t, but Claudia had been feeding me information as and when she could.

‘About ten months ago, Rags asked Andrew Gates for a loan after he lost a sponsor. Gates said no, but Crichlow offered ’im an alternative method for earning money. Things grew from there.’

‘And Andrew Gates was never involved?’

‘Not according to Rags. It was Crichlow’s pet project. He carried the whole thing out under Gates’ nose. Not ’ard, I suppose, considering the size of Gates’ empire.’

‘Crichlow was just a middleman,’ I said. ‘Who was the supplier and the distributor?’

‘You know I can’t tell you that. What are your plans now?’

‘Face down at the moment. I think my days at the ESCC are done.’

With Ragged Racing in ashes, my drive had gone up in smoke with everyone else’s job. Rumour was that Barry Nevin was going to start his own team, but it wasn’t going to happen before the season’s end. Naturally, Townsend Motorsport was in the frame to reclaim its factory-backed status. Despite this, it looked as if Russell Townsend wasn’t going to honour our deal of taking me into his fold. The word was that Kurt Haulk would be Townsend’s third team car. Mike Whelan was holding true to his word and scouting out some options for me.

‘I sent out a statement to Pit Lane on the Tim Reid situation. They want to interview you about it.’

‘They going to talk to Chloe too?’

Claudia smiled. ‘Naturally. She’s a victim too.’

I shook my head. Chloe Mercer would no doubt come out of this smelling like a rose. I took comfort in the fact that my title as Pit Lane magazine’s Young Driver of the Year would remain intact and would stick in her throat.

‘I wanted to let you know that my days with the ESCC are also over. I’m returning to France for reassignment.’

‘Well, the ESCC will be worse off because of it.’

She smiled and curtsied for me. ‘And so will ’er Majesty’s Customs.’

‘Barrington giving you the elbow?’

‘I’m being sent on my way with a commendation.’

Barrington was taking all the praise for bringing down a major international drug-smuggling pipeline, although the success had nothing to do with him. It made sense that he was kicking her to touch. Her presence was potentially a major embarrassment for him.

‘I hope your people appreciate your role in all this.’

‘They do. That’s why I’d like to make you an offer. I’ve been speaking to some of my connections in France. ’Ow would you like to compete in the Formula Renault Eurocup series? It would be with a good team.’

‘How are their finances?’

Claudia laughed. ‘Good. No loan sharks.’

Formula Renault meant I’d be back in single seaters, where I belonged. And France sounded good. It would put some distance between recent events and me.

‘I like it, but I don’t know any French.’

‘I’d teach you.’

‘I’m surprised you want to be in the same country as me after all the trouble I’ve caused you.’

‘I’d like to get to know you better. So what do you say?’

After all my friends and I had gone through, it sounded better than good. ‘I have a couple of conditions.’

‘Name them?’

‘Dylan comes with me. It’s a package deal.’

‘And what about Steve?’

‘He’s got Archway.’

‘Not a problem. What else?’

‘What’s your real name?’

She kissed me on the cheek before whispering the answer in my ear. I liked it better than Claudia.

‘Do we ’ave a deal?’ she asked.

‘I think we do.’