Did Not Finish Page 12

  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.

  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 da
mn 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 towar
ds 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?’