Did Not Finish (15 page)

Pete wasn’t the fastest of racers but he was outdoing himself. He was making mincemeat out of my speeds. He closed within fifty yards and my stomach dropped. I recognized the helmet design. It wasn’t Pete’s, it was Derek’s.

If Derek wanted to tangle with me, I wasn’t going to give him the privilege. I came off the gas a little.

Derek closed in behind me, so close that he disappeared in my mirrors. That meant he was a car length off my gearbox. The noise bleeding into my helmet confirmed it. The mirrors on a single-seater give limited rear-view vision and that’s when a driver relies on his other senses. When two cars get within a car length of each other, the sound of a screaming engine changes. There are two engines and resonance comes into effect. In a race, it tells you you’re about to be overtaken and it was no different this time. Derek moved out from behind me. My heart fluttered when he drew alongside me, slowing to match my speed. We were heading towards Barrack Hill and Derek inched slightly ahead of me then elegantly slipped his left rear wheel in front of mine. He was teeing me up for the same fate as Alex.

Carefully, I inched left and untangled myself from the web Derek was weaving.

Derek moved in again and looped his left rear in front of my right rear. I had nowhere to go. I was at the edge of the track. Taking to the grass run-off would be just as lethal. Derek and I were interlocked; our wheels inches apart. One wrong move could kill us both.

Our cars were so close that if Derek and I reached out for one another we could have shaken hands. I looked over at him. The only view I had of him was the letterbox slot in his helmet. Derek’s eyes were dots where his cheeks were bunched up. The bastard was grinning.

We bore down on Barrack Hill and Derek made no move to untangle his wheels from mine. The turning point was seconds away. I couldn’t do a thing. Derek held my fate.

We hit the turning point for Barrack Hill. We had no choice but to match each others’ moves. For once, we worked as partners. If either of us got out of step or phase, we were both going off the track and into a wall. Derek turned for the bend and I turned with him. I synchronized my driving with his. It was all I could do. We exited the corner together and I released a relieved breath.

Derek eased his wheels out from mine. I glanced over at him. He flashed me the thumbs up then accelerated ahead of me.

I guess I’d just been threatened for the second time.

I kept to myself for the rest of the day, chatting with the punters instead of hanging out with my fellow drivers. I needed someone to watch my back and the punters were the best I could lay my hands on.

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

T
he 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.