Did Not Finish (6 page)

‘I know you’ve got keys to the bay. Do you think I could take a look?’

‘Why would you want to do that?’ Myles Beecham said from behind me.

Shit. Another minute and I would have pulled it off. Was dumb luck biting me in the arse or had he been watching me walk the track from the control tower? I turned to face him. He looked ready to throttle me. Obviously, he hadn’t gotten yesterday out of his system.

‘Well?’ he demanded.

‘Some of the drivers agreed that no one should drive Alex’s car again. We’re looking to buy it to have it crushed.’ While that was true, I wasn’t planning to melt the car down until I’d gone over it. Just like the skid marks, the car would help me construct a case against Derek.

My explanation worked. The tension in the room broke and Myles seemed to shrink by a few inches as his suppressed anger bled out of him.

‘But why do you want to see the car?’ he said.

‘So I can make a realistic offer. We want to make a gesture, but none of us are made of money.’

Myles chewed that one over for a moment. I guessed he was deciding whether I was bullshitting him or not.

‘Come with me. I’ll show you.’

We crossed the paddock to the scrutineering bay in silence. This was no good. If I wanted to get to the bottom of Alex’s death, I needed everyone’s cooperation. That included Myles. ‘Look, I’m sorry about what I said at the funeral. It was uncalled for.’

Myles kept walking without looking at me. ‘That’s OK. Nerves are a little frayed at the moment. It’s a sensitive time for everyone.’

‘Sensitive times or not, I was rude.’

‘I appreciate you saying that.’

Myles unlocked the double garage doors to the scrutineering bay and swung them open. What remained of Alex’s car sat ruined in the middle of the bay. My mouth went dry at the sight.

The car was a mess. The impact had flattened the aluminium nose box, snapping off the brake and clutch master cylinders in the process. A pool of fluid stained the floor. Splintered fibreglass bodywork exposed the chassis underneath. A Formula Ford’s chassis is a spiderweb of tubular steel. It’s immensely strong, especially in a head-on collision, but Alex’s chassis had buckled. Only one tyre remained inflated. The other three were either punctured or hanging from buckled rims. The front wheels only remained attached to the car by the brake cables and the wishbone suspension assembly was nothing more than a knot of folded steel.

Despite the devastation, Alex should have survived. Formula cars are one giant safety cage. The wheel and suspension arrangement is designed to shear off so that it reduces the energy during a crash. The cars fold up like a garden chair, allowing the driver to walk away in one piece.

Crouching down to examine the cockpit, I discovered what had killed Alex. The harness mounts over his shoulders had sheared off during the high speed impact. Unrestrained from the waist up, his momentum hurled him head first into the steering wheel. Even with his crash helmet, he didn’t stand a chance. When the car hit the wall, physics took over. The deceleration was massive. His body went from one hundred and thirty to zero in the blink of an eye. The resulting force at which he would have hit his head on the steering wheel would have been staggering. I climbed to my feet, unable to speak.

‘How much do you think you’ll offer?’

There was thousands in damage here. The car wasn’t worth much in this condition. The chassis wasn’t salvageable and most of the ancillaries were write-offs. There was very little of value. The whole thing was worth a grand at most, but that wasn’t a figure to toss out at a grieving family. Nobody wants to hear their son’s life could be reduced to a few hundred pounds.

‘How much do you want?’ I asked.

‘It’s not down to me. You’ll need to deal with Alex’s family.’

That wasn’t going to be a fun call.

‘You’re making a very nice gesture here, but I don’t think they’ll be interested in receiving offers for it. I talked to Alex’s father yesterday about returning the car. He doesn’t want it back.’

‘I don’t want to see any part of this car back on the track next season, Myles.’

‘I don’t disagree. I think the family will give you the car if you ask. Have you raised any money?’

‘I have commitments from several of the drivers.’

‘It’s a shame for that money to go to waste.’

‘We could start a fund and put the money towards upgrading the crash team’s equipment or something.’

Myles smiled. ‘I like that. It’s a fitting memorial.’

And it gave me an excuse to stay close to the activities at Stowe Park.

‘Come back to the office,’ Myles said, ‘and let’s make some phone calls.’

Eva Beecham fixed me with a disapproving glare when I followed Myles into the administration building. Myles diffused the situation quickly.

‘Aidy is putting a fund together in Alex’s name and I think we should help. Pull out the list of registrants for the Clark Paints Championship and we’ll make some calls.’

Eva printed off a list of drivers with their contact information. The list consisted of names, addresses, phone numbers and emergency contacts. Alex’s was there alongside Derek’s and my own. It also listed the name and number for emergency contacts. Next to Alex’s home address was his father’s name and mobile phone number.

We decided amongst us that it was best the money was sent care of Myles and Eva. Any donation was fine, but we would push for a donation matching a race entry fee, which was two hundred pounds. Getting that from every person seemed steep, but it was possible considering the emotional weight attached to the request. Every driver would like to think others would cough up the price of a race entry if they should die on the track. With two hundred multiplied by just the forty drivers registered to the series, we were looking at an impressive sum.

‘I’ll call Alex’s father to get the go ahead,’ Myles said.

‘You should call
Pit Lane
magazine,
Motorsport News
and the TV stations about what we’re doing,’ Eva said. ‘They should talk to you two about this.’

I liked the idea of the press attention, specifically from anyone at Redline. I wanted to see the uncut footage from the race.

For the next couple of hours, the three of us called dozens of drivers from across the country. The support was fantastic. About two-thirds agreed to donate the price of a race entry and none but a distinct minority refused to donate anything. It was a fulfilling, yet draining experience. I hung up on my last call and sat back in my seat. Eva was smiling at me.

Myles finished his call. ‘Aidy, that was Alex’s father. He’d like to meet with you tomorrow to talk about the fund-raising and the car. I said that would be OK. If it’s a problem, give him a call back.’

‘No, that’ll be OK.’

Myles handed me a post-it note with a phone number, an address and two p.m. circled.

‘Your father would be very proud of what you’re doing.’

‘Thanks,’ I said and wished someone had done something like this for him. Dad had died without receiving his Formula One signing bonus or taking out a life insurance policy.

The door opened and Derek Deacon walked in. He smiled at us. I felt like we were being sized up by a shark.

Derek’s appearance unsettled Myles and Eva. Despite being on their own property, they looked as if they’d been caught stealing. They didn’t have anything to feel guilty about. None of us did, but I tensed up along with them.

‘Eva, I got a message that you called. I was in the area and thought I’d drop by. What’s going on?’

Even though the question was aimed at Eva, Derek’s gaze was fixed on me.

I returned his gaze. I’d been glad when Eva had called Derek. He, more than anyone, had reason to give something back after he’d taken so much.

‘We’re putting together a fund in memory of Alex,’ she said.

‘That’s nice,’ Derek said in a sneering tone. ‘Whose idea was that?’

‘Aidy’s,’ Myles said.

‘That’s very good of you.’

I shrugged.

‘I’d like to do my bit. How much is everyone putting in?’

‘The price of a race entry,’ I said.

Derek smirked. ‘I like that. I’ll tell you what. I’ll go one better. I’ll donate my prize money for winning the championship.’

The championship winner received a thousand pounds. Derek looked to be trying to buy his innocence.

‘Are you sure?’ Myles said.

‘Deadly,’ he said turning his attention to Myles then back to me. ‘I don’t race for the money.’

‘That’s very generous,’ I said.

Derek shrugged the compliment away. ‘I’m a generous kind of guy. See you at the banquet,’ he said on his way out.

It was a nice performance. He was responsible for Alex’s death and he was acting magnanimous. His philanthropic gesture would get back to the racing community. He was going to come out smelling like a rose.

It was getting dark, so I stood up. ‘Look, I’d better go. I need to settle up at Chicane’s before they close.’

Myles shook my hand before seeing me out.

By the time I got back to Chicane’s, Chris and Paul had boxed up my order. I paid them and carried the purchases out to the Capri. Derek was leaning against the driver’s door.

I unlocked the boot and put the box inside. As I came around to the driver’s side, Derek made no move to stand aside.

‘That’s a really decent thing you’ve masterminded,’ he said. ‘I didn’t realize you were so philanthropic.’

Masterminded was an unusual choice of word. Philanthropy is never masterminded. I didn’t point out his poor choice of words.

‘It seemed the right thing to do.’

Derek nodded his agreement. ‘I saw you and Alex chatting on race day. You looked very chummy. I didn’t know you two were so tight.’

‘We weren’t.’

‘So why the big effort?’

‘I know what it’s like to lose someone close.’

‘That’s right, your mum and dad. I remember your dad well. I raced against him here in Formula Fords. Did you know that?’

I shook my head.

‘Nice guy. Terrible what happened to your parents. It just goes to show you can’t avoid accidents. Your parents couldn’t and Alex couldn’t.’ Derek stepped out from in front of my driver’s door and opened it for me. As I slid into the seat, he leaned in close and whispered, ‘Careful how you go, Aidy. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you too.’

I’d just received my first warning.

Lap Seven

A
lex’s parents lived on a tree-lined street in an upscale neighbourhood in Guildford. They lived in an elegant Edwardian era detached house with a double garage and U-shaped gravel driveway. I parked Steve’s Capri alongside the familiar Range Rover I’d seen Mr Fanning drive to race meetings.

Mr Fanning stood waiting for me on the doorstep. He took my hand and pumped it two-handed. His eyes shone with unspilled tears. ‘Thanks for coming.’

‘My pleasure,’ I said.

He led me into the living room. It was tastefully furnished, if a little dated. Pictures of Alex ranging from when he was a toddler up to very recent covered a table underneath the window. Not one of the photos showed him racing.

Alison sat on the sofa with her arm around Mrs Fanning. She looked up and gave me a half smile, but Mrs Fanning kept her gaze aimed at the carpet. Alison was an unexpected and unwanted surprise. I knew my presence would be upsetting to the Fannings. I didn’t need to upset Alex’s fiancée too.

‘This is Adrian Westlake,’ Mr Fanning said.

‘Call me Aidy,’ I replied.

‘He’s one of Alex’s racing friends.’

Mrs Fanning tore her gaze away from the ground to look at me. She murmured a hello before rising to her feet. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I have some things to do.’

She kept it together until she reached the stairs, then broke into sobs. Alison went to go to her, but Mr Fanning shook his head as he sat alongside Alison.

‘Myles says you’re spearheading a collection to buy Alex’s car,’ Mr Fanning said.

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’ Alison asked.

‘To make sure the car isn’t raced again. It’s a mark of respect.’

‘I don’t think it’s in any condition to be raced,’ Mr Fanning said.

‘You’d be surprised. The car could be restored.’

‘I’m not sure anyone would want to race the car after what happened to Alex,’ Alison said.

I didn’t want to tell her how many people would. I wouldn’t be surprised if the Fannings had received calls from the vulture element already.

‘What would you do with the car?’ Mr Fanning asked.

There was no way of saying it without it sounding crass or callous. I was glad Mrs Fanning wasn’t in the room to hear it. ‘I would have it compacted to make sure nobody could use it.’

I said nothing about wanting the car so I could prove that Derek had killed Alex. ‘The car has little residual value, but I’m willing to pay a price you’re happy with. We’re trying to make something good out of something tragic.’

‘How much money have you raised so far?’ Alison asked.

‘Around six thousand. An appeal will go out in
Pit Lane
magazine and
Motorsport News
for others to contribute. I’m hoping we can double that figure.’

‘That’s more than the car is worth,’ Mr Fanning said. ‘What would you do with the excess?’

‘I spoke to Myles about using the money on safety upgrades at the track. It might just save a life.’

Mr Fanning and Alison exchanged a look. She nodded.

‘We talked about what to do with Alex’s car before you came over,’ Mr Fanning said. ‘We decided we don’t want any money for it. It belonged to Alex. He bought it. Taking the money would be pointless. You can have the car with our blessing.’

Alison took Mr Fanning’s hand and both of them smiled at me. Tears welled up and robbed me of the ability to say thank you. Seeing these people act with such grace after what had been done to them was too much.