Hot Blood (Bloodwords Book 1) (17 page)

‘Well I’m buggered,’ responded Radcliffe. ‘I
always wondered how a two week old car could end up in a second hand car
showroom with quite a few quid knocked off the price. It just didn’t make sense
that someone would spend all that money and lose so much in a fortnight.’

‘Doesn’t help us find our stolen cars though
does it Boss?’

 
‘No
Kyle, it doesn’t. For my money the cars are destined for overseas and the gang
are operating out of either Merseyside or Manchester.’

‘Is that a hunch or have you something to base
it on then?’

‘I suppose it’s a bit of both really,’
responded the inspector. ‘I think that this is another example of career
criminals using the three police forces to their advantage.’

Both of them knew of cases where thieves from
one area had operated in another in the full knowledge that neighbouring police
forces did not communicate as efficiently as perhaps they should because in
reality they were quite territorial in their response. Radcliffe had been as
guilty as anyone so knew the score all too well.

‘The cars are being lifted from our patch but
there doesn’t seem to be storage or workshop capacity and we’ve no posh car
outlets to sell them from. But it’s all there in the cities. Manchester and
Liverpool have got the lot. Liverpool’s also got the docks so there’s a direct
export line as well.’

‘That all sounds like a hunch to me,’ replied
the sergeant. ‘We haven’t heard anything from Lancashire or Manchester forces
so it could just be a local thing here in Merseyside.’

‘That’s where you’re wrong.’ Radcliffe was
warming to his theory. ‘If the cars had been stolen in Manchester and they had
asked us if we had any leads I doubt that we would have given it any
importance. Let’s face it, it was right under our noses but I didn’t act myself
until Handy Andy dropped it in my lap and pushed me. No Kyle, I think that it’s
been well set up and they are banking on us lot not talking to each other. My
best guess is that the cars are being nicked here on our patch, whizzed over to
somewhere in Greater Manchester or Lancashire for storage, then packaged up in
some way and brought back into Merseyside to be exported through Liverpool.
That way it’s spread across three police jurisdictions which is guaranteed to
slow detection down. If a copper stumbles over anything then it’s only a small
part of the chain, so if we don’t talk to each other – and so far we
haven’t – it just looks like a one-off. The buggers are laughing at us
and I don’t like that.’

‘I can see your logic. We’re always getting
Lancashire Constabulary moaning about Merseyside yobs from Bootle and
Toxteth
taking a run down the M58 to
Skelmersdale
,
doing a job and then nipping back. We don’t spend much time on it at all so
they keep getting away with it. I suppose that it could also work with the
cars.’ The sergeant thought for a second or two then added, ‘But that still
doesn’t explain where they work on the cars or how they get them off our patch
to a Lancashire or Manchester HQ while they are still hot. That’s a big ask.’

‘You are right Kyle,’ responded Radcliffe.
‘They need to move the cars fast when they first lift them and that’s where my
hunch comes in. I reckon that they do whatever they need to do right here
before they are moved to storage. Perhaps we are not looking for somewhere big
enough to store the cars, just somewhere where they can get each car looking
legal. After that, even if they are seen they won’t attract attention.’

‘What, like a little back street garage or
something? Surely, the cars that have been lifted would stick out like a sore
thumb mixed in with the usual hatches and old bangers in those places.’

Radcliffe took a mouthful of his coffee. It was
as cold as the leads they had on the car thieves. ‘See if you can rustle up some
coffee that’s at least half warm will you Kyle?’ he asked. ‘And get Louise and
Sean in here – we’d better run through everything together so that we are
all singing from the same hymn sheet.’

Some of the most audacious crimes had been
committed in full view without attracting even an ounce of suspicion. If his
hunch was right, the car stealing team were doing just that, achieving success
by being brazen and up-front with their activities while blending in without
attracting attention. Somehow, virtually new cars were being taken away without
arousing suspicion. Other than the rightful owner, who could do that, and how?
And where would be a natural place to take such a car? Where wouldn’t it stand
out as out of place? Where could such a car suddenly appear, then disappear a
few days later, yet not seem wrong? Radcliffe believed that with those
questions answered the case would at last be breaking.

There was a knock on the door and in came Kyle
Fraser with the two DCs. Fraser put a steaming mug of coffee on Radcliffe’s
desk, then took the seat he had earlier vacated, sipping his own drink noisily.
Clutching already half empty beakers, constables Louise and Sean took the
remaining chairs – two metal framed plastic stacking chairs pushed
against the wall. Nobody dared to sit behind Davies’ desk, his chair remaining
empty. Pecking order established.

‘What have you got on the cars Louise?’ asked
Radcliffe.

‘Not a lot sir. Even if half of them have
already been moved on, the only dealers with sufficient space to hide so many
cars are the main dealers, and I’ve drawn a complete blank. Apart from those
they have taken in on part-ex, they are all full of their own brands.’

‘Yes Louise,’ replied Radcliffe. ‘I’m sorry but
I think that we’ve had you looking in the wrong places.’ The inspector brought
them all up to speed with developments and the basis of his hunch; a brazen
crew working right under their noses a car at a time. On that basis they should
be looking for smaller workshops that could handle just one or two cars. Louise
didn’t follow the logic. Virtually brand new Ferrari’s and Bentleys would be
out of place in a back street garage. She thought it more likely that the cars
were being put into box trailers and whisked off to some hidden storage and
workshop.

‘Any more theories?’ enquired Radcliffe. Faced
with blank expressions from all three of his subordinates he continued, ‘Well
in that case we’ll work on mine. A witness saw someone in overalls giving that
Paganini thing the once over and then minutes later it had gone.’

‘
Pagani
,’ corrected
Fraser, ‘Paganini was a composer Guv.’

‘Whatever. The point is, as I said before, it’s
a perfect cover. Turn up in overalls and everyone assumes that you have a right
to take the car away. All we need to know then is taken away to where? They
disappear off the face of the earth within quarter of an hour or so –
even those with sophisticated trackers – so wherever they go later, there
must, repeat must, be some sort of workshop facility on our patch.

‘Louise, check back through the statements and
see if any mechanics were seen around any of the other cars just before they
were nicked. If you don’t turn anything up, go back to each scene and ask
around again. And Louise, if any mechanics were seen, find out what they had on
their overalls.’

‘Excuse me Guv. What on their overalls
exactly?’

‘That’s what I want to know. I have a hunch, so
let’s see if it plays out. Now Sean, is there any progress on the Johnson
attack?’

The constable shuffled in his chair. He had
experienced a bit of a buzz following up on a few loose ends but this was the
first time he had been part of a team, though admittedly just a small cog.
Questioning the waitress’ boyfriend again had inflated his ego somewhat and
going out to the old hall to view the scene for himself had convinced him that
making the move from uniforms to plain clothes was beginning to make him more
important. But now, put on the spot by the inspector, there was nothing of real
value to report. Nothing to justify his presence in the team.

‘Come on lad,’ urged Radcliffe. ‘Let’s have
it.’

‘Well sir, there’s not a lot to report
actually,’ mumbled the constable, fidgeting noticeably and nervously turning
his now empty beaker round and around in his hands.

‘Right lad,’ responded Radcliffe. ‘You might
not have much but whatever it is we all need to know. I know that you are still
feeling your feet but we are supposed to be working as a team so don’t keep
anything to yourself, however. Whatever it might be, just spit it out. Sooner
or later you’ll make a mistake and get a
bollocking
.
We’ve all done it sometime or other, haven’t we sergeant? When your time comes
I am sure that Louise will give you a cuddle and make things better, but for
now, just give us what you have and let me decide what’s what.’

Sean pursed his lips with a faint glimmer of an
embarrassed smile then looked down at the beaker he was still turning. Louise
blushed. Leaning down, he put the empty beaker on the floor then straightened
up and with a more serious expression, looked his superior officer in the eye.
Radcliffe had caught both the short smile and Louise’s blush. Perhaps his
comment about a cuddle, intended to be humorous and put the lad at ease, might
actually have been close to the mark.

‘Well sir,’ started Sean. I followed up on
Sergeant Fraser’s interview with the nude model’s boyfriend and checked up on
some of the other models for the art group. Jack, that’s the boyfriend, is
still cut up that the girl broke up with him and blames Johnson but he doesn’t
seem the type to go attacking somebody – he’s a bit on the weedy side.’

‘He frightened Helen though didn’t he? And he
dragged her along the street. Temper and jealousy can push a man don’t you
think Sean?’

‘Yes sir. I suppose so sir. But all the same, I
don’t think Jack’s got it in him to attack Johnson. And all the other models
have modelled for other groups as well as Johnson’s so there don’t seem to be
any issues there either. One models regularly for the photography club and
another for classes at the college. I did some background digging though and
found a planning application that Johnson objected to. ‘

‘So where’s the relevance to the attack then?’

‘Well sir . . . . . . . . . . ,’

‘Sean, while we are working together as a team
we’ll use our first names in private. Keep rank for when others are about or
when we are in public. OK, go on son.’

Yes sir. I mean Don. Apparently an application
for a restaurant extension at the White Rose was refused. The tenant saw the
restaurant as his only way of saving the business so he blamed Johnson not just
for the unsuccessful application but also that the pub has just closed down and
he’s lost his livelihood.’

‘It takes more than one objection to scupper a
planning application and pubs are closing down right left and centre anyway.
Have you talked to the guy?’

‘No. It seemed a bit off-beam to me. Just an
excuse for the bloke to hide behind if you know what I mean.’

‘I’m with you there Sean. But check it out
anyway. Kyle, you and Sean go and see the ex publican. We can’t rule him out
until we know a bit more. Find out where he was at the time of the attack at
least. Right, you lot all know what you’re doing. I’ve already asked Lancashire
and Manchester whether they have any leads for us but I bet it is weeks before
we get anything back, so Louise, while you are checking for mechanics, I’ll see
if I can find any workshops where our stolen cars wouldn’t be out of place.
Right then. Let’s get to it. We’ll meet back here at the end of the shift for a
debrief.’

Thirteen

He had returned the original summons for
speeding by return of post. There must have been some mistake. How could he
have been caught by a speed camera up north when at that time he had been 250
miles away here in Cornwall? Anyone could make an error, but the sheaf of papers
that had arrived a couple of days ago really took the biscuit. Andrew Woodhouse
stared at a photocopy of the speed camera image. Although it wasn’t
particularly clear, some of the details were unmistakable. It was his car. But
it just couldn’t be. He had been in Truro on the day the image had been
snapped.

‘Look at this,’ he said, pointing to the
dangling sign in the back window of the big off-roader. ‘That’s not on the car
in the picture is it?’

‘No, it isn’t,’ replied the policeman. ‘But you
could have stuck that in there at any time. It’s your registration isn’t it?’

‘Of course it’s my registration. You can see
that for yourself. But that’s not my car in the picture. See, look at this too.
My car has a little dent just near the rear light but the car in the photo
doesn’t.’

‘I don’t know about that,’ said the policeman,
squinting at the poor quality image. It’s a bit hard to make out on the photo
but I guess you could be right. Actually, you are right, there isn’t a dent on
the car in the photo. So when did your bump happen then?’

‘Oh, it’s a while now,’ he said. Several weeks
anyway. I can’t actually remember the exact date. Just a minute, yes I can, it
was a Thursday. It was my wife’s birthday on the Saturday and I took her out a
few days before so that she could choose something for her present. I
onlly
work half day on Wednesdays but I changed it that
week so it would be the Thursday. When we got back to the car park someone had
left a note under my windscreen wiper. Actually I hadn’t noticed the damage it
was so small.’

‘You lost me there sir with Wednesdays,
Thursdays and Saturdays. And you were very lucky that the bloke left a note
– they usually just drive off. But what I asked was the date.’

‘My wife’s birthday is the sixth so it must
have been the fourth. The note was from someone that saw it happen and watched
the car just drive off so they left their contact details. When I rang up they
gave me the culprit’s registration number but I didn’t do anything because it
wasn’t worth it. It was only a small parking ding after all. Hey, the date on
this speed camera picture is the fourth too. There you are then, that proves it
doesn’t it? I couldn’t have been speeding 250 miles away and getting bumped in
a car park here at the same time could I?’

The policeman agreed that the one car couldn’t
have been in two places at the same time, but then a picture can’t lie can it?
Did he still have the note? And would the witness to the incident corroborate
the date? At the moment it was just
Woodhouse’s
word
against a photograph which, obviously, was a no contest situation.

‘If you can produce the note then we can follow
up on it.’ Said the policeman.’

……….

Alone in the office, Mike Johnson slowly rubbed
the palms of his hands together, his elbows resting on the arms of his chair.
Closing the fingers of one hand over those of the other, he dropped his head
forward until his chin rested on his hands. His mind in a daze, his eyes were
open but he could see nothing. Sapped of all energy, all he wanted to do was
curl up in the corner and go to sleep. Actually, that wasn’t true. What he
really wanted to do was put the clock back to when The Palette had been a
thriving concern and they had had no money worries. No, that wasn’t right
either. What would be better would be to fast forward to some point in the
future when the debts had been cleared, The Palette had become profitable
again, and the development on their fields completed so that everything in the
garden was rosy. Some fairy story that would be! Where would it all lead, and
when would it end?

Sitting back in his chair and staring across
the tiny room, a new perception was beginning to dawn. With no more visits from
the police since they had delivered the news of Peter’s death, perhaps he
wasn’t the main suspect. What if the police had only been following procedure
to rule him out? Didn’t they call it eliminating somebody from an enquiry?
After all, he had threatened to kill the scumbag so they would have to follow
up on that wouldn’t they?

But with Peter now dead, presumably the court
case would also die. How apt! Three days ago he had been in deep shit. His plan
to reap a fat profit from his land was stalled thanks to Peter bloody Archer’s
legal action, The Palette was losing money by the bucketful, all his loans were
overdue, the bank had called in his overdraft and he was being pressured for
the shop rent. And adding further misery, a day later he had become a suspect
in his brother-in-law’s murder. But now, just two days to go before the
financial deadline on his business and the picture was far more rosy. He was no
longer a suspect, the threat of a court case had gone, and he could use the
land to raise much needed finance. Saved in the nick of time seemed a
reasonable phrase.

Johnson booted up his computer. With more
enthusiasm than previously, he opened the plans for his retirement village.
They looked magnificent. Who wouldn’t love to live in such an idyllic
environment? The site had been carefully planned so that from their house, most
of the residential units would be hidden in the valley the only downside being
that because of their size and height, the communal buildings could not be
hidden in the same way. It had been a compromise offset only by the financial
return. However, every cloud has a silver lining and this particular one was
that as owners, his family would be able to use all the facilities –
including the swimming pool.

Clicking out of the plans and into a web
browser he brought up satellite imagery of the area, zooming the image out to
show not just the site of the proposed development but also some of the
surrounding area. With his enthusiasm for the development rekindled now that a
big financial cloud had been lifted he began to look for alternatives. Could
the communal buildings be relocated? Could the views from their home be
protected yet the benefits and financial return retained?

Capturing a screenshot of the satellite imagery
he overlaid it with the site plan and considered all the options, searching for
a way to move the communal building complex including community centre,
restaurant and swimming pool out of sight. If he could do that then the
magnificent views from their house would not be compromised.

Running through a rapidly lengthening list of
what-ifs, Johnson mentally moved buildings around, but when all possibilities
had been exhausted he had to accept that there was no viable solution. Although
feasible on screen, in reality all options were totally impossible because the
only way to retain the views from their home was to move the communal complex,
main entrance buildings, visitor car park and access road to the opposite side
of a line of trees. And that line of trees marked the boundary of their land
with the
 
Green Fields caravan Park.

Leaning back in his chair and folding his arms,
Mike looked pensively up at the ceiling. What if? What bloody if? If Peter
bloody Archer could try to steal their land and house, what was stopping them
turning the tables and taking the caravan park instead? Come to think of it,
that might not be as far fetched as it seemed. With Peter now dead, presumably
young Kevin would take over the running of the park. And he had neither the
money nor the belief in the place to carry on. What if the Johnson’s bought the
park? That would enable the development to go ahead and also give the young lad
some money to start a new life. At last Mike’s dream could become a reality
– a profitable reality without destroying their views.

But even without buying Green Fields, raising
finance for the planned development would see them stretched, and immediate
action was essential if the debts of The Palette were not to bring everything
crashing down. A glimmer of a smile crossed his face. Nodding to himself he
moved his fingers back over the keyboard and typed in a few commands. Dragging
the boxes that represented the restaurant, swimming pool and other communal
facilities he created a new area on the Green Fields side of the trees, a new
car parking area and an expansive site entrance. If the original plan had been
good, it was now fantastic.

A plan was forming in his mind. Kevin was a
young guy wet behind the ears and it would be simple to make him squirm, so all
he needed to do was to put pressure on the lad like his dad had done on them.
There was no need to buy the park at all because it was going down the pan
anyway. In just a few weeks, several more of the tenants would probably move
their caravans to better sites and Kevin would then be on his knees. A loss
making business would be worthless so they could then offer to bale the lad out
with a reduced offer just for the useless land. Kevin would think that Uncle
Mike was offering him a way out when in reality the Johnson’s would be getting
their own back for all the hurt that had been caused and the hell they had been
through thanks to the lad’s father.

To make it work he would have to bury the
hatchet with Kevin and get his trust, offer his condolences and befriend the
bereaved young man. Thinking of how he could exert pressure to make his plans
appear more attractive, he realised that the easiest option, one that would not
require any contact with Kevin at all, which was an added benefit, would be to
make sure that more of the caravans were moved off sooner rather than later.
With that accomplished he could then approach Kevin as the saviour of the day.

Plans hatched, Johnson closed down the computer
and put away his drawings. Tomorrow he would arrange a meeting with the bank
and get them off his back. Then he would call on the architect to get the
amendments drawn up. First he would make a coffee and work out the details.
Then he would call Kevin and make his peace. Yes, things had certainly taken a
turn for the better.

Turning the key in the lock, Johnson stood on
the pavement feeling relieved and quietly confident for the first time in
months. The lights might be out but thanks in no small way to his
brother-in-law’s demise The Palette would open again tomorrow – and every
day after that too. For the first time in months the business was no longer
under threat, or at least, it wouldn’t be once he could sit down with the bank
manager. Walking across the street he turned to look back at his shop. Some
changes would have to be made and perhaps the ground floor could become a sales
office for the retirement village. But he had enjoyed many happy hours up in
the first floor studio so that, of course, must remain. Putting the keys in his
pocket he sauntered up the street, turned at the end and walked past the old
supermarket and up the staircase to the first level of the car park.

Due to close in just thirty minutes, at which
time any remaining vehicles would be locked in for the night, only two cars
remained, a dark coloured van and his own Jaguar. With a newly developed spring
in his step he walked towards the car, pressing the button on the remote key
fob from several metres away. There was a short bleep and the indicators
flashed. Reaching the car he opened the driver’s door, reached in and put the
key in the ignition, then pressed the boot release button and went to the rear
of the car to stash away his briefcase. Taking a step back he paused, removed
his overcoat, and put it on top of the briefcase. After closing the boot lid he
went back to the driver’s door. Holding the door with one hand he stretched his
leg into the car as something heavy hit him on the head and he crashed in a
crumpled heap onto the floor.