Hot Blood (Bloodwords Book 1) (32 page)

‘No, it wasn’t picked up by a patrol. It’s not
been made public but ANPR checks are running from several fixed masts around
the region. They picked this plate up at
Fiveways
just half a mile from here.’ Her manner changed. Suddenly she was all matter of
fact and in control. Looking at him she gave him his instructions. He was to leave
the cavalcade and get across to the A59. The car had been travelling towards
Preston so he was to catch it and follow it until it arrived at its
destination.

‘We can’t Debbie,’ he responded. ‘The complete
ring road is closed off and with the exhibits in the town centre there’s no way
through there either. We’ve two more laps before they will let anything in or
out – and even then only for a minute or so until the next cavalcade. No
Debbie, tell your blokes they will have to send a police car. You’re supposed
to be on a day off anyway aren’t you?’

‘Don’t bloody argue dammit!’ she exploded. ‘A
marked car would scare them off. We are the closest. Now don’t mess about, get
onto the A59 and catch the bugger up.’ Looking at him again determinedly she
screamed, ‘do it Simon!’ adding, ‘you got me into this shit, now put your
bloody foot down and get us out of it or Inspector Radcliffe will have both our
guts for garters.’

Never had he seen her so agitated. Or so
determined. As the cavalcade entered the start straight to begin its second
circuit he worked out the possible options. Just fifty metres ahead was a turn
off past the supermarket and fire station. But that road joined the A59 more
than a mile away in the wrong direction. And in any case, the crowd were currently
blocking the junction more than ten deep so there was no way to get through. It
was not an option.

‘Come on Simon,’ she shouted desperately. ‘Move
it.’

‘We can’t do anything from here,’ he countered.

If looks could kill, Simon would be dead.

‘The only chance we have is off Stokers,’ he
continued. ‘The crowd is ten or twelve deep here near the supermarket junction
and we are on the wrong side of town. The pub and church corners are packed
with onlookers and the marshals have the church exit well blocked so that’s not
an option either. Stoker’s Straight is on the right side of town and on our
first lap the crowds were much thinner so that’s our only chance of getting off
the ring road. If we take a left at the junction half way down, the road goes past
a small industrial estate and joins the A59 about half a mile from
Fiveways
on the Preston side. That’s the best we can do.’

‘For God’s sake Simon,’ she shouted. Stop
making theories and get a move on. Just do it. We can’t dawdle around in this
procession until we get to the other side of town because boyo will be long
gone and we’ll never catch him. Christ Simon, my great aunt could go faster
than this lot on her mobility scooter!’

Dropping a gear, switching on his headlights
and his all-round hazard flashers in one fluid movement he drew right up behind
the bubble car but the
Heinkel
driver held his
course. Pulling over to the left, Simon pressed the accelerator and moved to
overtake but the bubble car driver blocked the manoeuvre, moving in the same
direction and waving back at Simon.

‘Get out of the way you bloody moron,’ yelled
Simon as he flung the wheel in the opposite direction to pass on the right. As
he pulled abreast of the bubble car its driver waved again, grinned and shouted
something that they couldn’t hear, then Simon was forced to brake hard as a
bollard marking the entrance drive into a small retail park blocked his way.

Throwing the Olympic back into line behind the
Heinkel
, Simon flashed his main beam and pounded on the
horn, waving one fist in the air in frustration.

‘He thinks we are fooling about,’ observed
Debbie as Simon finally squeezed the coupé past the bubble car. Now just the
Healey and a Subaru blocked their way, preventing them from getting up speed
and reaching the junction quickly.

‘Everybody does,’ responded Simon as he flung
the car from side to side trying to pass. ‘The crowd are loving it. They think
its all an act. Bloody hell, get out of the way!’

Now the Healey driver was entering into the
spirit of what he thought was Simon’s exuberance and showmanship, swerving
first to one side then the other, blocking Simon’s every attempt to pass.
Weaving from side to side they approached the pub corner as the crowd went
wild, spilling onto the road shouting and cheering the duo as they battled for
position.

‘Just look at the bloody
nutter
.
Get out of the way,’ shouted Simon as he put the Olympic into a torrid slide to
get around the corner without hitting a group of young girls who were jumping
up and down, cheering him on.

‘I’m sure that that’s that Les Starr bloke in
front,’ shouted Debbie. ‘He writes for the North
Meols
Drum I think. Don Radcliffe hates his guts. He had some inside info at the last
briefing and Don wasn’t best pleased at all. Watch out Simon, there’s a little
boy on the road.’

Swerving to miss the child, Simon almost hit
the Healey, pounding the horn once again and gunning the coupé as the car in
front swung wide into the church corner, Simon managing to pass on the inside.

‘He’s well known,’ responded Charlton, lining
up the Subaru as his next target as they approached a narrowing section around
the church. ‘It’s a wonder the bloody
pufter
isn’t
wearing a dress.’

Giggling, Debbie looked at Simon with a grin on
her face. ‘Really Simon,’ she retorted, ‘you can’t say that. It’s not
politically correct to call someone a
pufter
or poke
fun at his or her sexuality. Now for God’s sake, get past that next car. He
thinks it’s funny too. Can’t you just go faster?’

Sure enough the Subaru wasn’t getting out of
the way either. Just like the journalist, the driver was weaving the Japanese
car from side to side, preventing Simon from overtaking.

‘No he doesn’t,’ shouted Simon as he dropped
the car back again, another passing attempt thwarted. ‘From the look on his
face he is hell bent on not letting us through. I think it’s a matter of pride.
He’s a club member and that’s a hot rally car he’s driving. He thinks we have a
feeble little sixties engine so he’ll do anything to stop us getting past.’

Gripping the wheel tighter he planned his move.
’Hold on Debbie,’ he said. ‘Our turning is coming up on the left so I am going
to drift over to the right and with a bit of luck the
Scoobie
will drift with us to block us. Then as soon as he’s over by the right hand
gutter we are going to shoot off to the left and into the side street. Cross
your fingers that the crowd’s thin and gets out of the way. If we get this
wrong we’ll either mow somebody down or end up in the brick wall of that
building on the corner. Now, hold on.’

Speeding up to almost touch the Subaru as they
went down the dip after exiting the church corner, Simon moved over to the
extreme right of the road. Watching his every move in his rear-view mirror, the
Subaru driver followed suit, drifting to the right in close formation. As the
two cars offside wheels brushed the right kerb, Simon flung the Olympic to the
left, putting it into a slide, its tyres screaming as they scrabbled for grip
and the coupe entered the side road with its tail hanging out. The handful of
spectators at that point scrambled to safety as the car rocketed into their
midst, it’s engine howling as Simon balanced the power in a technique known as
steering with the engine. The Subaru continued along Stoker’s Straight, Simon
now more relaxed in the Olympic as they rocketed past the industrial estate and
towards the A59. How far had their quarry gone since detection? Would they
catch him? And of the different brands covered by the cloned plates, what was
he driving anyway? Who or what were they following?

‘Oh crikey,’ said Debbie. Did you see who was
driving that car? The one that didn’t want you to pass.’

‘None of them wanted us to pass. But the
Scoobie
driver was even more determined than the
pufter
in the Healey or the
tosser
in the bubble car. I told you when we couldn’t get past. He’s a club member. I
think he’s called Frank. Do you know him?’

‘Yes,’ she replied. I am sure that it was
Inspector Davies, my boss. If he recognised me the shit will hit the fan. That
was scary. I really thought we were going to hit the spectators on that corner
or end up in the wall. Oh, and that’s
Ormskirk
Police
Station on the corner you nearly drove us into,’ she added.

‘You are joking?’ he said. ‘I didn’t realise
that he was your boss. I just know him as Frank. Actually I’ve only met him a
couple of times because he doesn’t often turn up to club meetings, but if that
was the local nick, why didn’t they send an unmarked car from there instead of
having us putting our lives at risk?’

‘And those of the crowd we nearly hit,’ she
added. ‘Actually, there’s nobody stationed there any more. It is just a walk-in
enquiry desk now inside a big empty building. Financial cuts and all that.’

By now they had joined the A59 and she was
peering ahead in search of their target. ‘The plate was cloned from a Bentley
so that’s what we should be looking for.’ Then, reading out the registration
from her notes she added that they should also check other car registrations as
they passed them in case their cloning theory was not correct.

‘There it is,’ shouted Simon triumphantly,
pointing ahead.

‘Where? I can’t see it.’

‘Five, six, seven cars ahead,’ he replied,
counting the cars in front of them. ‘Look, there, its the silver one in front
of the BMW.’

‘That’s not a Bentley,’ she corrected him. ‘Its
a big one though so perhaps it’s an Aston Martin like in the James Bond films.’

‘No Debbie. That’s a Bentley Continental GT.
Since Volkswagen bought Bentley they have had some pretty modern styles.’
Carefully overtaking a couple of cars to get them closer to the GT, Simon tried
to catch the registration but couldn’t concentrate sufficiently while driving..

‘That’s it!’ she exclaimed. ‘The
reg
is right. Don’t get any closer. Just follow it’.

Taking out her mobile she punched in some
numbers and waited for it to connect. ‘We’ve got it,’ she said after the call
was answered. ‘We are still on the 59, just entering
Burscough
.
And yes, it’s a Bentley.’ After a short pause she continued, ‘Yes, it looks
like it. At least, he is heading in that direction. We’ve dropped back a bit so
that he doesn’t smell a rat but I’m pretty sure that’s where he’s going and
that he hasn’t twigged that we are following.’ Another pause, then, ‘Right. Got
it.’

……….

Sitting in the interview room he felt
uncomfortable. The only time he had ever been in a police station had been to
ask for directions. Being in the stark little room where just a table and four
chairs were the only furnishings was more than a little intimidating.

And they were letting him stew.

For the umpteenth time he looked at his watch.
Two minutes. That’s all it had moved on since the last time he had checked. It
had seemed more like half an hour. Why was he here? That was what he wanted to
know. Two officers, a sergeant and a constable, had gone to his office and
asked him to come here. Just routine they had said. He might be able to help
them in their enquiries they had said. They hadn’t frog marched him out or
bundled him into a police car so his employees wouldn’t have realised anything
was out of the ordinary. But it was very out of the ordinary. The officers had
led when he had driven to the police station and he knew that the car directly
behind was a patrol car as well – though unmarked. Surely that wasn’t all
normal?

And being kept in this room. Was that to put
him on edge or had the man that wanted to talk to him genuinely been delayed?
Mentally he reviewed the previous six months. Admittedly he had done a few
dodgy deals. Perhaps they had cottoned on to the few dodgy exports or the
irregularities with some of his Eastern European employees, but those were the
ways he kept the business afloat. You didn’t make a fortune out of the single
mums that once a year brought their Ford hatchbacks for a service and MOT, so
something had to subsidise it.

The door opened and two men walked in. It’s
like on the telly he thought. They keep you holed up in a stark little room
with only a table and four uncomfortable metal-framed chairs then in walk the
interrogation team like Morse and Lewis to crack the case.

‘Good morning,’ said the older one. ‘Thank you
for coming in. We have a couple of problems and we think that you might be able
to help us.’

Then came the formalities. He introduced
himself as Detective Inspector Radcliffe and the other officer as Detective
Sergeant Fraser. Fraser had been the one that had brought him from the office.
For accuracy they needed to record their conversation. Was that OK? Did he
mind? But he wasn’t to be concerned because that was just procedure. It was
just that if they didn’t record it then they might not be able to use the
information they were sure he could give them. Nothing to worry about they said
with smiles on their faces.