Hot Seat (22 page)

I gave them the phone numbers for Rags and the sponsor in Germany. I explained that we were delivering the car and nothing more.

The cops retreated to their patrol car and Mathieu returned to his customers.

Dylan waggled his phone at me. ‘I clued Steve in just in case this goes sideways on us and we need someone to find us.'

‘Good thinking.'

‘What was the great revelation that sent you scurrying out the door?' Dylan asked.

I looked over Dylan's shoulder at the cops in their car talking on the phone. ‘I wondered if Claudia had the car lifted.'

‘Did she?'

I shook my head.

‘That would be too convenient,' he said. ‘Some tosser is going to be a very happy boy if they find something is hidden in that car. Can you believe our dumb sodding luck?'

I couldn't. What were the chances of a car under surveillance getting stolen on route to its potentially dubious destination? I stood more chance of winning the lottery. The improbability snagged my thoughts and I couldn't shake it loose. Before I could make any more of it, the police officers returned. Both men looked grim-faced.

‘This doesn't look good. It could be handcuff time,' Dylan said, watching the cops approach. Then he grinned. ‘I haven't spent a night in a French police cell before. Possibly another first picked up from hanging out with you.'

‘Never a dull moment.'

The second the cops returned, Mathieu rejoined us to offer his translation skills and support.

‘Monsieur Westlake, we have spoken to the vehicle's owner and he has confirmed your story,' the English-speaking cop said in such a heavy accent it squashed every word. It made me long for Claudia's crisp tone. ‘Monsieur Schöenberger has also confirmed your account and has asked that you act as his representative here in France. OK with you?'

‘
Oui
.'

‘
Bon
. We have a report of a car fire. Can you come see?'

I nodded. That was the icing on the cake.

The cops drove us a short distance across town to a scrap of wasteland by the canal that fed into the Rhine. Firemen stood over the smoking husk of a car. We pulled up next to a fire engine and got out.

The acrid stink of burnt plastic, oil and petrol stained the air. Not even the soap powder scent of the suffocating foam used to extinguish the fire did anything to mask the stench.

The policemen conferred with the firemen as we approached the burnt-out husk. The firemen shot Dylan and me commiserating looks. As a people, we loved our cars and seeing one destroyed was never a fun sight.

We stopped a safe distance from the wreck. It was easy to tell it was a black Honda Accord under the blanket of foam sliding drunkenly off the carcass. The number plates were missing, but what were the chances of there being another black Honda Accord stolen this close to ours? The thieves had stripped the car before torching it. It sat lopsidedly on bricks, missing its wheels. The front seats were gone. The windscreen was split, but that could have been from the heat of the fire.

I circled the car. One circuit told the story of how the vandals had done their work. They'd doused the car in petrol, stuck a rag in the open petrol tank fill spout and let the flames do the rest. The fire had been total in its devastation.

A fireman popped the boot with a crowbar. Cinders replaced our overnight bags. We'd be walking about in the clothes we had on as we left France tonight.

The bonnet had been opened at some point. I peered into the engine bay. The engine was intact, although anything non-metallic wasn't. That would include the GPS tracker if it hadn't been removed beforehand. At least the cops would be able to identify the wreck from the chassis number.

‘Is this your car, Monsieur Westlake?' the cop asked.

‘Right make and model. It looks like it.'

The cop nodded gravely.

Dylan wandered over to me. ‘What a mess.'

‘Give me a sec, OK?' I pulled out my mobile and moved away from Dylan and the wreck.

‘You calling Rags?'

‘No, Claudia.'

I found myself a quiet spot and dialled her number. John Barrington answered the phone instead.

‘Is that the idiot I put my faith in?'

‘You didn't put your faith in me. You put the success and failure of your case on someone you thought you could push around.'

‘Listen to you with your big balls swaying in the air. I don't remember you being so tough the last time we shared face time. I suppose a few hundred miles' separation gives you that swagger. That's if I am that far away. I could be around the corner.'

Barrington couldn't help himself. He had to assert himself to show who was boss.

‘So you've heard about the car,' I said when he finished grandstanding.

‘You mean that you let the hottest lead we've had in months get stolen out from under you? Yeah, I've heard about that and the fact that the French police have found a burned-up wreck matching your car's description.'

Barrington was well informed. ‘News travels fast.'

‘Bad news always does. It's a universal constant, like morons.'

I rolled my eyes and was sad that Barrington wasn't around to see me do it. ‘I'm standing in front of the wreckage.'

‘I'd rather you were standing in front of a car packed with drugs delivering it to a connection. Then I could spend my Sunday celebrating a trans-European drug bust. But that won't be happening, thanks to you.'

‘Look, I'm not a hotshot Customs officer trying to rid the UK of the drug scourge. You are. If you wanted this car, you should have done something about it.'

‘I bet you're loving this, aren't you?'

‘No. I want you out of my life and the longer it takes for you to get your result, the longer I'm stuck with you. So let's stop bitching at each other and figure out how we got sucker punched.'

‘Sucker punched? What do you mean?' No sarcasm tinged his words.

‘The car was never meant to make it to Munich. Someone wanted all of us looking one way while they picked our pockets.'

Barrington was silent for a moment. ‘What makes you think that?'

‘They were either following or tracking the car. Claudia found a GPS tracker on it. The second we left it unattended it was swiped and none of us is the wiser as to who took it. Fate is never that cruel. The odds were too high for this to happen.' Then the penny dropped. ‘But you already know that, don't you?'

‘Yeah, I do, but if I'm being honest, I knew only what happened after it happened. At least you're not as dumb as I thought you were.'

That was as close to a compliment as I was going to get. ‘You wouldn't have turned to me if you thought I was that dumb.'

I thought I could feel him grinning from his end of the phone line.

‘So what else can you tell me about this failed escapade?'

‘I don't think the guy in Munich has anything to do with it.'

‘Why do you say that?'

‘Plausible deniability. I was a patsy and so was the sponsor.'

‘And Rags? Is he a member of the dumb club?'

It was my turn to be silent.

‘C'mon, Aidy. What's in that mind of yours?'

‘In spite of our suspicions, there's no proof that there was anything in the car.'

‘Don't disappoint me, Aidy. You have to believe he's involved now. I'll do better than that. You know he's involved.'

I did. Rags was up to his neck in something. I didn't know what, but I'd find out.

‘By the way,' Barrington said. ‘Claudia wants to speak to you. She says she's got the name and address of some woman for you.'

M
iss Angry Renault's name was Jenni Oglesby and she lived in a small complex of flats in Harrow, which was nowhere in the vicinity of our supposed hit and run. I wondered what tale she'd spun for Sergeant Lucas to explain her presence so far from home.

I drove out to her place on Monday afternoon. Dylan and I hadn't gotten back from Strasbourg until Sunday night. By the time we'd finished up with the police, it was too late to catch a flight or train home. We'd stayed the night in a hotel and first thing in the morning, we grabbed a train to Paris, then took the Eurostar into London.

Since Dylan had to go back to work at Ragged, Steve came with me for backup and to be a witness. I didn't want Jenni claiming I'd done something else to her. We arrived outside her place at two p.m. I tried her doorbell, but didn't get a reply, so we parked across the street and bedded in until she came home.

‘Are you sure you want to do this?' Steve said. ‘You're not meant to have any contact with her. If she tells the plod, you're buggered. Everything that's happened will be small beer by comparison.'

‘She won't,' I said, although it was more wishful thinking than a certainty.

‘How do you know?'

‘She lied about me running her off the road. That makes her moral compass a little distorted. She wants something.'

‘How do you know?'

‘She grassed me up to Chloe Mercer and Chloe spilled the beans to George Easter. It was unnecessary. The police are all over me and your insurance is likely to pay her out. Ruining my name doesn't get her anything more.'

‘Other than making you desperate. And coming here is the mark of a desperate man.'

I knew coming here was a risk, but it was one worth taking, especially if I could expose Jenni as a fraud. I thought Steve would understand. ‘Are you saying we should go?'

Steve nodded. ‘Yeah, I am. This can do you more harm than good. She might still have something up her sleeve and there's no upside from you confronting her. If she runs to the plod, then you really are screwed.'

Steve made a lot of sense, but I couldn't listen to him. It still stuck in my throat that Jenni had the upper hand. I couldn't let her get away with screwing me.

‘I have the element of surprise working for me right now. If I wait for her to do whatever she's planning, I'll be on the back foot. At least by confronting her today, I'll rob her of any control.'

‘Aidy, drive away.'

‘I can't. You can go, but I'm staying.'

Steve sighed. ‘If you stay, I stay.'

‘Thanks.'

‘Just thank me by keeping yourself out of a jail cell.'

It was something I hadn't managed to do in the past.

Jenni arrived home just before five o'clock. She was driving a very new, shiny Ford Fiesta. The Fiesta, while not earth shattering, was a bump up from the clapped-out Renault I'd seen her driving before.

‘That's her,' I said.

The flats came with a small parking area in the rear, but she had to walk back to the street to let herself into her place. The second she drove towards the parking area, I jumped from my car and Steve climbed out after me.

‘No, you stay here,' I said. ‘She might look at you and think I've brought a heavy along with me.'

‘Am I that scary to look at?'

‘No, but I want to look vulnerable.' I held out my arms. ‘I'm desperate, right?'

Steve brought out his mobile. ‘I'm getting your meeting down on video. She said you wrecked her car last time. I don't want her saying you wrecked her face this time.'

My stomach clenched at that thought.

I jogged across the street and waited for her by her front door.

When she emerged from the parking area, her jaw dropped at the sight of me standing on her doorstep. I smiled when I saw the look of shock on her face.

A large sticking plaster covered a purple bruise on her right temple.

‘Hi, Jenni. Remember me?'

‘Get out of my way.'

I held up my hands to say I wasn't here to hurt her. ‘I just want to talk.'

‘How did you find me?'

‘No doubt, the same way you found me.'

She crossed her arms over her chest. ‘Well, you are a public figure.'

‘I think that's a little bit of an exaggeration.'

She shrugged.

‘Nice car,' I said.

‘Well, I needed a replacement after what you did to my previous one.'

‘Come off it. We both know I didn't crash into you.'

Another shrug.

‘What happened? Did you run off the road after you chased me? Or did you write it off on purpose?'

‘Are you a little dense? You crashed into me and left me at the side of the road.'

She was keeping to a script. She couldn't afford to make a slip.

‘Why are you doing this?' I asked.

‘You're a menace to society.'

I thought my turning up on her doorstep would scare her into some admission, but it wasn't working. I had nothing to shake her belief, but maybe I could force her into incriminating herself.

‘You know I'm not. You made the whole thing up. Why did you tell Chloe Mercer about this? It had nothing to do with her.'

‘I like motor racing and I'm a big fan of hers. I've been following her since she started. I thought the information would be helpful to her.'

And it was. It had put a serious dent in my reputation. But what were the chances that a race fan just happened to get into a near traffic accident with a racing driver she doesn't like just so she can orchestrate a story to ruin him? The logical answer was it was almost impossible. I knew all about cruel luck from my parents' untimely deaths. But my run-in with Jenni was different. Bad luck was never that organized. People were, though. Someone had wanted this crash to happen.

‘Big fan, huh?'

‘The biggest.'

‘What's your favourite race of Chloe's?'

Her arrogant confidence evaporated in a split second. She stared at me like I'd handed her a nuclear bomb to diffuse. That wasn't the reaction I expected from Chloe Mercer's number one fan.

‘Well .?.?. I .?.?. I .?.?. I don't .?.?. there's so many to choose from. They're all my favourites, especially the races she won.'