Hot Blood (Bloodwords Book 1) (47 page)

‘Patrick does some work on them I
think, but I don’t know who nicks them.’ Looking first at Fraser then Radcliffe
he added, ‘Honest. I don’t know who nicks them. I just drive a couple of cars
once month.’

‘That’s fine Gerry,’ responded
Radcliffe with a smile. ‘You have been very helpful. Now I can’t release you
straight away because we need to check some of the information you have given
us and I also have a duty to protect you as far as I can and I can’t do that if
you are not here so you will need to stay for a little while longer.’ Slipping
the photographs back into the folder and picking it up he stood up, pushed his
chair back and left the room.

‘DI Radcliffe has just left the
room,’ said Fraser for the benefit of the recording. ‘Interview closed at three
thirty one.’

……….

“Good result Don. That confirmed Rick’s
involvement.’

‘Maybe, but there are still some
holes to be filled’ replied Radcliffe, dropping into his chair. ‘Am I glad to
get up here into my own office and my own chair. I keep telling them to keep
the chairs on one side of the table hard and uncomfortable but to change ours
for something pleasanter. Nobody takes any notice though.’

‘Those photos were a shock though,’
continued Fraser. ‘I mean, Fraser and Edward were a surprise weren’t they? I
couldn’t have kept it to myself like you did. I am surprised you didn’t tell
young Gerry what line of business they were in too. Why didn’t you?’

Not answering directly, Radcliffe
held his sergeant’s stare. ‘I’ve had to manage this very carefully and
convincing Liverpool not to take the case off us wasn’t easy. I don’t want
anything leaking out before we make our move – and that includes in the
station. For now we keep everything to ourselves Kyle, this is on a need to
know basis until I decide otherwise.’ Pushing the folder into a drawer he
turned to Fraser and added, ‘I need a coffee Kyle, are you joining me?’

‘Do I interpret that as “will you
make us both a coffee Kyle?” responded the sergeant with a smile.

‘You must be a detective,’
replied Radcliffe, matching his smile. ‘Make it snappy though will you, I need
to get back downstairs to the interview rooms because Debbie will be waiting.
This is building into a busy afternoon.’

……….

‘Well well
well
,’
said Radcliffe, ‘we meet again Edward.’

‘Inspector, as you well know, my
name isn’t bloody Edward.’

‘I must remind you that this
interview is being recorded and that you have been identified by three
different people as being called Edward. Most of what you’ve told us so far
hasn’t turned out to be true so for the time being I’ll have to act on what I
am being told by those whose claims match won’t I Edward?’

‘Inspector,’ cut in Edward’s
solicitor. ‘You really cannot keep this up. My client is not called Edward and
you are aware of his real name. I suggest that you use it.’

‘Do you Mr Preston?’ countered
Radcliffe. ‘For your information, we ran checks on your client after our
previous chats and he doesn’t seem to be who he pretends to be. So as I said,
we will continue to refer to him as Edward until I get positive evidence to the
contrary.’

‘Now then Edward,’ said
Radcliffe, ‘you were stopped by a traffic patrol on
Woodmoss
Lane and brought here. Would you like to tell me what you were doing at the
rear of premises near the Post Office on
Bescar
Lane
immediately prior to being stopped?’

‘I wasn’t on
Bescar
Lane.’

‘Or why you were helping to load
expensive cars into sea containers. I use the word “helping” loosely here
Edward, perhaps I should say, “organising” instead.’

‘Really Inspector,’ cut in
Preston. ‘You know that my client’s name is not Edward and he has already told
you that he hasn’t been anywhere near
Bescar
Lane.
What don’t you understand about that?’

‘Three people have identified
your client as Edward. And I know that before our officers picked him up, your
client – whatever his name is – was organising cars being stashed
away in sea containers. Stolen cars I must add. I understand all of that Mr
Preston so stop wasting everyone’s time.’

‘I’ve not been to that part of
Bescar
Lane,’ responded Edward. ‘I was driving back from
the A59 and I took a short cut that brought me out at the junction of
Bescar
Lane and
Woodmoss
Lane.
You know, where the little church is.’

Radcliffe nodded.

‘All I did was drive straight
over the cross roads onto
Woodmoss
. I didn’t turn
onto
Bescar
at all. Then about a mile on, your patrol
stopped me.’ Looking directly at
Radcilffe
he said,
‘that’s all.’

Radcliffe nodded but said
nothing. Edward looked at his questioner, but bordering on deadpan his
expression gave nothing away.

Turning to
Lescott
,
imperceptibly Radcliffe nodded again. Taking her cue,
Lescott
slowly folded back the flap on a large envelope, drew out a photograph and
placed it on the table in front of Edward. One by one she placed more prints by
its side until six photographs formed a solid line across the table, neatly
separating the two detectives from the solicitor and his client. Starting at
one end with the picture Gerry had identified less than fifteen minutes
earlier, the sequence clearly showed Edward directing the loading of cars into
the sea containers, getting into a car himself and then, in the final picture,
turning into
Bescar
lane from an entry at the side of
the Post Office.

Breaking the silence, Radcliffe
said, ‘Perhaps these will jog your memory Edward.’

Accepting the obvious –
that insisting on his innocence would be pointless – Edward agreed that
Radcliffe’s accusation was indeed correct. Yes, as the photographs confirmed,
he had been involved with the loading of cars into sea containers. But he had
not done anything else. He did not know that the cars had been stolen and had
no involvement in how they had been procured. Unlike the young Gerry, Edward
had not been gushing with this information. Radcliffe and
Lescott
had needed to prise it out of him, with his responses being mainly monosyllable
with only the occasional amplification.

The detectives had pointed to
individuals in the photographs. Edward had identified the drivers as Gerry,
Billy and Leon, confirming the claims of the two men already interviewed.
Either the information was correct or they were all working to a prearranged
script.
Lescott
had pointed to a man in one picture
who appeared to be standing back watching the operation but not actually being
involved. In another picture the same man could be seen stood next to Edward,
the two deep in conversation. Edward identified him as Fraser Downing. Asked
what Downing did for a living – other than handling stolen cars –
Edward claimed not to know specific details but had assumed from Downing’s
appearance and contacts that some of the businesses he was involved in were big
operations. Buying late model expensive cars and exporting them was one
business but Edward had no idea what the others were. As far as Radcliffe was
concerned, so far, all accounts tallied.

Lescott
had questioned Edward repeatedly about the
photograph showing him talking to Downing. What were they talking about, how
often did they meet, what was their relationship, were they partners? As the
questions became closer to being accusations, Edward had become more vocal in
his denials. His replies became longer and when Radcliffe and
Lescott
remained silent he started to offer information of
his own volition.

No, he was not a partner, and no,
as he had already stated, the cars were not stolen but legitimate pre-owned
exports. Edward insisted that Downing was the boss and employed him on a casual
– though regular – basis to organise and oversee the transportation
of vehicles. Downing would call him about once per month and tell him how many
cars were to be driven from which locations to the loading point. It was always
the same loading point. Downing called the drivers and Edward would take over
when they arrived at the loading point. Edward would already have arranged for
the transport company to bring the container trucks but Downing handled all the
paperwork.

‘So why, in the scheme of things,
did you not realise that you were transporting stolen cars?’ asked
Lescott
.

‘That’s what I am telling you,’
responded Edward, ‘they are not stolen. Downing Exports is a legitimate car
export business. It’s just that he is so busy with his other companies that he
employs me on a casual basis to move the cars from where they are stored, load
them into the containers and move them out.’

‘OK Edward,’ said Radcliffe. ‘So
why does he need you if you are not partners? Why does he not just load up at
where the cars have been stored?’

‘You can’t go from place to place
with the container trucks picking one car up here and a couple somewhere else,’
answered Edward. ‘Downing has storage facilities in several different places
and they never all come from the same one. Except for today that is.’

‘Does he own the places where he
stores the cars then?’

But Edward didn’t know the answer
to that. He usually had to arrange for cars to be collected from three
different storage facilities: a farm just off the A59, a big mansion in the
country and the warehouse at
Scarisbrick
. Downing
stored a number of cars at each but there were other users too – he had
seen half a dozen classic cars at the mansion for example. Perhaps Downing
rented space. Or perhaps he owned them. Edward didn’t know and hadn’t asked.

Thirty-Two

Sitting in his favourite armchair, Mike Johnson
eased himself forward. Battered and bruised, he just couldn’t find a
comfortable position. Coming home had been a target. Yet having made it this
far the reality wasn’t living up to his expectations and Ward 7B was beginning to
seem like the better option after all. His favourite chair was no longer the
most comfortable place to relax and already he yearned for the infinite
adjustability of modern hospital beds. With just a touch of a button he had
been able to adjust his bed every which way, to an extent that even the
reclining mechanism of his old Parker Knoll could not match.

But, more than his physical
discomfort, he could detect something else, something he just could not put his
finger on. When Joan had visited him in hospital she had always been kind,
gentle, concerned and, well, so obviously anxious for him to return home and
resume his rightful place as the head of the family. Now he had made it home
she was still kind, gentle and concerned, and as he listened to her busy in the
kitchen creating a tasty snack for lunch he could hear her humming along with a
radio programme. Clearly she was happy to have him home, though still concerned
for his welfare. And that was understandable: he had a long way to go before
anyone would even consider describing him as back to full health.

Yet he could detect something
that didn’t quite gel, something that wasn’t as it ought to have been. There
was something unspoken in the air, almost as if her kindness, gentleness and
concern were an act and something else was driving her. Perhaps even her
apparent happiness as she sang along with the radio wasn’t real either.

‘Do you want some hot sauce on
your sandwich Mike?’

‘Looking across, he could see her
at the top of the three steps that led to their huge mezzanine kitchen, a knife
in one hand and a thin tapering bottle in the other.

‘No thanks.’

As she turned away, the phone
rang. Normally Mike would have been up on his feet to answer it, but, less than
half a day since he had returned home, even if he had tried it would have taken
him so long to get across the room that the caller would have lost patience and
hung up. Instead, Jean took the call in the kitchen, yet another change he
couldn’t accept. He heard her say “hello” but over the noise of the radio
couldn’t make out anything else. Probably one of her friends calling for an
update on his condition he supposed. Sitting uncomfortably in his chair,
Johnson’s imagination drifted. He could imagine her telling the caller how glad
she was to have him home, how his injuries could have been far worse and he
would, actually, make a full recovery in time, and thanks for your concern
about him.

What he did not know was that his
return home was not actually the topic of conversation. He was not aware that
solicitor David Preston was apologising for not getting back to Joan earlier
but he had been held up with a client at the police station for several
hours.
 
Mike couldn’t make out much
of what his wife was saying, but did catch a few words that obviously referred
to him and his condition. And he did clearly hear her saying that after lunch
tomorrow was fine but she would go on her own because Mike wasn’t up to going
out yet.

He was getting restless. Banned
even from his own home office, apart from listening to her humming along with a
new song there was little to occupy him. Even in hospital the WRVS woman had
brought him a newspaper to read, but here at home the nearest shop was four
miles away, so until Joan went out – indeed, if she went out – the
only distraction would be the TV. And he did not have sufficient patience to
watch the box.

‘Who was that on the phone?’ he
asked as she came down the steps with two small plates of delicately cut
sandwiches.

Passing one plate to her husband
and taking the other over to the sofa she replied, ‘David Preston. He wants to
see me tomorrow.’

‘Then he will have to come here,’
responded Mike, a mouthful of cheese on granary bread making his words woolly.
‘I don’t feel up to going out to his place yet, particularly now that you can’t
park near his office.’

‘No Mike, he wants to see me, not
you. I’m going down tomorrow afternoon.’

‘What?’ replied her husband
irately, ‘of course I need to be there. Your bloody brother got us into this
mess and had me worked over like this, but I am not going to sit here and feel
sorry for myself while my house and land are stolen from under our feet. No
Joan, the meeting takes place here.’

Opposite him, Joan looked far
more comfortable than he felt, her legs tucked under her in her favourite pose.
She looked demure. He had glanced across at her like this many times over the
years and warmed to the vision of the elegant yet at the same time just a
little fragile woman that was his wife. But he still couldn’t put his finger on
what was different. Elegant, yes, decidedly. But perhaps not quite as fragile.

‘No Mike, she said. ‘I am going
to David’s office and you are staying here.’

‘But there’s no point. I handle
all our affairs. Peter might have been your brother so I understand that you
must have some divided loyalties, but he’s had me worked over twice for God’s
sake and his bloody son is still trying to grab my land. No Joan, there’s no
meeting unless I am there.’ Looking across at his wife he added, ‘I do
understand Joan.’

‘I don’t think so,’ replied Joan.
‘Let’s just get this straight shall we? The old order has gone. It’s finished
Mike. While you were lying in hospital with nothing to do, I was having a crash
course in what my father used to call the university of life. I’ve found out who’s
been lying to me for years, who’s been working behind the scenes to steal
everything I own or my father gave me, and who really cared for me. I’ve
learned a lot in a short time Mike.’

‘Of course,’ he replied. ‘Peter
has been scheming to grab what we have for ages, that’s why I need to make sure
that Preston doesn’t screw things up. I need to carry on looking after you
Joan.’

‘You don’t get it do you? You
just don’t get it.’

‘What?’

‘How did you think that I was
filling my time while you were lying comatose in your hospital bed with pretty
nurses fussing around you? Was I sitting here knitting or making jam for the
WI?

‘Don’t be so bloody pedantic
Joan. This isn’t you. What’s the matter?’

‘What’s the matter? You make me
puke Mike Johnson.’

Mike’s eyes grew wide, and with
his mouth wide open and a sandwich half in and half out he was suddenly riveted
to the spot, unable to move or speak. Slowly he put the part eaten food onto
his plate and looked at his wife.

‘Not exactly the homecoming I was
expecting,’ he said, sadly.

‘And the last ten years have not
exactly been what I’ve been led to believe Mike. But it has all unravelled and
I can at last see things as they really are. I’ve been to the shop Mike. I’ve
opened the mail and I’ve read the bank statements. I’ve read the threatening
letters and I’ve been to see the bank manager. There’s nothing I don’t know
Mike. Nothing.’

‘You don’t understand Joan. It’s
all just temporary. Once I get the land thing sorted out I can progress on the
development and we will be back on course. It’s not as you think Joan.’

‘You must think that I am blind
if you think I will be taken in by that Mike. I admit that I used to be. I used
to hang on your every word and believe what you said. But not any more. Those
days are gone Mike. I know all about your scheming. I know all about your
debts. And I know about the crazy way you went to a loan shark because you
couldn’t face ridicule that your precious little art shop had gone down the
tubes. Really Mike, what possessed you to do that? If you couldn’t pay the bank
at basic interest charge level, how in the world did you think that you could
pay a bloody shark back?’

Her eyes hadn’t left those of her
husband. Throughout her delivery she hadn’t wavered, though she had yet to get
into her stride. This was but a stream feeding a river whose full force was yet
to come.

‘Let me remind you that your shop
was nothing to do with me, it was all yours, lock stock and barrel. Now it has
gone and you have nothing left. Dad gave me the land Mike, not you. The barn is
mine and everything done to it to turn it into this house was paid for by money
Dad gave me. It’s all mine Mike. I was as wrong as you were about the boundary
but that’s all sorted out now so I won’t have any more trouble from that
direction.’

About to deliver the final
snippet of information that she had gleaned, Joan Johnson put her now empty
plate down on a coffee table beside her, swung her legs from under her and
gently smoothed her dress, flicking a few stray crumbs. Now was the time she
had dreaded most, the time that demanded formality and seriousness, not laid
back casual comfort.

‘Like I said Mike, in less than a
week my life has been turned upside down.’

‘Yours has!’ exploded Mike. ‘What
about mine? Have you forgotten that your frigging brother had me worked over
twice and that he nearly finished me off?’

‘No Mike, I haven’t forgotten
anything. You get that Mike? Anything. I’ve been remembering every damned thing
that’s happened over the years and the more enquiries I have made, the more
like a nightmare it has become. Get this straight Mike; it was the loan shark
who worked you over, not Peter. Dad was clever too – he saw through you
and made sure that everything transferred to us was actually in my name. You
have nothing except your debts and your enemies Mike. Even your blessed shop is
rented, your landlord is taking action and it’s all in your name.’

The river was about to burst its
banks, about to swell into a tidal force that would carry her husband like
flotsam over a waterfall deeper than Niagara, into rapids he was not capable of
withstanding.

 
‘Get this Mike. I have a meeting with
David Preston tomorrow. My land and my house are no longer a problem but I am
meeting him to start divorce proceedings on the basis of your unreasonable
behaviour. I could do it on the basis of your affair with your nude model
– oh yes, I know all about that as well – but I’m keeping her out
of it for now. What I am doing is getting a legal document written up that says
you can live in the annexe, my annexe don’t forget, for four weeks to give you
time to find alternative accommodation. Then you get out. Have you got that
Mike? Out.’

……….

Frank Davies strolled into the restaurant and
looked around. He didn’t exactly know who he was looking for, how many of them
were here and whether it would be an all male group. Officials usually stood
out from the crowd though didn’t they? Certainly, whenever he walked into a
room he could recognise police officers instantly, no matter whether they were
in plain clothes or even off-duty.

But what did Home Office
employees look like? Would they be suited and booted? If so, the three seated
at a table for four in the middle of the restaurant could be the ones. Then
again, two men at a large table near to the bar could also fit the bill.

Casting his gaze around the room,
Davies eye was caught by a movement over the opposite side of the room where
four men occupied a table next to the window, overlooking the lake. All four of
them were looking his way. One stood up and raised his hand, beckoning to
Davies. Davies walked over to the group and saw that an extra chair had been
placed at the end of the table. He was expected.