The Stealers (5 page)

Ryan was sweating and gasping for air as he spoke, ‘All I know is that Bradley takes some cars abroad, on the continent and Thailand and places like that. '

Crane took his foot off of Ryan's neck, picked up the iron bar and waving it around said, ‘Who else is in the house?'

‘No one.'

‘Then I think we had better wait inside the house, and then you can tell me more about the continent, but don't try anything silly or you'll get some of this.'

Ryan gave a rueful glance at the cudgel as he scrambled to his feet and rubbed his neck. Crane used the iron bar like a cattle prod as he shuffled Ryan towards the house and through the back door. The house seemed to be unoccupied, but he was mindful that there may be somebody else inside. They passed through a narrow passage leading to a room at the front of the house. Crane directed Ryan to an easy chair and, after dimming the lights, sat down opposite him. From this position he had a good view of the driveway but at the same time, was able to keep an eye on Ryan. It had crossed his mind to ask the crook about Penny's sister, Jean, although, if things did not go as planned it would jeopardise both himself and Penny. He decided to wait until he had cornered Bradley.

Ryan, still rubbing his neck, remained silent. After a few minutes, a ringing sound filled the room; it was Ryan's mobile phone. He picked it up and looked at the screen; it was Bradley. Before pressing any buttons, he glanced across at Crane, who leapt up.

‘You'd better answer it, but turn the speaker on; I want to hear both sides of the conversation; and be very careful what you say.' And motioning with the iron bar added, ‘Or else this could break a few bones.'

Ryan did as he was told. His hate-filled eyes flicked from Crane to the keypad.

‘Yeah?' he rasped.

‘Where are you?'

Ryan looked questionly at Crane who mouthed the words, ‘Tell him.'

‘We, erm, haven't left yet.'

‘Is there a problem?'

Ryan hesitated and once again looked at Crane, who mouthed the word, ‘No,' followed by, ‘tell him it's all okay.'

‘No. No Bradley, everything's fine.'

‘Well, I'll be there shortly, so you can take him back later.'

Bradley hung up and Ryan was about to pocket his mobile when Crane pointed at the table and Ryan leaned forward in his chair, and with a scowl put it down. Glancing around the room, Crane saw a nylon sash dangling by the closed curtains. He picked it up and said, ‘Hold out your hands, and no tricks.'

Ryan's mean eyes were fixed on Crane as he slowly stretched out his arms and, in doing so, he made a grab for the iron bar, but Crane was too quick to be taken in by this obvious move and Ryan slumped back into his chair with a feeble groan. Crane left him securely bound and then wandered into the kitchen, returning a few moments later with a fresh mug of coffee. Ryan was still out cold.

After checking the sideboard drawers, Crane decided to have a quick look around the house, but could find nothing incriminating. Whilst upstairs, he heard a sound coming from one of the rooms. Slowly he edged his way towards the door, paused and listened; it was the noise of sleep. Opening the door quietly he inched his way into the room. An old lady lay on her back with a duvet pulled up to her chin. She was snoring softly and occasionally grunting. Crane assessed her to be in her eighties. He stood for a moment when suddenly her eyes blinked wide open. Crane raised a finger to his lips and whispered, ‘Shh, it's alright, go back to sleep.' She seemed to obey this command, lowering her lids slowly and with a snort and a grunt, drifted back into her slumber.

Crane went downstairs and stood by the curtains. He checked his watch; it was a little after five am. He surmised that Bradley would be here anytime soon. Inching back the drapes he witnessed the early morning light filtering across the nearby open fields; it coincided with the local bird-life beginning their dawn chorus. A noise from behind made him turn around. It was Ryan fidgeting and regaining consciousness. A draught swept lazily around the room; a draught that Crane had not previously been aware of. A harsh voice snapped from the shadows in a corner of the room, ‘Drop the iron bar.'

Crane turned towards the voice to find a Glock semi-automatic handgun pointing at his chest. He let the iron bar drop to the floor. Bradley's face was still in the shadows as he motioned Crane to a chair by the table. ‘Sit down.'

Crane sat on a chair and rested his arm on an old oak dining table. Gun in one hand and without taking his eyes off of Crane, Bradley put his other hand in his pocket, produced a switchblade and cut through Ryan's bonds before prodding him with his left foot and saying irritably, ‘You awake?' Ryan responded with a weary groan.

Ryan scrambled out of the armchair, staggered out of the room and headed for the bathroom. He walked towards the sink, stuck his head under the tap and turned it on.

Bradley was quiet for a moment, looking hard at Crane. It was their first direct meeting. Crane stared back defiantly at the lithe sinewy man. They were of a similar height, but Crane was broader. He guessed Bradley was no weakling. His hollow cheeks emphasised a mean character; even when he smiled, and Crane guessed he was dealing with a very cruel man. Bradley continued smiling and broke the silence with, ‘You could have claimed on the insurance.'

‘That car has sentimental value,' Crane replied.

‘That kind of sentiment can get you killed.'

Crane, adept at thinking on his feet, became motivated when his eye caught a slight movement by the door that led to the hall and looking at Bradley said, ‘I'd put that gun down if I were you.'

As Bradley scoffed, Crane quickly added, ‘I didn't come alone; my old friend, Tony, by the door, has you covered.'

The confident Bradley sneered, ‘You think I'd fall for that one?'

The door creaked as it was pushed open wider and Crane, looking over Bradley's shoulder said, ‘It's about time you got here.'

Bradley spun round and came face-to-face with the old lady. She mumbled irritably, ‘What time is it?'

Crane was ready. In a flash, he sprung from the chair and lunged at the gun; knocking it from Bradley's hand; sending it slithering across the hard surface of the lino. In the brief time it took Bradley to recover, Crane had scrabbled across the floor and scooped up the Glock. In a panic, Bradley quickly pushed the old lady out of the way, causing her to lose her balance. He made for the open door and into the hall and exited the way he had entered; by vaulting through an open sash window in an adjacent room. The old woman had inadvertently barred Crane's pursuit. By the time he had gently set her to one side, Bradley had managed to sprint down the drive and speed off in the newly-acquired Ferrari; its high-pitched exhaust note resounded into the distance.

Ryan was totally oblivious to everything that was happening. He turned off the tap in the cloakroom and began groping around for a towel.

Crane walked back into the house and came face to face with the old lady. He quickly tucked the handgun out of sight into the waistband at the back of his trousers. She squinted and peered into his face. ‘Where's Stanley?' she demanded.

Crane shrugged his shoulders.

‘He's always bringing people here and they stay for months,' she moaned. ‘And they fills the barn up wiv their motors. Then he buggers off abroad somewhere for a few days. He should be taking care of the farm, he should. Ever since his dad died he hasn't lifted a finger on the land. When you find him, tell him to keep the noise down, I needs me sleep.'

The old woman trudged up the stairs to her bedroom. For a moment Crane was left standing in the hall, contemplating his next move. Ryan, his senses returning, had seen Bradley hot-footing it down the drive and decided to follow suit. Peeping through a crack in the door, he saw his chance when Crane re-entered the front room. Slowly at first, Ryan edged his way across the hall into the opposite room and in a sudden panic, hurled himself through the open window. Crane heard the sound of heavy boots on the stony driveway outside. He pulled back the curtains and caught sight of Ryan jumping into the parked Mondeo. Ryan brought the engine to life. In a panic, he crashed it into gear and with wheels churning and spraying gravel everywhere, sped out of the drive.

There would be little or no chance of catching up with the pair, so Crane decided to have a chat with Stan, so he walked over to the barn and unlocked the Judas door and swung it wide open. The early morning light flooded in and made Stan blink as he sat on the floor; the remaining ether gas had, by now, dispersed. He looked at Crane quizzically. He rose slowly to his feet and moved unsteadily towards the open door but he stopped dead when he saw the Glock pointing directly at his head.

‘I don't want to use this; it may wake your mother,' Crane said, ‘but I will if you try anything.'

Stan, still a bit groggy, looked beyond Crane. There was no sign of Ryan or Bradley. ‘Where's the others?' he rasped.

‘Oh, they've left in a bit of a hurry. Now tell me, where do you think they have gone?'

‘I dunno. You were the one who's not supposed to be here.'

‘Well, I am.' Crane replied firmly. ‘Now where is this place on the continent that Bradley goes to?'

‘I don't know anything about that.'

‘Your mother seems to think you do. Now I'll ask you one more time and if you don't tell me… ' Crane paused and pulled back the slide on the Glock before adding, ‘I'll put a nine mil slug in your foot and one in your knee. Do you want to be crippled protecting the pair that abandoned you?'

Put like that, it did not take long for Stan to make a decision and with resignation said, ‘Okay, okay. All I've done for Ryan and Bradley is take a few motors through the Channel Tunnel for them and then spend the day in Calais before getting a ferry and train back home.'

‘Where do you drop them off?'

‘A public car park right in the centre of the town, it's easy enough to find. I don't even see who picks them up. I lock the car up and leave the keys on top of the front tyre.'

Crane lowered the gun, ‘Take my advice. Unless you want to end up in jail or get hurt, you'd be better off here – looking after the farm.' With that, Crane quickly turned and hurried down the drive to the old Mercedes that he had left partly hidden in some bushes off the main road.

Stan felt light-headed with relief as he walked across the yard, opened the door of the house and nearly bumped into his mother. Her finger was raised in the wagging position, but Stan shrugged his huge shoulders, held up his arms and said, ‘Need to see about getting some grain in the ground before winter sets in.'

She was about to reply, but instead she stood with jaw agape as he walked past, picked up the phone and spoke to his local seed merchant.

Crane tossed his jacket onto the back seat, started the powerful V8 motor and pointed the Mercedes Benz towards Canford. During the uneventful drive back to Canford, his brain was awash with what had taken place over the past few hours. He drove with all the windows down in the hope that the fresh morning air would remove some of the ether fumes, still wafting from his clothing. He pulled the car into Palmers Rise, and after a few metres, stopped dead. A set of tyre tracks were plainly visible in the cement dust; and whoever made them, had not left. They were still there.

Bradley's mean face was set in anger as he drove the Ferrari around the country lanes like a maniac. He eased up only when he reached the main A130 route. He cursed himself for miscalculating Crane's resolve; bringing his shady enterprise to a premature halt. A shrill warble resounded around the inside of the car and Bradley's hand automatically dipped into a jacket pocket to pull out his mobile phone. His eyes quickly flicked at the caller's number; it was Ryan.

Bradley answered with an irritable, ‘Yeah?'

‘I left just after you – through the open window.'

‘You alone?'

‘Course I am – in the Mondeo.'

‘It's a good job we cleared the cars from the barn before Crane's visit. Things are finished here. We'll meet up in Suffolk to shift the last of the cars to the docks before we make for Cap Nez, okay?'

*

Crane leapt out of the Mercedes; leaving it in the middle of the lane. As he put on his jacket, a weight pulling down on one side reminded him of the Glock. He took out the handgun and stuffed it into the waistband at the back of his trousers. He kept close to the bushes, which lay on either side and slowly made his way along the lane, edging his way towards home. He gradually rounded the slight bend and the cottage came into view. He felt a surge of relief as he realised that the tyre marks, which had been left at the end of the lane, belonged to a police car which was now parked in front of the cottage gate.

Crane checked his watch. It was nine am. ‘Good morning, Constable Travers, you're up early.'

‘It seems I'm not the only one, Mr Crane,' Travers smiled. ‘I was driving down Alders Hill, and being as I know you, so to speak, I thought I'd give you a look in – my Chief Inspector informed me about the theft of your Mustang; that's the second time in as many days isn't it? Unfortunately, so far, we haven't had any luck in tracing it. Have you?'

Crane pursed his lips and shook his head. ‘No, not yet, I'm of the opinion that it may now be somewhere on the continent.'

‘You may well be right. There's been a whole spate of car thefts right across the county and into parts of Suffolk. There's reason to believe a well-organised gang is involved.' Constable Travers shuffled his feet and continued, ‘Oh well, I'll be on my way. Let us know if you are successful.'

Crane did not want to reveal the cement dust trick and said, ‘My newly-acquired car has run out of fuel and is blocking the lane.' He walked towards his parked Transit van, opened the rear doors and continued, ‘Luckily I've got a spare can of fuel in here.'

As Travers moved towards his police car, his nose caught a whiff of Crane's clothing. He paused, raised his head, flared his nostrils and sniffed the air.

‘Strange smell,' he remarked.

Crane replied quickly with, ‘Probably some of the weed killer and fertilisers I've been using lately; I think they have been messing around with the formulas.'

‘Hmmm, smells more like ether, eh?'

Crane, now with his head in the back of the van said, ‘Oh, I wondered what it reminded me of; you never know what they are mixing up these days do you?'

*

Crane was enjoying a good soaking in the bath after putting his clothes in the washing machine. As he idly wallowed in the hot, steamy water, the raucous sound of his alarm resonated throughout the cottage. He sat up and scrambled out of the tub. There was no time to run through the scrubland to see who was approaching, so he hastily wrapped a towel around his waist. Crane was in no mood for physical confrontation; his ribs were still sore from the kicking he had received a few days earlier. So he placed the newly-acquired handgun in a strategic place completely out of sight, at the end of the narrow hallway. He was well aware of the UK's gun laws and had meant to dispose of the weapon, but in view of the past few hours, he thought it prudent to keep hold of the gun for a while longer.

An urgent rattle on the front door ensued. Stooping low, Crane peered around the wall at the end of the hallway. He recognised the shadowy figure through the frosted glass straightaway. It was unmistakably Penny. At a lower level, Andrew's face rested on cupped hands. His eyes were screwed up tight; trying to stare through the opaque glass. She rattled on the door again, only this time, the noise was more prolonged. Crane pulled on a pair of jeans and ran bare-footed towards the door. An excited Penny began a breathless chatter until Crane motioned for her and Andrew to come inside. He directed them towards the cosy beamed sitting room and said patiently, ‘Okay, now start from the beginning.'

Penny brushed the hair out of her eyes and began in a calmer voice, ‘I had a phone call from Bradley. He said he was on his way to the house and if I was still there when he arrived, he would beat me to a pulp. I was terrified.'

Crane looked at her for a moment. Even in her distressed state, he realised that she was a very attractive young woman. Crane looked at his watch, ‘When did he call?'

‘No more than half an hour ago. I hurriedly packed a few things for Andrew and myself, jumped in the Mini, drove around for a while, tried your phone, but there was no reply, and thought I had better come here to warn you. He sounded absolutely furious.'

Crane told her the details of his confrontation at the farm and finished with, ‘One thing's for certain, he won't be going there again. I've discovered from the owner of the farm that he has use of a barn in France; somewhere near Calais, I'm going to follow it through when I catch up with him. Hopefully I'll also find out what has happened to your sister. But meanwhile, I'll pay a quick visit to your house, just in case he is still hanging around.'

Penny gave Crane a nervous glance, ‘Do be careful, I really believe he's capable of anything.'

Crane smiled in an easy-going manner as he ran a hand over Andrew's mop of curly brown hair. ‘I'm sure he is, but I'll be okay. I think for the moment, it would be safer if the pair of you stayed here until I get back.'

Crane finished dressing and dashed outside into the Mercedes. Within fifteen minutes he was standing by the front door of Penny's house. There was nobody in sight. There were no vehicles parked nearby and the house appeared deserted. However, Crane was taking no chances. Using Penny's key, he turned the latch slowly and stepped cautiously inside. All was quiet. He slipped off his shoes and padded softly towards the lounge. It was dark; the heavy velvet curtains were still drawn. He felt something brush against his leg. It was Felix, the cat, head-butting against the lower part of his trousers, mewing and purring; it was obviously his breakfast time and he had missed out.

Crane thought he heard something and stepped back into the hall. As he did so, Felix, vying for attention, sprang into action; running around and dashing in and out between his legs. Crane ignored this unwanted attention as he put an ear to the wall. A faint whining noise – an electric drill – could be heard from below. There was somebody still around. He moved to the end of the hall, stepped into the kitchen and peered through the window. From there he could see the twin doors of the basement garage. They were flung wide open. Crane replaced his shoes and stepped outside onto the brick pathway that sloped down towards the end of the rear garden onto the service road. Beside the path, a series of flag-stone steps led to a steep concrete ramp which connected the underground garage to the rear service road. Crane walked cautiously down the steps following the sound of the drill and paused when he saw a Volkswagen camper half in and half out of the garage. The sound of the drill was coming from the rear of the camper – its noise was continuous. He edged his way along the side of the camper van, paused and bent down and caught sight of the drill lying on the floor – running continuously. As he straightened up, a man in a blue boiler suit was rushing towards him swinging a hammer. The assailant's weapon missed Crane's head by a millimetre – smashing heavily into the side panel of the camper; causing a neat round dent. The man's grunt of effort was quickly followed by a deep yelp of pain as Crane, dropped to the floor and grabbed hold of the attacker's scrotum. Twisting hard, Crane pulled on the unfortunate part until the man fell to the floor with a heavy thud. In a split second, the would-be attacker felt a knee pressing firmly into his neck. Fearful eyes looked up at the ferocious expression on Crane's face as he hissed, ‘If you move, I'll kill you.'

The man remained still and Crane continued, ‘We need to talk. Now, what's your name?'

‘Harry,' the man replied quickly and, without taking his eyes off of Crane he grunted hoarsely, ‘Look mate, I don't know nuffink.'

Crane gave a tight smile, stared coldly into Harry's eyes and said quietly and matter-of-factly, ‘Well then, Harry, you are no use to me whatsoever. I was going to let you live. You would have killed me with that hammer,' Crane glanced at the dent in the side of the camper and added with malice, ‘that's for sure – so you can die right now.'

Harry began to panic as he felt the pressure on his neck increase. ‘Wait… wait,' he gagged. ‘Ease off, what do you want to know?'

Crane raised his knee slightly and said, ‘Where's Bradley?'

‘He's gone.'

‘I can see that; tell me where exactly?'

‘He's meeting Ryan at the barn in Suffolk. He came here in a bit of a hurry, picked up some vehicle documents and left.'

‘What's the address?'

There was panic in Harry's voice as he said quickly, ‘I don't know, honest, I've never been there. All I know is it's near Felixstowe; he's going there to put a consignment in containers ready for shipping.'

‘Consignment? Stolen cars you mean.'

‘Yeah, whatever.'

‘How about France?'

‘He's going there sometime this week.'

‘Where do you figure in this?'

‘I do a few alterations to some of the vehicles.'

‘Like changing number plates,' Crane added.

‘Yeah now and again.' Harry stopped abruptly as though he did not want to add to this.

Crane was intrigued, and as a prompt, he momentarily increased the pressure on Harry's neck, ‘Go on.'

‘Alright, ease up! I source most of the donor vehicles too.' Harry fell silent again.

‘I'm getting impatient,' Crane said, grabbing hold of the hammer lying on the floor and holding it aloft. ‘Alright, alright. This camper for example; I buy an old wreck of a van; legitimate like, then nick a motorhome of the same make; Peugeot or VW. Swap the ID plates over then send its log book off to get it re-registered as a camper and then take the wreck – minus its identity – to a breaker's yard for scrap. The stolen vehicle becomes legitimate. Similar thing with the cars, only sometimes we get hold of a damaged car from insurance companies' auctions – Bradley has good connections. All we need is the log book, the damaged car is taken to the breaker's yard and crushed – and the nicked car is made legitimate.'

Crane lifted his knee from Harry's neck, stood up and said, ‘Don't move.'

Harry, remained on the floor, and feeling somewhat relieved said, ‘You're that Jack Crane fella that Bradley told me about.'

‘What did he tell you?'

‘He just said to watch out for you in case you turn up here.'

Crane took his eyes of off Harry and looked around the back of the camper van. Harry gradually propped himself up on his elbows and slowly inched his way backwards until he was level with the passenger door. As soon as Crane's head disappeared, Harry sprang up, leapt in the side door and quickly pushed the central locking into place. He jumped into the driver's seat and turned the ignition key and the engine burst to life. Looking into the rear-view mirror, he sighted Crane at the rear end and swiftly knocked the camper into reverse gear, hoping to pin him to the rear wall, but Crane quickly side-stepped. The camper shuddered violently and the bumper split with a cracking sound as it thudded into the wall. Realising the futility of his actions, Harry jammed his foot hard down on the accelerator and wheel-spun the camper up the gradient, laying a trail of black rubber on the grey concrete surface, until he reached the service road at the top. Carelessly pushing his heavy hand against the gear lever, so that the cogs grated and clattered noisily, he sped off towards the direction of Southend.

Crane ran up the steps and back through the house, slamming the front door behind him as he raced towards his parked car. By the time he reached the main road, there was no sign of the camper – it could have gone in either direction, but Crane decided to turn left. The Mercedes screamed down the road towards Southend and after a few tight bends, Crane had the camper in sight, so he eased back on the throttle to follow at a distance. Hopefully he wouldn't alert Harry to the fact that he was being followed. After a few miles, the Mercedes coughed and began to fall back. Crane snatched a glance at the fuel gauge. It was registering half full. Hoping it was only the fuel gauge at fault, he stamped on the brakes, leapt out, grabbed hold of the spare fuel can from the boot and poured its contents – a couple of litres – into the tank. Within a few turns, the starter brought the engine back to life, but by then, Crane knew he had insufficient fuel, and realised there would be no chance of catching up with Harry. After a visit to the nearest filling station Crane made his way back to Palmers Rise and stopped dead at the scattering of cement dust strewn across the lane; fresh tyre tracks had left their mark in and out of the lane – and they did not belong to Penny's Mini.