The Stealers (9 page)

Penny's head seemed to be in a whirl. She felt like bursting into tears as she rummaged around her apartment, cleaning and tidying things up. Her mind was torn between the grief she felt for her dead brother and the constant worry about the fate of her missing sister, but she knew that she had to hold herself together for young Andrew's sake. She cast a glance in his direction; he had found a quiet corner and was amusing himself drawing on a pad with coloured felt-tip pens. She stood for a moment watching him, and it seemed to give her a sense of purpose and a calm strength of resolve.

*

One thing that can be relied upon in England is the unreliable weather. The sun was bright and cheerful when Crane took to the road. He had followed Davy's transporter through Rochford and Ashingdon, but by the time they reached the roundabout on the outskirts of Ipswich, ominous groups of heavy cloud had taken its place. As they turned onto the A14 road to Felixstowe, a heavy downpour ensued causing automatic headlamps from the passing traffic to switch on, their beams reflecting a silvery path as they trundled along at a steady pace.

Crane was surprised when a heavy truck sped past, its rear wheels splattering water and dirt onto his windscreen. Then suddenly, its driver swung the vehicle in front of his Mercedes, blocking his view of the transporter. Instinctively Crane eased on the brakes. Without warning, the truck in front began to slow down. Crane, keeping an eye on his rear-view mirror, waited until the outside lane was clear, and then pulled out in an attempt to pass the slow moving truck. Terry, the driver of the truck, had other ideas and swung his lorry out directly into Crane's path. Crane's reactions were swift. He slammed hard on the brakes, the tyres aquaplaning on the drenched surface sending the Merc towards the hard shoulder. By now, Crane surmised that the truck driver was involved with Bradley. Every time Crane tried to pass, the truck blocked his path. It was a dangerous game. Crane saw a chance of escape when a daisy chain of cars raced past in the outside lane. He tried to tag on the end, but the truck swerved out, braked and once again confined his movements.

Meanwhile Davy, keeping a watchful eye on his rear-view mirrors, saw what was happening. He grinned to himself as he rammed his foot hard down on the accelerator and outpaced the jousting pair. A mile or so on, he breathed a sigh of relief and seized upon the opportunity to leave the A14 unseen. He stopped to contact Bradley in order to meet up at a different location near the docks.

Crane pulled up on the hard shoulder whilst the truck drifted ahead. He stabbed his finger on the satnav for an alternate route to Felixstowe docks. He was in luck, it was only half a mile away. The sound of high-pitch whining of gears and a screaming engine made Crane look up from the small screen. He saw the truck hurtling backwards along the hard shoulder towards him. Instinctively he slammed the Merc into reverse. He half turned in his seat and with one hand on the steering wheel quickly guided the car up an adjacent narrow ramp, normally used by police to observe traffic speed. The bulky truck roared past with barely inches to spare. The truck driver, Terry, rammed his foot hard down on the brakes. The rear end of his truck slewed wildly out of control on the rain-drenched surface; it slithered into the main highway and straight into the path of an approaching police car. The quick acting driver of the police car slid to a halt and switched on his hazard lights. Terry frantically tried to restart the stalled engine as the policemen cautiously approached.

The police did not seem to notice Crane as he gunned his vehicle down the ramp and sped off. Unfortunately, his speed meant that he did not have the pleasure of witnessing the truck driver being tasered as he tried to run away from the law.

Crane trawled around the docks area for half an hour before spotting the stationary car transporter. It was down a side road but its cargo of three vehicles were missing. Crane parked the Merc directly in front of it and leapt out. Davy remained motionless in the driver's seat. Half-open eyes stared vacantly through the windscreen. There was no reaction as Crane marched up to the driver's door, swung it open and bellowed, ‘Where's Bradley?'

There was no reply. Davy remained inanimate; with glazed eyes staring through the windscreen. There was a tortured expression on Davy's face and he was panting heavily and gasping for breath. Crane noticed a dark red, wet stain on the seat and on Davy's jacket. It was blood. Slowly, he lifted the edge of the jacket; the hilt of a long kitchen knife was visible. The knife had pinned Davy to his seat. He became aware of Crane's presence and whispered hoarsely, ‘Help me. Take it out.'

Crane examined the area around the knife and replied, ‘The blade seems to have missed bones, but if I take it out it may cause more damage; you need a doctor. Who did this? Bradley?'

Davy waited a few seconds and gasped, ‘Yeah. I'm no saint, but that man's evil. He didn't have to do this to me. He meant to do me in. He would have done so, if I hadn't seen it coming. I turned to one side as he drove the knife in me. It hurts like hell.'

Crane saw Davy's mobile in the door pocket and picked it up. ‘I'll call an ambulance.' As he dialled, Crane continued, ‘Meanwhile tell me, how can I find Bradley? Do you know where he lives?'

‘No one knows. It's one of life's mysteries.'

Davy winced with pain with each intake of breath, ‘He rents places here and there. He has a barn full of motors in France.'

‘It's a big country, do you know whereabouts in France?'

‘Ryan told me, he was boasting about it. Near Calais; a farm at Cap Nez, that's it. He may go there next. Bradley is an evil bastard. I wasn't gonna deal with him any more. I mean, nicking cars is one thing, but he's got no conscience; he'll steal anything or anybody.'

‘So he's not just into cars then?' Crane echoed. ‘What else does he take?'

‘You don't know the half of it. Bradley thinks I overheard something I shouldn't have when he was on the phone, but I didn't hear it all. I think that's why he's done me.' Davy winced with pain once more and was quiet for a moment.

‘Do you know which car he is using?'

‘He was using a white Transit van – 'bout three years old; probably just nicked it. He's cunning, that's for sure. He gets others to do all his dirty work.' At that point Davy passed out.

The wailing noise of an ambulance siren sounded in the distance and Crane, deciding it was time to leave, straightened up. The sudden movement caused Davy to stir and wincing with pain gasped, ‘If you find Ryan, Bradley won't be far away; they're always together.'

Crane drove out of the cul-de-sac as the ambulance turned in. He parked the Mercedes on the edge of town in a lay-by adjacent to the A14, reflecting on Davy's last words; the registration number of Ryan's dark blue Mondeo came to mind.

*

Bradley was in ebullient mood as he sat chatting with Ryan. They were gulping cups of tea in a cafe near the town centre of Felixstowe. Ryan pulled a face as he sipped the brew, ‘The bloke that made this should be put in prison for spoiling good water.'

Bradley shrugged and said, ‘Give Terry a call, see how he got on with Crane.'

As he palmed his mobile and dialled Terry's number, Ryan grinned at the thought of Crane being knocked off the road.

A muffled raucous noise of a mobile phone resounded around the police cell in which Terry was housed. He reached deep into his trouser pocket and responded with a desultory, ‘Yeah?'

‘It's Ryan. How's it going?'

‘I'll tell you how it's fucking going. I managed to delay the guy in the Merc, but that's all. I got nabbed by the law and tasered as I tried to hop it.'

Ryan looked at Bradley and shrugged, ‘Crane's still on the loose and Terry's in the nick.'

Bradley laughed out loud, ‘Silly bugger, he wants to be more careful.'

Ryan joined in the mirth and said, ‘Still, at least he put Crane off the trail. When you paid Davy did he say there was anything else to be had?'

This caused Bradley to laugh again, the money he had promised Davy was still in his pocket. ‘No, I don't think he'll be getting anything else for us.'

Ryan did not know why, but for the second time in the last few days, he felt uncomfortable during the silence that followed this terse reply and he wanted him to elaborate. ‘Is erm… Davy, is he retiring or something then?'

Bradley grinned as he gave another brief answer, ‘Dunno, I just got the feeling that erm… somehow he'd had enough.'

Realising that was all the response he was going to get, Ryan left it at that.

*

Crane sat in his vehicle parked in the lay-by pondering his next move. Traffic streamed past and his eyes were glued to the door mirror in the hope that the villainous pair he was seeking were still in the neighbourhood and that they would suddenly materialise in the mirror. He was having no luck and was beginning to think that the whole country drove white vans, when suddenly, he saw a dark blue Mondeo in front of a line of vehicles. It was them, it was definitely the vehicle that Ryan had been using. At the same time, Crane's sharp eyes quickly noted the registration number of a Transit van with dirt-streaked finger-marked sides, following behind. He immediately gunned his Merc off the lay-by into the mainstream of traffic but, in order not to be seen, he trailed a few cars behind. At last he felt confident he would catch up with them.

Now driving on the A12 Colchester Road, Crane was certain that he had not been spotted. Unfortunately the Mercedes engine missed a beat and began to pull back. Crane groaned,
“Fuel… I should have fixed the fuel gauge,”
and at the same time, the car slithered to a halt on the hard shoulder. Crane leapt out, opened the boot and cursed when he saw the spare fuel can was empty. Luck had not entirely abandoned him; a service station was visible just about half a mile away but he realised that there was no hurry because his quarry would now have plenty of time to get beyond his grasp.

*

Bradley and Ryan headed for a boarding house in Folkestone, Kent. During the evening meal they made plans to cross over to Calais via the Channel Tunnel. Bradley said, ‘Later this evening, take one of the left-hand drive motorhomes and I'll meet you sometime tomorrow at the Cap.'

Ryan, with a full stomach and a glass of ale down him, looked at his watch and replied, ‘No problem, I'll make the ten o'clock crossing. By the way, at one stage after we left Felixstowe, I could have sworn Crane's white Merc was following us, but after twenty minutes or so it disappeared. Still, I guess there's more than one white Merc flying around.'

*

Crane fuelled up his car and headed for home. He knew he had dented Bradley's nefarious operation, but he had not done enough to get his Mustang back. So he decided that it was time to go to France. He would have a look around the Cap Nez area that Davy had mentioned, but thought it pertinent to change his car. After the incident with the truck he was beginning to think the white Merc was becoming too well known.

When Crane drove into Palmers Rise, he noticed that the heavy rain had washed away his cement dust warning indicator from the surface of the lane, so he approached the cottage with caution. Once inside he checked the telephone answering machine; there were three calls, two of them had left no message, but the third was from Penny asking for an update. Crane grabbed a bite to eat and called her when he had finished. He decided against telling her that he was travelling to France in case things turned out to be a disappointment. Crane checked his watch; it was not too late to call on Eddie Edwards, a local motor dealer he knew well.

With a hand stretched across his brow, Crane scanned the neat rows of cars for sale. Edwards spotted Crane from his office and hurried over to greet him.

‘What are you looking for Jack?'

‘Something not too ostentatious – you know – a bit run-of-the-mill, but with some poke in it, and not too expensive.'

Eddie stood for a moment as though deep in thought. He had put a bit more weight on since Crane saw him last, but this did not affect his genial manner, in fact it seemed to add to it. Suddenly he enthused, ‘You know, I might just have what you're looking for; a real wolf in sheep's clothing. In fact I don't really know if it's legal.'

He led the way across a large sales forecourt to a remote corner at the rear of the yard, and like a showman, swept both hands towards a saloon car. Crane glanced at the dull grey body of a Rover 620, grinned hugely and said, ‘You've gotta be joking!'

Not put off by Crane's remark, the dealer defended the few small scratches and shallow dents as a trivial matter. ‘It's a few years old. Trust me, Jack, you can see it's had a few arguments, but only little ones – minor cuts and abrasions like, and, erm, it's reflected in the price. It's only just come in. The engines been changed for something a bit livelier. It's got a big lump under the bonnet; three litre with high lifts and, wait for it… twin-turbos. Goes like a bastard.' Then, looking over to a man hard at work leathering off a row of used cars, he called out, ‘Herbert, tell Jack how it drives.'

Herbert grinned and replied with enthusiasm, ‘Like shit off a shiny shovel mate.'

Crane grinned at the colourful description Herbert had given the car and Eddie continued, ‘Take it out and let Jack drive it.'

Herbert grunted a reply and went off to get the keys. Eddie turned his attention back to Crane and knowing that his Mustang had been stolen said, ‘No luck in finding the ‘Stang' then?'

Crane pursed his lips and replied, ‘I'm working on it.' They both watched as Herbert returned with the keys and began to manoeuvre the car out of the yard.

Crane got behind the wheel and Eddie said, ‘Tell you what, if it don't drive like I said it does, I'll give it to you for nothing – how's that!'