“How’s it going with the CCTV?” Stephen asked.
“Not great so far, but I have hope yet.”
I let him know what I’d already checked and gave him several CCTV cameras to look over for me. We worked in a peaceable silence as we scoured the roads for the car that’d hit Freddie’s, working with only a vague description and a fair bit of hope.
“I think I got it, Darren,” Stephen said, and I perked up.
“Aye? Let’s have a look, then.”
On a road close to where Freddie’s car had been hit, Stephen had located a bulky four-by-four that was heading the right way and seemed to be following close behind Freddie.
“Are you sure, though? Lots of cars match Freddie’s-”
“Have a bit of faith in me,” Stephen grumbled, flicking over to another piece of footage.
This was from a CCTV camera watching over a road that was beyond the intersection and, a moment after Stephen had started the recording playing, the same four-by-four barrelled past the camera so quickly that it was little more than a blur. Definitely suspicious behaviour, but Stephen wasn’t done. He paused the video at the point where the car was in the middle of the camera frame and, whilst it was distinctly blurry, it was clear to see that the car’s bonnet was badly bashed up.
“There you go,” he said, sitting back in his chair and folding his arms over his chest with an expression that dared me to contradict him. I couldn’t help but laugh a little at his cockiness.
“Looks good,” I approved with a grin. “I was wrong, you were right. Is that what you want to hear?”
“Always,” he laughed.
I shook my head at him, but I was still smiling as I scooted back closer to my own computer.
“Okay, when you’ve stopped gloating, read me off the car’s plate, will you?”
“So bossy, Mitchell,” he teased before he deigned to oblige me.
It took him a minute to get the speeding car’s licence plate in focus, but once he did, he read the letters and digits off to me. I plugged them into the system, crossing my fingers that this would give us a solid lead.
“Damn it.”
He looked up. “No good?”
“It looks fake. There’s no match on it,” I sighed.
He looked a little gutted that his find hadn’t led to anything, and I grimaced a sympathetic face at him.
“I’ll put the word out on the system anyway,” he said.
We both knew that since the number plate didn’t seem to be legitimate, it had most likely been removed as soon as the car got back to wherever it had come from. There was little to no chance that the car would get picked up driving around with that same license plate on it, so inputting it into the system was something of a fool’s errand. I nodded anyway and let him try, because it didn’t do any harm.
Stephen took a bathroom break then, and I was left alone to come up with another angle of attack. I rubbed my palm over the stubble growth on my jaw as I tried to think of how we could go forward from here, but the CCTV footage of that four-by-four racing past the camera was stuck in my head.
I wheeled my chair over to Stephen’s computer and brought up the video he’d found, replaying it again. I spent a couple of minutes playing, pausing, and rewinding it, but to no avail. Sighing, I leaned back and stretched my arms up above my head.
It would be a grave miscarriage of justice if the criminals who put Freddie in hospital managed to get away with it, and yet I couldn’t currently see a way we could find out who’d been driving that car. They were dogfighters, no doubt, and pissed off about Freddie getting into their group and passing on information to LACS and the police. They’d see him as a snitch, and there was nothing more dangerous to be known as when it came to criminals, since they punished such transgressions with absolute ruthlessness. Darkly, I thought that the only thing worse in the dogfighters' eyes than a spy in the midst would be if that spy was a police officer.
Stephen returned from the loo and lifted his eyebrows at me when he saw me behind his computer. I scooted my chair out of his way and rubbed a hand over my face as I tried to get my wayward thoughts to come together in a semi-coherent order.
“I have an idea.”
“You want more coffee?” Stephen said, turning to look at me with an amused look in his eyes.
“No. I mean, more coffee is always a good idea,” I said, rolling my eyes at him, “but I’m talking about the case.”
“Yeah?” Stephen sat up straighter and paid me his full attention.
“I reckon it’s a possibility that this car,” I pointed to his computer screen, which was still paused on the footage of the dark four-by-four, “ended up at Phil’s garage.”
Stephen’s eyebrows lifted in surprise, and he opened his mouth before closing it again without saying anything. He gave his monitor a thoughtful glance and slowly nodded.
“Well, it is heading in the right direction for the garage.”
“Right. Plus, we know we’re dealing with dogfighters here, and Phil wants to get in on that from what he was saying to me the last time I saw him, anyway.”
“I agree.”
“So what’d the betting that the group get their cars from Phil? He’s not the only dodgy car garage in York, I’m sure, but he actively wants in with them, so he probably reached out to them. If I’m right, then he probably does them a good deal for them borrowing the cars for their illegal stunts, and then he fixes them up after-”
“He changes the number plates.”
“Aye, changes the plates and sells them on, right? And they trust him to keep his mouth shut because he wants to be one of them and because he’s probably neck-deep in the same muck that they’re involved in. Mutually assured destruction if one of them snitches.”
“It’d be damn lucky if you’re right considering the chances, but the logic tracks. There’s no harm in having a look-see.”
“I mean, I wouldn’t say there’s no harm in it, especially if he catches me looking around and gets antsy,” I pointed out.
“We’ll be careful and sneaky.”
I frowned. “We? No way, Steph. He doesn’t have a clue who you are, and I want it to stay that way. If he does see me nosing around his garage, it’ll look so much worse if I’ve got some strange guy with me. I can’t really use the excuse that I was just coming to see him if I’ve got you in tow, can I?”
“Wow, I can tell when I’m not wanted,” Stephen said, putting a hand on his chest. He did look a little wounded, but he could see the sense in what I was saying.
“Sorry, but this is a solo job, partner.” I gave him an apologetic look.
“Guess I’ll just have to put my feet up here and sip tea while you’re gone. Such a hard life.” His teasing tone told me that he didn’t hold it against me, and I sent him a grin.
“Oh hell no, mister. There’s paperwork aplenty to keep you busy while I’m off risking my butt spying on a bunch of criminals.” I cocked an eyebrow teasingly as I said, “You can call me Bond, Darren Bond.”
Stephen wrinkled his nose. “‘Darren Bond’ does not have the same ring to it as ‘James Bond’, sorry to break it to you, dude.”
“You mortally wound me,” I said dramatically before I gave a chuckle at our shenanigans and checked my watch. “Okay, enough. I better head off. It’s not too far from lunch, so if Phil is at the garage, I’ll say I wanted to grab a bite to eat and a drink with him or something.”
I gathered up my phone, jacket, and keys and turned my computer off as I got ready to head out. “Do your paperwork, Huxley,” I said firmly, using the same tone I’d use to get a little kid to eat their vegetables.
Stephen and I had pretty much the same relationship with paperwork as five-year-olds did with broccoli, honestly, in that it was a necessary evil that had to be suffered through. Predictably, he groaned.
“You’re off to sneak around a bunch of rusty cars looking at their plates, and yet you’ve somehow managed to come out of this with the better deal,�
� he groused.
“I’ll bring you back some tea from the drive-thru, okay?” I said, laughing at his dramatics as I walked away.
“And a muffin!” he called after me. I snorted.
I didn’t know how likely it was that my hunch would prove to be correct since this was probably more than likely a wild goose chase, but I wouldn’t know til I tried. Even if the car had passed through Phil’s hands, it might’ve already been passed on or moved to a different location. When he’d given me a tour around the place, I’d seen the yard where Phil kept his second-hand and fixer-upper cars, and it could only be accessed from one entrance around the side of his garage. Whilst it was locked off with sturdy gates at night and secure enough to keep out any nosy groups of drunken teenagers looking to make trouble, it wasn’t impenetrable. Perhaps he’d decided that the place wasn’t secure enough for any stolen goods and had a more remote place outside the city where he took them. And that was even if he was involved in all this at all.
I released a breath and shook my head. There was no point speculating about whether or not Phil had the car when I could just go over there and see for myself.
After changing into casual clothes, I jogged out of the station and into the drizzle outside, heading for the unmarked vehicle I’d booked out for a few hours. I tried to think on the bright side as I flicked on the windscreen wipers and wheeled the sluggish car out of the entrance to Hewford and got on the road towards the garage, but it was something of an upward battle.
Hopefully, this rain would keep Phil and any others at the garage safely indoors so that I could scope out the yard without being seen. If I was spotted, well, I was sure I could come up with some reason why I’d shown up at Phil’s garage unannounced and gone snooping around the back without even bothering to stick my head around the door and say, ‘hi’. Even in my head, it sounded like a reach, and I sighed.
Not for the first time, I wondered why I’d volunteered to do any of this, especially considering it wasn’t a case that’d been in any way assigned to me but one that I’d thrust Stephen and me into, stubbornly demanding to be involved until both Ross and Rashford relented. But my moment of doubt was over almost as soon as it had started. The memory of Freddie’s pain-filled face in the hospital came immediately to mind, serving to remind me exactly why I was doing this, not to mention all of those poor dogs in the barn. Everything I read online about dogfighting in the UK made me more determined to stop the brutality from happening on my own damn doorstep, no matter the risk.
It felt like a responsibility that I needed to step up to, and I’d never been one to shirk my duty.
Seventeen
The garage looked promisingly quiet when I rolled past it in the car. I decided at the last minute that parking right outside might draw attention that I’d prefer to avoid, so I drove a short way past Phil’s garage and found a spot to park out of sight.
I ran through my list of possible excuses and explanations for why I was there as I approached the garage on foot and carefully made my way around the side. There was only one car in the garage’s rutted, gravel car park, and it didn’t look like Phil’s, so I hoped that if I did run into anyone, it wouldn’t be him. The garage’s front door was rolled up, and I could hear some tinny music coming from inside, but there was no one directly in sight, and I managed to get by without being seen.
The gates around the side were unlocked, and after glancing guiltily around me, I headed in. I tried to walk like there was no reason why I shouldn’t be there, but I wasn’t sure I managed it, considering how many times I glanced over my shoulder. The yard was deserted as far as I could tell, and with my heart hammering, I strode forwards, eager to get this over and done with.
I scanned the parked vehicles, some in much worse condition than others, looking for any kind of four-by-four. I had the number plate on my phone to check the cars against, figuring that it would be less suspect to look at my phone than at a notepad. The car on the CCTV had been dark-coloured, but it could’ve been given a paint job since then, so I didn’t pay attention to colour as I scoped out the place.
Phil’s yard wasn’t enormous, so it didn’t take me too long to realise that there weren’t many Landrover-type cars in his stock, which made sense considering four-by-fours were usually expensive, and Phil wasn’t running a top of the line joint here.
I clicked my tongue in frustration when the likely looking car I spotted didn’t have the number plate that I was looking for. I made a full circuit of the yard, the rain seeping through my jacket on my shoulder and dampening my hair, but I couldn’t see any other vehicle that looked like the one on the CCTV.
“Dammit,” I muttered.
“Can I help you?” a gruff voice called out and made me jump.
I grimaced at my instinctive startle-reaction, knowing that it made me look guilty, and smoothed my face into a neutral, friendly expression before I turned around.
“Hi there. Is Phil around?” I said. Better if I start out asking questions and put Phil’s employee on the back foot, I thought.
“You know Phil?” the bloke said, frowning.
He looked to be in his mid-thirties, about the same age as me, and wore a thick beard on his face. Between that and the baseball cap on his head, it was difficult to make out exactly what his features were.
“Aye, he’s an old schoolmate of mine. I was hoping to see him, but I thought I’d drop round here first.”
“Why?”
I turned away from him, looking over at the cars like my answer was no big deal. “Just seeing what he’s got lying around. My car’s on its last legs. You know how it is.” I sent him a friendly, slightly sheepish smile, and the guy seemed to relax a little.
“Mate, I’m a mechanic. My car always runs sweet as,” he joked, and I laughed genuinely.
“Of course it does.”
“Y’know, I think I recognise you,” he said, frowning at me for a long moment. My heart rate picked up, and I tried to look unconcerned.
“Oh, right?”
He clicked his fingers and grinned. “Yeah, I saw Phil show you round the other day! You’re that accountant guy, right?”
“That’s me,” I said, breaking into a smile of relief. If he’d recognised me from seeing me from when I’d been on local TV press conferences, things could’ve taken a turn for the worse.
“I don’t know when Phil will be back, but I can show you round a bit. See what kinda car you’re after.” He shot me a grin wide enough that I could see his teeth through his bushy beard. “I bet Phil’ll give you a sweet discount if you’re his mate, yeah?”
“I can hope,” I laughed.
The mechanic introduced himself as Martin and followed through on his offer to show me around the yard. He pointed out several cars that were in better working condition than the rest, and I made appreciative noises and asked a few questions about mileage and that. The rain started coming down heavier before long, though, and Martin ushered me back towards the garage.
“Want a cuppa?” he offered. “It’s ruddy freezing in here. I’ve been on at Phil to fix the heating, but nah.” He pulled an exasperated look at me, and I made a sympathetic face.
He left me alone in the garage while he went to make the drinks and, once I was sure he was out of sight, I roamed around the place as I had a nose around. My trip seemed to have been a bust in terms of finding the car that’d hit Freddie, but maybe I’d find something else useful lying around, or else Martin would be willing to tell me something he shouldn’t. He seemed like a friendly sort of guy once he’d recognised me, and hopefully, I could work with that.
As I moved down the cluttered garage, I noticed a bulky car at the end, tucked under a grease-covered sheet at the far end. Ambling over with false casualness, I glanced once more over my shoulder before I took hold of the heavy sheet and lifted up the corner.
“Well damn,” I muttered.
The car was definitely a four-by-four type, and it was a dark shade of green. I could hear
the kettle boiling in the adjacent little kitchen and knew that Martin would be back in here soon, so I didn’t waste time as I lifted up the sheet at the back of the car. I flicked my phone to video, recording my actions as I revealed the car’s number plate.
As I’d hoped, it matched the fake one of the car that’d hit Freddie’s.
My heart was speeding in my chest as I took another couple of photos of the number plate, getting as much of the car in the picture as I could before I heard Martin’s footsteps approaching and hurriedly stuffed my phone into my pocket. I didn’t have the time to move away or pretend that I’d been doing anything else other than being nosy, so I continued to look over the car like I had every right to be doing so.
Martin came over to me, and I gave him a grin, nodding towards the car.
“Is this one for sale? ‘Cus I think this is the nicest piece in the shop.”
To my relief, Martin laughed and didn’t question what I’d been doing. He handed over a chipped mug full of tea, and I wrapped my cold hands around it gratefully.
“Nah, man. I’d take this one home, too, if I could, but this is a job. We’ll knock the dents out and send it back again. Here, look.”
Without even any prompting from me, Martin lifted up the sheet at the front of the vehicle, showing me the ugly dent at the front.
“That’ll take some work,” I said as my thoughts churned.
I could picture all too easily how this car had come racing out of nowhere, slamming into Freddie’s and throwing him into the car door. I clenched my jaw and forced myself to take a sip of the tea Martin had given me.
“Sure will,” Martin agreed, letting the sheet drop.
“Did you see who brought it in?” I asked, seizing the opportunity to ask more about the car before the moment was lost. “A knock like that must’ve been serious, yeah?”
Moving Target (A DCI Thatcher Yorkshire Crimes Book 6) Page 19
