by Dan Latus
Employment-wise, there were a few scrapyards and recycling facilities in the area, vultures at the tail-end of the industrial revolution. There were also a number of small and newish, or converted, industrial buildings where some work was being done. But a big housing project looked to have been waylaid by the banking crisis. Signs of new life? Spring shoots? Yes, but … How you saw it all depended on whether your glass was half full or half empty.
Josh chuckled and glanced at me. ‘Remember what that train journey used to be like, Frank? Redcar to Middlesbrough?’
‘In the good old days, you mean? Roaring furnaces, belching smoke and steam, flames and clouds of cinders on either side?’
‘That’s the one!’
I could just remember it, from when I was a kid. The railway used to come right through the middle of all the works along the south side of the river.
‘Hell on earth!’ Josh grinned and added, ‘But jobs, as well, remember?’
‘For the men of steel. We wouldn’t want them now, though, would we?’
‘Some of us didn’t want them even then!’
He laughed. Then he changed gear and slowed down.
‘Where’s this?’ I asked suspiciously as he turned into a big compound surrounded by high heavy-duty security fencing.
‘My place,’ he said. ‘One of them, I should say. Mostly used specialist vehicles here, but there’s a range of more ordinary cars, as well, if that’s what you want.’
We parked outside an office building. A man dressed like an undertaker in a dark suit rushed across to greet us effusively.
‘Mr Steele! How good to see you, sir.’
Josh treated him to a weary smile. ‘This is Mr Doy, Gerald,’ he said, when he could get a word in. ‘He’s here to find himself a vehicle.’
‘Very well, Mr Steele,’ Gerald said with enthusiasm. He beamed at me and thrust out a hand that I had to take for a moment. ‘Welcome, Mr Doy!’ he exclaimed, seizing my hand and pumping my arm vigorously.
I nodded, reclaimed my arm and surreptitiously wiped the palm of my hand on my trouser leg. I couldn’t help it.
‘Frank,’ Josh said, ‘why don’t you look around the yard? See if there’s anything that takes your fancy. I’ll be in the office when you’re done.’
He turned then and headed off with Gerald, evidently confident that left to my own devices I would find what I wanted.
I stood and looked around for a moment, wondering if I shouldn’t just take the Land Rover after all. This was all taking time, too much time. While we were messing about here, nobody was protecting Tom, and from what I’d seen of the lad he wasn’t capable of looking after himself.
Common sense got the better of me. I needed something that would go faster and further than the Land Rover, and provide more comfort. Most of all, I needed something that wasn’t going to break down every few miles. The Land Rover was my unfinished restoration project. Sometimes I wondered if it would ever get any better than it was right now.
Josh’s yard was an Aladdin’s cave of a place. I wandered around for a few minutes, getting a feel for it. I could see that it really was a showroom for specialist vehicles. There were cars there that I had never seen before, as well as cars of which I had only ever had fleeting glimpses. Specialist marques. Sports cars, four-by-fours, luxury saloons, truly fast cars. Some new, most used. I walked past the BMWs and Mercedes, the Porsches and the one Aston Martin. I didn’t even bother looking at the Bentley or the Lotus.
On the far side, an open gate gave access to another compound, this one stocked with a range of industrial vehicles and giant machines. Trucks. Big generators. Pumps. Cranes. Mechanical diggers. Tractors. A couple of men were busy loading a massive tractor and a combine harvester onto a suitably enormous wagon bearing Hungarian plates. Nearby, other men were working on a huge machine that looked as if it would only be truly happy when spraying tarmac on a motorway or airport runway. Beyond them stood a vast hangar carrying advertising for offshore supplies and services.
I was impressed. All in all, Josh’s yard was quite a place. It was on the riverside, as well, and had its own jetty, I noted. That must come in handy. It would be hard to move some of this stuff by road. Far easier by sea. At one time, not too long ago, the entire property would have been occupied by a steelworks. Then the jetty would have been handy for offloading iron ore and coal, and for onloading pig-iron, steel rails and whatever else was made here. Now it was being put to another use. Good for Josh.
I wandered over towards the river and smiled when I saw the name on a coaster tied up at the jetty: ss Anne. Their own ship even!
I returned to the first compound and found what I wanted over against a distant fence where the also-rans were gathered, the cars that wouldn’t excite collectors or speed freaks. It was a dirty, red Volvo S80 with ten thousand miles on the clock, and four-wheel drive if you needed it. Ideal.
It wasn’t a car to attract admiring glances. In fact, it was a pretty dull-looking machine. But it was well engineered. I knew a lot of police forces liked to have that model for their fast, motorway drivers, which made it good enough for me. I didn’t think I would want to be travelling at much more than 150 mph. And having a few miles on the clock meant that it would be well run-in, any teething problems long since ironed out.
Josh looked surprised for a moment when I told him what I wanted. Then he just nodded. He didn’t question my choice or offer any advice.
‘I’ll tell Gerald to get it serviced, cleaned and delivered,’ he said crisply. ‘It will be with you first thing in the morning, weather permitting.’
I shook my head. ‘Not cleaned, Josh. Not on the outside, at least. I don’t want that.’
He stared at me a moment and then nodded again. ‘All right, Frank. You’re the expert. Nothing to attract attention, eh?’
‘That’s right.’
‘OK. Gerald will have it dropped off at your place when it’s ready. Are you likely to be taking it abroad? I’m thinking about foreign-use documents.’
‘I don’t think so.’
Josh pursed his lips judiciously and said, ‘I’ll have him sort the documentation out anyway, just in case.’
‘OK. Thanks.’
If Gerald could get all that done, and get the car to me at Risky Point by first thing in the morning, I could understand why Josh tolerated him.
As we left the depot, I asked about the compound with the heavy equipment.
‘It’s a separate business. Plant hire, and some sales.’
‘Overseas sales as well?’ I asked, thinking of the Hungarian wagon.
‘Some, yes.’
‘And offshore supplies and servicing? Quite an empire you have here, Josh.’
‘Isn’t it?’ he said, throwing me a little smile.
‘Well protected, too,’ I added, having noted the fencing and lights, and the uniformed security staff.
‘It’s necessary,’ he said with a grimace. ‘If this lot went up, we’d be finished. Fortunately, no one has broken in here yet. But our timber compound at South Bank went up in flames last night.’
‘Really?’
He nodded. ‘A million quid’s worth. Even with the insurance, I’ll lose a packet on that. Then there’s the disruption it will cause to my construction business.’
‘Construction, too?’ The empire was even bigger than I had realized.
‘You need better security – everywhere.’
‘Welcome aboard!’ Josh said, throwing me a rueful smile. ‘But you just keep Tom safe, Frank. I’ll settle for that.’
Chapter Eight
So far, so good. Everything well organized and provided for, and a nice little away trip in prospect. Just what I needed, especially as it was one that would earn me some decent money. I would have a sullen teenager in tow, true, but I wasn’t too worried about that. I was confident he would soon come round. All that was really on my mind was getting back to Risky Point, starting the job and getting Tom out of the danger zone.
We were no sooner through the gates than Josh’s phone went into Swedish Rhapsody. He took the call, using the hands-free setup, and Anne’s voice suddenly filled the car.
‘Josh! The house is under attack!’ she shrieked. ‘Masked men! I’m going to the panic room.’
‘Stay there!’ Josh shouted.
He stopped the car and punched in a speed-dial number. ‘Get to the house now, Marty! Anne’s under attack.’
He switched off and got the car moving again, racing through the gears, making the engine scream. I was stunned and said nothing for a moment, wondering if I’d misheard or misunderstood.
‘Trouble – big trouble,’ Josh snapped, his face set in a grim expression.
I pulled out my phone.
‘What are you doing?’ he demanded.
‘Calling the police.’
‘Leave it!’
I hesitated, thumbs poised over the keys.
‘Leave it, Frank! I don’t want them involved.’
‘Anne’s in danger, for crissake!’
‘No police. I’ll explain later.’
I stared at him a moment. Then I shrugged and reluctantly put the phone away. It was his call.
By then, we were travelling at an unsustainable speed for a town centre, especially one deep in slushy snow and no doubt with hidden patches of ice on the road. Josh was weaving through the traffic, dodging a bus here, ignoring a red light there – and taking absolutely no notice at all of the car horns blaring in protest. I braced myself for the moment we skidded off the road or hit something bigger than us.
‘Slow down, Josh!’
He kept going for a few seconds more before he relented. Then he glanced at the speedometer and eased his foot back slightly. The speed dropped to sixty, still enough to attract half the police in Cleveland. Maybe that was the idea. Get them to follow us back to the house. Great plan!
‘The house is under attack?’ I shouted again over the roar of the engine.
‘They’re after Tom.’
‘And Anne’s in a panic room?’
He nodded. He volunteered nothing more and I didn’t ask. I preferred him to concentrate on his driving. I wanted to survive the journey.
But, still. A panic room?
It took us fifteen minutes to get there; a long time for a lone woman in a house under siege, but a world record to my way of thinking.
Just before we arrived Josh said, ‘It’s that bastard, Logan!’
I looked at him.
‘The guy,’ he added.
The bereaved father, I assumed he meant. So that was his name. Logan. It meant nothing to me.
‘He’s gone over the top this time,’ Josh growled.
That seemed to qualify for understatement of the year. I thought now of Anne, and wondered how many business-people on Teesside had a panic room in their home. I’d never come across any. It made the Steeles seem pretty special.
The signs of an assault in progress were not hard to spot as we roared up the drive in a shower of gravel. The front door had been smashed off its hinges and the adjacent windows were gaping holes. There seemed to be broken glass everywhere.
Josh skidded to a stop and we spilled out onto the gravelled forecourt. Suddenly men were milling about in the doorway and falling out of the house, locked in combat. People were screaming and shouting, in anger and in pain.
As Josh came round the front of the car, a big guy in combat fatigues rushed at him, raising a tyre lever above his head. I knocked Josh aside and grabbed the raised arm. A knee came up towards my groin. I twisted out of the way and rammed an elbow into the big guy’s face. He fell back. I pulled his weapon away and hit him with it. Once was enough. His arm was broken. He screamed, and turned and fled.
I glanced at Josh, who was just getting back to his feet. ‘All right?’
He nodded and peered around, visibly shocked. ‘Thanks, Frank. What the hell…?’
I missed the rest of it as I spun round, waiting for the next attack. It didn’t happen. The space in front of the house was suddenly clearing. Men were running into the shrubbery, disappearing amongst the rhododendrons and conifers, with other men chasing them. There were screams and yells of triumph. Absolute pandemonium. It was like a film set for a battle scene. I’d never seen anything like it.
I didn’t know what to do next either. There was no point joining in. I didn’t know the good guys from the bad. I didn’t know anybody – or anything!
A car raced up the drive behind us. I readied myself for an attack, but the occupants were two women. Josh held up a hand to hold them back. Then we both headed for the house.
A tough-looking man in a black boiler suit had stationed himself in the doorway, wielding a baseball bat in both hands, ready to swing.
‘Did they get to my wife?’ Josh shouted.
Fortunately, the doorman seemed to recognize him. ‘No. She’s OK.’
‘Did you catch any of them?’
The man just shrugged and pointed into the shrubbery. How the hell would he know?
‘Marty inside?’
‘Yeah.’
Josh charged past him into the house. I followed, not sorry that we seemed to be a bit late for the main battle. The aftermath was something to see: overturned furniture, shelves swept clear of ornaments, broken chairs, a big-screen TV with a curtain pole sticking out of it. Display cabinets and a dresser had been toppled over, their contents spilled across rugs and a hardwood floor. Doors were off their hinges. Somehow a huge hole had been smashed through the dining room wall. The place was a spectacular mess.
But the news, and the situation, wasn’t all bad. At least Tom was well out of it. And whoever the attackers were, they hadn’t reached Anne either.
A couple of men in black boiler suits, like the one at the door, were gazing around as if they, too, were wondering what the hell had just happened. Josh rushed past them with scarcely a glance, heading for a flight of stairs off the kitchen.
I followed him down into a basement, where we joined a couple of other men who were talking to Anne. It looked as if she had just emerged from the reinforced concrete bunker behind her that seemed to serve as the panic room.
Anne turned as we clattered down the stairs. She gave Josh a look that was hard to interpret. Anger? Disdain? Whatever. But it was pretty clear who she blamed for all this.
‘Are you all right, love?’ he asked, taking hold of her.
‘Of course.’
She seemed remarkably calm. Not unruffled, but poised and in control. Haughty even. Definitely not collapsed in a heap. She allowed him to hug her momentarily and then pulled back.
‘Marty, this is Frank Doy,’ Josh said to the tall, lean man standing closest to Anne. ‘He’s helping us.’
Marty looked at me and nodded, but didn’t say anything.
‘Marty’s my security chief,’ Josh told me.
I felt like a spare part. But that was all right. Babysitting Tom was what I’d signed up for, not countering home invasions. This wasn’t where I needed to be.
‘You got here in good time?’ Josh asked Marty.
‘Two or three minutes after you called.’ Marty shrugged. ‘There was a bit of a scrap. Then they pulled out.’
All in a day’s work, obviously. I found myself wondering if Josh needed Marty and his men often. It must be some business he had.
‘Any casualties?’ Josh pressed.
‘Us or them?’ Marty asked with a grin.
Josh just waited. He wasn’t in the mood for jokes.
‘There’ll be some. But I don’t really know yet. I’ll have to check.’
Josh nodded and whirled round, distracted. He wanted to do something – hit somebody, probably.
‘Do you want me to get Gerald to come out and clear the house up?’ Marty asked.
Josh said he did. Then he suggested to Anne and me that we all went back upstairs, which we did. By then I was thinking this was more like gang warfare than a ca
se of a distraught father trying to avenge a dead son. Was it really all about Tom? I was finding that increasingly hard to believe.
Chapter Nine
I stood around at a loose end for a while as Josh and Anne did some damage assessment. The bill was going to be considerable, I couldn’t help thinking. Without setting fire to the place, or machine-gunning or bombing it, little more could have been done by the invaders in such a short time.
‘Don’t worry so much,’ I heard Anne say. ‘Gerald will soon get it sorted.’
Josh seemed appeased by that suggestion. It made me think Gerald must be a handy guy to have around. Selfishly, I also wondered if this new situation would prevent him sorting out the car for me and Tom, as promised.
‘Who are you?’
I spun round.
‘Hello!’ I said to the good-looking young woman who had crept up on me. I had no idea where she’d come from.
She wore her dark hair long and stood very tall and straight, poised on her toes like a high-jumper about to tackle a high bar. There was a wild, feisty look in her eye.
‘You are?’ she insisted.
‘Let’s just say I’m a friend of the family,’ I said with a smile. ‘And you?’
‘What are you doing here?’ she demanded, ignoring my question.
‘I was invited.’
‘I don’t think so! Stay right where you are. Don’t move.’ She spun round and called, ‘Josh! Josh, over here.’
I had no idea what might happen if I did move. Maybe I would get my head kicked in. I could see she was deadly serious.
Before Josh could respond to the summons, there was a disturbance in the hall. Loud voices and the crash of heavy feet on polished floor. Then a couple of police uniforms burst into the room, followed by DI Bill Peart, my old friend and occupational sparring partner from the Cleveland Force.
Bill and I stared at each other.
