38
The drive out of Sheffield was relaxing, helped by the calm classical music which gently filled the car, and drowned out the monotonous sound of the engine. The roads were clear now, the great rush home from work having finished a couple of hours ago for most people. He thought about the job in hand. It would certainly not be easy to pick a truck’s number plate out of the darkness on the other side of a motorway, especially when moving at speed in the opposite direction. There must be a more effective way of doing it.
He let the music fill his mind as he planned his approach. This part of the motorway network was familiar to him and he knew there must be a better way. He considered the police car speed checkpoints along the edge of the motorway. He could park up on one of the ramps and wait for the truck to come past. But he discounted that idea quickly; he’d have some explaining to do if the police caught him on one of those checkpoints. They may even be covered by cameras.
Then it came to him. He would find a junction with a roundabout above the motorway and park up there. That would give him a clear view down onto the road and he would be able to check the lorries as they went by. There shouldn’t be too many at this time of night in any case.
He soon came to the end of the M18 and pulled onto the M62 towards Hull. The traffic was even lighter now, and a few junctions later he found what he was looking for. Pulling the car up the slip road and onto the roundabout he stopped over the motorway, facing the traffic coming from Hull and turned off the engine. Having reminded himself of the number plate he was looking for, he sat back and looked down at the road below. A car sped by and he could just make out the plate. Not clearly, but it was certainly visible and he hoped that the plates on the slower moving trucks would be more obvious.
A pair of headlights approached in the distance as his mobile rang. He checked the screen; it was unusual for him to get calls from home when he was working.
‘Hello darling. Everything okay?’
‘Hello daddy. Get off, Molly, I’m talking to daddy… hello daddy, where are you? Molly, get off…’
The distant lights continued their approach and as they came closer he could see it was a large truck.
‘Oh hello Daisy, I thought it was mummy. Have you borrowed mummy’s phone again? Is she there?’
‘Daddy, daddy, daddy.’
The truck thundered under the bridge but not before he’d managed to confirm that it wasn’t the truck he was after.
‘Hello little Molly. Are you being a good girl?’
‘Yes daddy. Bye bye daddy…’ A thud down the line followed by a brief silence told him she had dropped the phone.
More headlights appeared over the horizon.
‘…the phone to me, Molly. Thank you. Now let me talk to daddy. Are you coming home soon daddy? We’re going to bed now.’
‘Yes Daisy, I won’t be long I promise, but you’ll be asleep by the time I get home. I’ll come and give you a kiss when I get there. Night night.’
This time it was a line of three vehicles at least.
‘Night night daddy.’
‘Sorry about that love. They’re missing you and I knew you wouldn’t answer if it was a problem.’ His wife’s voice relaxed him further.
‘That’s okay. Give them both a cuddle for me. I’ll be home by twelve.’
He hung up and breathed deeply. He loved to be there at bedtime and they loved their stories from daddy. It was precious time, time spent in a very different world to the one he worked in on jobs like this.
It’s all a means to an end, he told himself. Just keep the money coming in for a while longer and then leave it all behind you.
The line of vehicles approached the bridge which held the roundabout he was parked on. The first was a large box-van but not the vehicle he was looking for. It was followed by a car which seemed happy to trundle along between the bigger vehicles, and then came a truck. Bingo. The plate matched, time to get to work.
39
‘Get in there! What’s that now? It must be over thirty.’ As scruffy as ever, Mickey punched the air in jubilation, the pitch of his voice reaching new heights with the excitement. ‘I can’t remember the last time I knocked in a break of thirty.’
He wasn’t a great player, but working at the snooker club meant he wasted many an hour on the tables, so he had learned to string a decent score together from time to time.
‘It’s thirty two Mickey. And that last red is on too. You should be able to get a few more here.’ Jez was the better player but he found less time for it these days, only managing to sneak the odd game when Drabble was out.
Mickey aimed his cue carefully and struck the white ball towards the final red ball.
‘Oh shit, too bloody nervous me, I tell you. I need some of them beta blockers like the pros have, you know, to keep me calm.’
‘Don’t be such a wanker Mickey. You just need to relax a bit more.’ Jez looked round as the door to the club opened and Drabble came striding in, heading for the bar.
‘Jez, I need a word. In the office,’ he shouted as he disappeared through the thick wooden door behind the bar.
‘I’ve gotta go Mickey. You keep practising yeah? You’re definitely not as useless as you were.’
Jez hurried down the centre of the snooker hall towards the bar. Drabble looked in no mood to be kept waiting. He knocked once and entered. Drabble was stood with his back to the door, looking at a large framed photograph on the wall. It was a picture of himself smiling next to a couple of ex-professional snooker players, taken in the club some years ago.
‘I have another task for our Timer friend.’
‘He’s out on a job as we speak, that one up near Hull.’
Drabble turned to face Jez. ‘I know he is, and it’s a very important one too. I hope you briefed him properly? I don’t want any fuck-ups with this. You know it’s the first of a new line we’re getting into, right? The Kirklands won’t want any problems, and nor do I.’
‘Yeah I know boss. Don’t worry, it’ll be fine, he’s never let us down before.’ Jez began to feel hot.
‘Oh I’m not worried, Jez, I’m not worried at all. I know I can trust you.’ He didn’t for one moment divert his stare from Jez. Neither did he change his facial expression, which remained blank.
Jez cleared his throat. He had full confidence in the Timer. He’d known him for years and he was always reliable. But still it was hard not to feel just a little apprehensive with Drabble staring at him in that way. Eventually Drabble broke the silence.
‘This new job, we need to use that solicitor again, the new one. She did what she was told last time didn’t she?’
Jez cleared his throat again. He needed a drink. ‘She did, but it took a couple of visits to persuade her. We had to get some help from inside the firm in the end, you know, just to smooth things along a bit.’
‘She’s not going to be a problem I hope? Not this early on. We can always bung her a few quid if necessary.’ Drabble lit a thick, expensive cigar and took a long drag. The sweet smell instantly filled the room.
‘I think that’s a good idea, boss. Shall I get it sorted?’
‘Yeah, ten grand should do it. And do it soon, we need her on side. Get Mr T to go and see her. We need some systems putting in place for this new line we’re getting into. Let’s call it groundwork. You know what to do.’
‘Yeah, okay. I’ll give him a call tomorrow, once he’s finished what he’s doing now.’
Drabble took another drag on his cigar, eyes still fixed on Jez.
‘Well go on then, go and finish your game with that idiot out there. God knows why I keep him on the payroll, the useless toe-rag.’
‘Ah, Mickey’s all right really.’
‘Jez, he’s a moron. I know it and you know it. He’s only here because I made a daft promise to his mother.’
Jez left the room, closing the door firmly behind him. He leaned back against it and breathed a long sigh of relief.
How long do I have t
o put up with this shit?
40
Drops of rain began to appear on the glass in front of the Timer as he gunned the Golf down the slip road in pursuit of the truck. He didn’t want to push it too hard as the last thing he wanted was to draw any unwanted attention to himself. But he did need to catch the truck before he lost it. The motorway was still clear and he could just make out a pair of red lights in the distance. Sure that nothing else had come along the motorway as he came round the roundabout and down the slip road, he figured those lights must belong to the truck he was after. He pushed the car into top gear and ramped it up to around eighty. That truck must have been going sixty five tops; it was only a matter of time before he caught it. And at this time of night, he knew the driver would stop somewhere for a rest. Then he’d make his move.
The distant lights gradually eased their way towards him as the rain became heavier on the windscreen. He nudged the radio up a little to drown out the pattering spots on the glass, the car’s wipers wearily bending this way and that, dutifully clearing his view. He was right behind it now, and despite the spray being tossed up by the truck’s wheels, the plate was clear to see. It was definitely a match.
Right mate, come on, you must be getting tired in this weather. Time to take a break.
He glanced at his watch. 21:25. This was taking longer than he’d hoped. He’d been following the truck for some miles now and they’d already passed one set of motorway services without stopping. The Timer cursed. Although he had no time limit here, he didn’t want to be out all night. His instructions were to pick up the drugs and get them to Drabble’s club. No imminent deadline, no rush, no stress. Jez wasn’t expecting him until ten o’clock the next morning. He checked the petrol gauge which confirmed that he had as long as he needed. But all the same, he’d be glad to get it over with and collect his money. He tried to relax and focus on the music but for some reason his mind kept jumping around. Was it something Jez had said on the phone? He couldn’t recall the exact words but he remembered feeling a little edgy about this job. It had always been Liverpool. Had they changed supplier? Were they dealing with east Europeans now? He decided it didn’t really matter to him, as long as the drugs were easily accessible.
It’s simple - get the job done, collect your money, and go home.
He flicked the wiper-speed up a notch as the rain became heavier. But it was as he reached for the radio’s volume control that the blue flashing lights appeared almost directly behind him.
41
Fuck me I wish they wouldn’t do that.
He puffed out a sigh of relief as the ambulance flashed by him and disappeared down the side of the truck in front, a cloud of spray lashing across his windscreen. It must have come off a slip road; he’d been lost in his thoughts and he warned himself to stay focused. Tiredness could kill, but it could also ruin his work, and he couldn’t let that happen.
The truck started to indicate left. Was it coming off the motorway or pulling into a service station? He’d seen a sign some way back advertising the next set of services, but was under the impression that it was a few miles ahead yet. Could they be there already?
It was soon obvious that this was a slip road leading off the motorway. And it wasn’t a major road either. Where on earth was he heading? Perhaps he knew a cheap place to fill up. The Timer had no option but to follow, but he decided to pull back a little way so as not to raise the suspicions of the driver, not that he was likely to have any. He knew from experience that people didn’t expect to be followed and very rarely noticed if they were. But a little caution was never a bad thing in his book, so he touched the brake and opened a gap between himself and the lorry.
He continued to follow the truck, maintaining a steady distance, until it turned off the small local road onto an even narrower country lane. After about half a mile the winding road straightened and ran into a small hamlet. Brake lights came on and the truck stopped outside a small stone-built house. The driver pulled the lorry right up onto the verge in order to avoid blocking the road entirely and the unmistakeable sound of hydraulic brakes filled the air.
What the fuck is he doing?
The Timer slowed to a halt some way down the road and turned off his headlights. After a minute or two the driver’s door opened and a short overweight man who looked to be in his mid-fifties climbed down from the cab. He looked around as he stretched his back, pulled out his phone and keyed what must have been a brief text. The Timer watched as the man made his way down the short path towards the house. Before he reached it the front door opened and a woman appeared in a dressing gown. She looked younger than him, although her thick dark hair meant he couldn’t see for sure. He took her in his arms and they kissed, seemingly confident that no one was watching.
You naughty boy, thought the Timer, and he felt contempt for the man. He didn’t know what was going on here of course, but he imagined the man having a family just like his own, sat waiting for him to come home safely. He would never do such a thing. Family was everything, and trust was the foundation on which all strong families were based.
Eventually the couple seemed to become more aware of the cold, or at least of the fact that they were stood outside on a February night, and they pulled away from each other. The woman kept hold of his hand, led him back into the house and shut the door. After a minute or two a light came on upstairs, and the woman appeared at the window, drawing the curtains across.
The Timer checked his watch. 21:45. An opportunity had presented itself.
42
He knew he had to make sure no one was around before getting out of the car. The quiet country lane was deserted, and as far as the Timer could see there was little reason for anyone to be down here at this time of night. A solitary light shone in the distance but the Timer couldn’t ascertain whether it was coming from another property or whether it was a street light. Behind him the road snaked into the darkness back towards the motorway, lined on both sides with trees and hedges. The scene was now dominated by the huge truck parked on the grass verge in front of the house.
The Timer moved quickly along the edge of the road, keeping low and watching the house for any signs of life. The upstairs light was still visible from behind the curtains, and he suspected that he had plenty of time to find the drugs.
Approaching the truck he could see the trailer was covered with tarpaulin, as he expected. Whoever loaded the drugs onto the truck knew that someone else had to get them off during the truck’s journey. A fully secured metal trailer would make that job much more difficult. An increase in the number of thefts from lorries had resulted in many haulage companies ditching the use of tarpaulin, but there were still plenty to be found.
He moved down the side of the trailer which was facing the road, safely out of sight of anyone who might check from the house window. Pulling a knife, he sliced a hole several feet wide and climbed in. He reached for his torch and flicked it on, shadows immediately looming up around the inside of the tarpaulin. He knew the light was a risk, but he would never find the drugs at this time of night without it.
The truck was very well stocked. Metal shelving ran up and down the length of the trailer and small packages were stacked very efficiently all along them. Access gaps every few yards meant that he would be able to search every part of the trailer without much fuss. He started his hunt for the drugs, flashing his torch-light around as he went. It concerned him that the light might be visible from outside on such a dark night, but he had little choice.
The sheer size of the truck meant that it took a few minutes to search. More often than not the drugs were left in a bag which made them easy to carry. The cargo in this trailer seemed to be parcels, maybe some kind of courier truck. He had hoped the drugs would be obvious to him when he found them, but having been around the whole truck once he found nothing. There had been a few larger packages on the floor, however, so he decided to go back and check them individually.
The first one he opened contained a doz
en or so heavy continental quilts. The next one was far too light so he didn’t bother with it. When the third package revealed four large beanbags, he began to think he must have the wrong truck. But the plate was definitely right. Jez said the package was larger than normal, but nothing was standing out to him.
As he approached the next package stretched out on the floor he noticed that it was wrapped in a different way to the others. It looked like a dark coloured sheet had been taped around it. Approximately three feet long and a foot or so wide, it was tucked in a corner, with its far end out of sight behind some shelving. He could just about reach the nearest part of the package and managed to get a good grip with both hands. Getting a feel for the weight of it, he pulled it free with one quick motion and it slid across the floor towards him. It was heavy, but then a package of this size packed tightly with drugs would be heavy.
This is a bit weird, what have they done here?
He noticed that the sheet was not taped at the top end, so he crouched down and shuffled up to it to look inside. He moved the sheet down to search for the drugs, and then reeled backwards with shock.
Staring out at him from within the package were two of the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen.
43
Chloe set her alarm for the morning and slipped between the clean white sheets of her bed. It wasn’t even ten o’clock yet but the wine she’d enjoyed with her father was now seeking its revenge, and the yawns were coming thick and fast. She also had a good book on the go and always found that reading helped her to relax and take her mind off things. Her mobile shook as it received a call. She looked at the screen. It was Ben. What the hell did he want at this time?
‘Hello Ben. It’s a bit late to be calling now isn’t it? What do you want?’ She didn’t ty to hide her irritation. The last time she spoke to him he acted like an idiot, and she was too old to be messed around like a schoolgirl. As far as she was concerned they’d got on really well that evening at the theatre. There hadn’t been any romantic connotations on the night, but the conversation had been warm and friendly with a hint of flirting on both sides, and she’d definitely felt some kind of connection between them. Maybe she’d read too much into it, but even so, there was no need to be openly hostile with her.
For the Sake of the Children: The first Chloe Webster thriller (Chloe Webster Thrillers Book 1) Page 9
