Hot Seat

by Simon Wood

  ‘They’re used to winning.’

  ‘I hope I will.’

  Steve smiled again. ‘On a different topic, the insurance company got in contact over the van. They’re sending their claims adjuster to inspect it.’

  I’d told Steve about the reckless-driving charges as soon as he’d returned to Archway that day.

  ‘I’m really sorry about this,’ I said.

  ‘It’s OK. The van’s spotless. I know you didn’t do anything and it’ll get resolved.’

  ‘Will it?’

  ‘Hey, don’t be like that. It’s been a rough few days, but everything will turn out OK. Trust me.’

  I wished I shared Steve’s confidence.

  ‘Just don’t keep everything bottled up. I’m always here for you.’

  ‘I know you are,’ I said and felt bad for holding back my bargain with Gates.

  Steve pulled off the motorway in Hertfordshire. I didn’t have a clue where we were going. He couldn’t be taking me to visit a team. None of the big names had their headquarters in Herts. As we left the towns for villages, I decided he had to be taking me to see a driver or team boss. I tried to remember who lived out this way and failed to come up with a name.

  I was wrong on both counts. Steve stopped the Capri in front of a small church. At the sight of the hearse and mourners, I knew exactly who Steve had brought me to meet.

  ‘Oh, God.’

  ‘So you’ve worked out where you are?’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me we were coming to Jason’s funeral? I’m not dressed for something like this.’

  ‘Don’t you worry about the funeral just this second. We’ve got some things to discuss first.’

  My stomach fluttered. I didn’t like being scammed, especially by Steve. ‘Like what, Steve? What’s going on? Why have you brought me here?’

  ‘I just want you to take this in. Look at these people. Look at their faces. Tell me what you see.’

  Happy to do anything to avoid making eye contact with my grandfather, I looked over at the crowded churchyard. Dozens of people had come to pay their last respects to Jason. Gates was greeting people as they filed into the church. I recognized his wife and kids from the portraits back at his house. Gates had his arm around an elderly woman who I assumed was his mum. She was one person who knew what he was capable of. Naturally, Crichlow stood faithfully at his master’s side, albeit at a respectful distance.

  While most faces were strangers to me, I did recognize others. I watched Carrie Russell put her arms around Jason’s mum before entering the church. I saw Russell Townsend, Nick Ronson and what looked to be everyone else from Townsend Motorsport. Barry Nevin followed them in as the lone contingent from Ragged Racing. I didn’t see Rags or anyone else from the team. I thought it odd that for someone supposedly well loved by the team, Rags hadn’t had the team attend. I guessed it could be viewed in poor taste considering where Jason had been murdered. So, was Nevin here without permission? I found that interesting. But my interest evaporated when Detective Inspector Joan Huston climbed from her car. She was the last person I wanted seeing me here.

  ‘And look over there.’ Steve pointed at Gates. ‘There’s Mr Lavery, who only yesterday wrote me a big cheque to maintain his cars. Why would he be at Jason Gates’ funeral? Unless that name he gave me was bollocks. From the way he seems to be greeting everyone, I’d say he’s family. Close family. Possibly a brother. Something’s happened and I know you’re involved so why don’t you tell me about it?’

  I felt my face redden. ‘Nothing’s going on. It’s just the new drive. It’s got me—’

  Steve held up his hand. ‘Don’t lie to me, son. I’d rather you said nothing than listen to you lie to my face.’

  I hated seeing his disappointment in me. He’d been there so many times for me. I wanted to tell him, but not with the risk of Andrew Gates following through on his threat.

  ‘I saw the bruises,’ he said after a long moment.

  My throat tightened.

  ‘The night you came home after the murder, you fell asleep on the sofa. I got a blanket. When I came back, your T-shirt had ridden up and I could see the bruises covering your stomach. I’m not stupid. I saw the condition you came home in that night. You weren’t even in your own clothes and those were covered in dirt. I should have demanded answers from you, but you were still in shock. I was willing to wait, knowing you’d tell me when the time was right. Then three nights ago, you come home with red, raw eyes like something had burned them. Instead of getting better, the situation is getting worse. Something happened that night with Jason, didn’t it? And that man is involved somehow. I don’t care what because I’ll help any way I can.’

  Steve had put all the pieces together and had built something completely different. He thought I was involved with Jason’s death. God, he had to be torn up inside. ‘It’s not what you think.’

  ‘Then tell me.’ His voice cracked. ‘I’ve lost everyone I’ve ever loved in this world. You’re all I’ve got left and I’ll be damned if I’m going to lose you.’

  I couldn’t hold his gaze. It was too much. ‘Please trust me when I say it’s best I don’t tell you.’

  Steve slapped me across the face. ‘No, it isn’t.’

  Steve had put no power behind the slap. He didn’t have to. The slap itself was enough. He’d never raised a hand to me in the whole time he’d raised me. I’d pushed him too far.

  ‘You tell me what’s going on and you tell me now, or so help me God, I’ll drag you up to that family and you can tell them what you’re hiding. Have I made myself clear?’

  More than clear. I couldn’t keep this up any longer.

  ‘I told you the truth about Jason. I didn’t know him. But his brother had me hijacked right after the police released me. That’s the man you know as Mr Lavery. He’s an ex-loan shark. You know that flat I picked up? That was his neat way of snatching me. He wants me to find Jason’s killer. If I don’t, he’s threatened to take it out on you.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me? Don’t you think I had a right to know this?’

  ‘Yes, but I didn’t want to drag you into this mess.’

  ‘Is that why you’ve been pushing Dylan and me away?’

  ‘It’s my problem to solve.’

  ‘No, it’s not. It’s your problem, but it’s down to your family to solve it. It’s how these people prey on others. They make them feel like they don’t have anyone to go to for help.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  Steve ran a hand through his greying hair. It used to be strawberry blond. Over the last few days, I had no doubt helped make room for more grey.

  ‘I’m guessing the cops don’t know about this arrangement.’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Jesus, Aidy. Why’s he think you can help?’

  ‘Because he thinks Ragged Racing is responsible for Jason’s death.’

  ‘Any truth to it?’

  ‘Maybe, I don’t know. Jason was up to something or someone thinks he was. His place was turned over.’

  ‘You’d better start from the beginning.’

  I laid it out for Steve, this time leaving nothing out. My revelations seemed to shift a weight from his shoulders.

  ‘See that woman over there?’ He pointed at the elderly woman Gates had his arm around. ‘That’s Jason’s mum. She’s burying her son today. I know the hell she’s going through right now and so do you. She deserves justice. She deserves to know who killed her son.’

  ‘I know. I was just trying to protect you.’

  ‘Forget me. I know how to look after myself. I’ve been doing it all my life so I don’t need you making decisions for me. Got that?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Good. If you know something or think you can find something out that can help ease her pain, you do it. Not because someone is threatening you. You do it because it’s the right thing to do. Have I made myself clear?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good. And what happens when y
ou serve the killer up to Jason’s brother?’

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘That makes you a killer too.’

  This made me sick every time I thought about it. ‘I know. If I find out who killed Jason, I’ll tell him, but I’m telling the police first.’

  Steve forced out a smile. ‘Just see that you do. Now let’s find this killer.’

  Lap Fourteen

  The ESCC championship kicked off the season at Spa-Francorchamps in Belgium. I set off for Spa on Thursday, a day ahead of the team. I drove alone, happy for the distance from my problems. I didn’t want anything to do with murders and reckless-driving charges. I just wanted to race.

  I reached Francorchamps just as night was falling on Thursday. I stopped the car at the roadside, giving me a panoramic view of Spa carved into the Ardennes. Twilight struck the circuit in all the right places, lighting up the black ribbon of tarmac. It was an amazing place to kick off my European racing career. The historic track is as frightening as it is exciting. It’s a real driver’s circuit, featuring the stomach-churning climb in Eau Rouge and the seemingly endless Kemmel Straight. Jim Clark was a master of this circuit, having won the Belgian Grand Prix four times in a row from 1962 to 1965. That was in the bad old days when the circuit was over eight and a half miles long and the weather could be different from one side of the track to the other. Even though safety standards had reduced it to half that length, it was still fearsome. It looked like paradise and I couldn’t quite believe I was going to race here. I was frightened and ecstatic at the prospect of following in the wheel tracks of Jim Clark and my dad.

  ‘I thought I was the only early bird,’ Haulk said.

  Lost in the moment, I hadn’t heard him pull up behind me. ‘I wanted to play tourist before the race.’

  ‘Good. Our careers are short,’ Haulk said. ‘Enjoy these times, especially when someone is paying your way. Looking forward to the race?’

  I took a big breath before answering yes.

  Haulk cocked his head. ‘Nervous?’

  ‘A bit.’

  ‘You’ve got nothing to be nervous about. You drove well at Snetterton.’

  ‘Testing and racing are two different things, especially here.’

  ‘Give yourself a break and don’t overthink this. If you pile the pressure on yourself, you’ll screw up. Forget the expectation, the results, lap times and qualifying positions. Just focus on your driving and the results will come. You can’t let the other stuff get on top of you because it’ll drag you down.’

  ‘That’s easy for you to say. You’re at the top of your game.’

  Haulk smiled. ‘Do you think someone cracked an egg and out I rolled out a championship contender? No, I worked hard to understand the sport and conquer my doubts.’ He snorted a laugh. ‘You should have seen my Formula Ford career. I couldn’t finish a sentence, let alone a race. I did so poorly that I switched from single seaters to saloon cars. I started over, focused on my driving and my results improved. In one season, I went from the back of the pack to winning races.’

  I’d admired Haulk for what he’d achieved in the sport, but I now admired him for the way he went about his trade. At thirty-one, he was only ten years older than me, but he was a generation ahead of me in terms of experience. I thought the learning curve had been steep last season. It didn’t look like it was going to flatten out any time soon, if ever.

  ‘Let me ask you this,’ Haulk said, ‘what are you afraid of?’

  ‘Making a tit of myself.’

  Haulk smiled and nodded. ‘I can’t fault that, but if you focus on the negative, you’ll never achieve the positive.’

  ‘Thanks, Yoda.’

  Haulk frowned. ‘I’m trying to help you here.’

  ‘I know. I know. I’m sorry. You just make it sound so simple.’

  ‘That’s because the solution is always simple. How you achieve it is the difficult part.’

  My dad never had this problem. He was a natural. He could get into any car and make it fly and not have a clue why. How I wished I had a little more of that DNA in me right now.

  ‘How much cash do you have on you?’ Haulk asked.

  ‘About a hundred euros.’

  He grinned. ‘That should be enough.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘You’ll see.’ He held out a hand. ‘Keys?’

  Haulk drove me the short distance to the competitors’ entrance at the circuit. The security guard approached us and Haulk powered down the window. He put on a white-toothed grin when the guard recognized him. He pumped the guard’s hand two-handed while the guy showered him in praise.

  Haulk belted out something to the guard in rapid-fire French that left my schoolboy French in the dust. He waved an arm in the direction of the track then at me. I waved. The guard and Haulk laughed, no doubt at my expense. Haulk continued to bombard the guard with perfect French. He stopped after a minute or two and then made a ‘what do you say?’ gesture with his hands. The guard teetered on the brink of a decision which I guessed wasn’t leaning towards the positive, judging from his expression. Haulk put his hands together in prayer and bombarded the guard again. The guard smiled, shook his head, then nodded. Haulk took the man’s hand two-handed again and pumped it hard. I noticed he had pressed the hundred euros I’d given him, along with a hundred of his own, into the handshake.

  ‘Say thanks to René, Aidy.’

  ‘Merci, René.’

  René waved my thanks off and opened up the gates. Haulk put the Honda in gear and drove through, waving to René as we passed by.

  ‘That was smooth.’

  ‘Be good to everyone in the sport, not just the fans and organizers, because everyone holds the keys to something you want.’

  Haulk guided my car through the paddock and stopped in the pits. ‘OK, we don’t have long. René says he can cover for us for about forty minutes.’

  ‘I’m going on the track now? In this car?’

  ‘A night drive isn’t the best way to teach you, but it’s better than being blindfolded.’

  I swapped seats with Haulk and drove on to the track. I shouldn’t be doing this, but I couldn’t turn down the opportunity of a driving lesson. I accelerated hard on to the track and the climbing turn of Eau Rouge loomed ahead like a wall. This was going to be fun.

  Haulk gave me minimum input on my first lap, letting me find my lines. Spa’s biggest obstacle is its topography. There’s not a flat section to it. You’re either climbing or falling. The uphill portions give you grip, while the downhill ones steal it away. I had the better of the circuit climbing to the highest point, but I struggled on the long, seemingly endless downhill part. I either slithered or crashed through Revage, Pouhon and Fagnes where the corners are not only falling away, but have no camber to counterbalance with the lack of grip. Haulk stopped me after my first lap.

  ‘Stop. Stop. Stop!’ Haulk barked. ‘You’re fighting the car and you’re braking too late. This isn’t a Formula Ford. This car is heavy. You have to kill some of its momentum. The engine is in the front. The balance is all different. Understand the car. Then drive it.’

  He talked me through a lap, telling me when to brake and when to hit the power. He taught me his lines around the track, including the little tricks that you only picked up from years of experience driving here. His inside knowledge was worth its weight in gold. I owed him big for this.

  After five laps, I had a feel for the circuit. I swept through the bends, using the uphill sections to cut my braking distances and the downhills to carry the car along. Instead of fighting the continually changing topography, I took advantage of it. I was in control of this car now.

  After eight laps, my brakes faded on me. When I pressed down on the pedal, it felt like a sponge under my foot. This wasn’t my racecar. It didn’t have high-temperature brake fluid and it was probably boiling at the callipers. But I didn’t care. I worked around it for the next couple of laps, until Haulk made me call it quits.

&nbs
p; ‘I think you have the measure of this place,’ he said. ‘Now let’s get out of here.’

  I thanked René on the way out, then drove back to the lookout spot where Haulk had left his car. We met back up at the hotel and I bought Haulk a drink in the bar.

  ‘You drove really well out there tonight,’ he said. ‘I don’t understand the nerves.’

  ‘I’m out of my comfort zone.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘This is the first time I’m racing without my grandfather and my best friend as my crew.’

  The answer had come without thought and hearing it stopped me. I hadn’t realized this was a problem until I said it. Steve and Dylan’s presence always put me at ease and gave me confidence, but instead of looking to them for support, I’d almost gone out of my way to sideline them.

  Haulk echoed my thoughts. ‘Then involve them.’

  ‘I was trying to grow up.’

  ‘Forget that. What’s grown up about motor racing? If you need to have a lucky rabbit’s foot in the car with you, do it. Half of racing is psychological. You have to have a good mental grounding if you’re going to do well. If you need your grandfather and best friend around, get them.’

  ‘I swear, you are Yoda.’

  Haulk smiled and kicked back his beer. ‘Maybe I am. Using my Jedi powers I detect another problem.’

  I shifted awkwardly on my stool. ‘Like what?’

  ‘Like Rags taking care of that spy the other day. It spooked you, didn’t it? I saw it on your face.’

  ‘It’s not every day you see someone hanging off an engine hoist.’ I turned my beer glass around in circles on the bar. ‘How much of that was show? It seemed like overkill.’

  ‘One thing you’ll learn about Rags is that he doesn’t do anything for show.’

  The mix of adrenaline still coursing through me and the Belgian beer’s high alcohol content hit me harder than normal, leaving me a little light-headed.

  ‘There’s a lot of money on the line here and he’s worked damn hard to turn Ragged Racing into one of the premier saloon-car teams in Europe. He’s not going to let anyone take that away from him. Talk to your grandfather. He knows the score and what some people will do to learn your secrets. You fight to protect what’s yours. Plain and simple.’