Chapter 5
Craig decided to get in early to make sure he settled in before Detective Rod Halphen showed up and disrupted his day with whatever wild goose chase he was on. He beat Pavel and Clint by ten minutes, remembered to disarm the alarm system and they were sipping coffee and organising the job sheets for the day when they were interrupted.
"Morning gents," said Halphen, walking into the workshop as if they were long time friends. They had met him once before, when they were repairing a car that turned out to be "re-birthed" after an insurance fraud. Halphen had got a lot of kudos for solving the case, and he was fulsome in his praise for the "fine citizens at Advanced Smash Repairs", but that didn't pay for all the work that Pavel had done on the car before they blew the whistle on the owners and Halphen had the car impounded.
"Rod, how are you?" Craig returned the friendly familiarity with interest and a hearty handshake.
"Oh, fine, thanks. How are you going with the BMW?"
"Assessor is coming to look at it today, so we'll know then."
"Can I have a look at it?"
Craig and Rod both knew he had no right to do that, but he wasn't going to find anything that hadn't shown itself in the rigorous examination he and Pavel had given it last night. Craig had put the keys into the lockable key cupboard with the rest of the keys, so when he got them out Rod had no reason to think Craig thought anything special about the BMW. But after Craig popped it unlocked with the remote, he put the keys in his pocket.
"Go ahead."
"Thanks, mate."
Halphen opened all the doors of the car and had a look around, trying not to give the impression he was looking for something. But he didn't take long to work out that there wasn't anything to be found easily. He closed all the doors carefully, the way people do with cars they could never afford to buy for themselves.
"Craig, thanks mate, Can I have a word?"
Halphen drew Craig across to the top of the ramp.
"Can you let me know when anything happens with this car?"
"Sure, I guess so. I'd ask you if you can tell me why, but I'm guessing you won't."
Rod smiled, gave Craig a sturdy pat on the arm, handed him a card and headed off down the ramp.
The job sheets were sorted out when Boris arrived in the Lada, and slid it carefully and gracefully into his parking spot.
"Have you ever ridden in that thing?" whispered Craig
"Once or twice. I know he thinks it's pretty hot, he won't let me near it."
"Did he show you what it can do?"
"I know he fancies himself as a racing driver, but the stupid pile of Russian bolts couldn't pull the skin of one of Mamma's custards!"
Craig shook his head. "Turbo and tricked up suspension. Goes like stink."
"That sly dog. I told you he was a getaway driver."
The mild mannered and remarkably neat Boris Batmanov walked over to his desk, holding a rolled-up magazine. He greeted them with a casual wave and the glimmer of a grin, placed his keys on his desk, sat down and began to read.
"When's the assessor coming to look at the BMW?"
Pavel threw his hands in the air. "I can't organise all your dates for you! Check the answering machine."
"I took the call late yesterday. Note on your desk - I think it was ten o'clock," said Clint.
Craig checked the note, and thought, not for the first time, that he hoped Clint stayed around for a long time.
"Come on, Boris, let's see if there's any life left in this thing."
If Boris felt any misgivings about driving the damaged car, he kept them to himself. He had never once questioned why he was employed as the chauffeur for the owner of a smash repair business who didn't drive. Craig was quiet and obliging, he knew cars and could see things that others didn't.
Craig threw Boris the keys.
Boris eased the BMW to a stop at the end of the first run along their regular test circuit. The circuit took in some regular back streets, a quick run between two freeway off ramps and ended at a picnic ground in a nearby national park. The road into the park had a short but steep hill climb, some speed humps and a carpark that was normally quite empty during business hours.
They sat in silence listening to the engine idle. They frowned at each other.
"This is a very sad car. The owner is very unhappy," said Craig.
"Very sloppy for BMW. Has done many more kilometres than on the clock. Two, three times?" said Boris.
"Everything feels worn out - it's exhausted." Craig paused. "Let's go back."
"Pavel, can you see if you can hack into the computer again and see how many kilometres this car has really done before that assessor gets here?"
Pavel was trying to finish the Alfa and the Toyota, both of which were being picked up that afternoon, but he left Clint to get on with them alone. He had his computer and probes ready to conduct the automotive equivalent of a prostate examination when the assessor arrived. Pavel quietly moved the equipment away from the BMW and returned to work on the Alfa.
Bob Perrin was an old hand, and had a lot of time for Craig and his team. They shook hands warmly.
"How did you come to have this sad case sitting at the top of your ramp?"
"We fixed up his secretary's car, so she told him to bring it here."
"She'll want a favour," Bob said as he walked around the car. He didn't hear the snigger from Pavel and Clint, who were hiding between the parked cars trying not to giggle.
"I'll buy her some chocolates if we get the job."
Bob was tapping on a small tablet computer. "Noticed anything I might miss?"
"Look underneath."
Bob took out a little mirror on a telescopic handle that he kept for this very job. He was frowning as soon as he saw the underneath of the car.
"Not sure what went on yesterday, but the transmission is rooted," added Craig.
"If that blows up next week and he claims it was affected by the accident, we'd have been better off writing it off. Probably borderline with all that undercarriage damage. Think we'll send this one to scrap heap heaven."
He tapped his screen a few more times, then closed it's cover over.
"Is that a new toy?"
Bob grinned. "Best thing ever. No paper work - system has already sent an email to the owner making him an offer for settlement of the claim."
Craig lowered his voice. "That copper Halphen has been around looking at this car. Had us staked out yesterday. Any idea why?"
"Nup. Did you find anything?" Bob knew that Craig was both curious and thorough.
"Nothing." Craig shrugged. "We'll leave that to the wrecker, eh?"
"Guess so. Anyway, you okay for this to sulk here until tomorrow - we'll organise a tow."
"Tomorrow's fine, but prefer not to have it here over the weekend."
"Does Bedrosian need to pick up anything before the car goes?"
"No. Not a thing. It was empty."
Bob frowned. "Might double check his claim history." He unfolded his computer to make a note, and tapped it a few times. "Email back from him already accepting the offer."
"That's efficient. Or over-keen."
Bob just shrugged. "Who knows."
"I told Halphen I'd let him know - fine with you?"
"Sure." Bob waved and made his way down the ramp. "I'll let you know when the tow truck will be coming."
"Thanks, Bob."
Craig walked back towards his office.
"No chocolates for Melinda, then?" shouted Pavel.
Craig wasn't upset by the ribbing, but would rather the whole Melinda issue would just go away. "Nup, and no money for us for the work we've done. It'll be towed away tomorrow."
"Any curiosity left for the contents of the computer?"
Craig thought about it. "No, let's just wave it goodbye. When can Boris take these cars for a final test?"
"Alfa can go now, Toyota after lunch."
Boris got up from his desk straight away, and Craig retreated to his o
ffice to call the clients and hopefully get some money coming in. He settled down to spend the rest of the day doing paperwork, and at some stage after lunch he rang Rod Halphen to let him know about the car. The phone interrupted him frequently, and it was a relief when the clients had picked up their cars, and the crew had packed up.
They left together, and Craig was not sure what to feel as he took a glance at the mysterious black BMW, sitting despondently in the middle of the workshop, like an old thoroughbred about to be taken off to the knackery.
"Sleep well," he said to himself as he turned the last lights out.
Spillage Page 5
