Chapter 6
Craig was dreaming about being attacked by a mob of marauding minivans powered by jet engines when he realised that the beeping sound was not a dump truck reversing over his attackers, but his phone ringing.
"Craig here," he said, looking at the clock. Three o'clock.
"Mr Comino? It's Doug from Nationwide Security. Unfortunately, I need to let you know that the alarm at Advanced Smash Repairs was triggered four minutes ago."
Craig was suddenly wide awake. "What sensors have been triggered?"
"The front gate, and motion sensors in the workshop."
"Have you reported it to the police?"
"No, sir, we normally wait . . ."
"Ring the cops straight away, please."
"Certainly, sir."
Craig didn't wait to hear if Doug wanted to ask him to rate the effectiveness of the call. He was out the door in a tracksuit, armed with keys, wallet and phone, in no time flat.
As he jogged along the quiet street towards the workshop, he was trying to decide whether to go to the main front entrance at the bottom of the ramp, or to sneak in via the fire-stairs. The sound of sirens on the main road convinced him to stick with the front entrance.
He was out of breath when he arrived. There were two patrol cars with flashing lights throwing an eerie light onto the building.
"I'm the owner of the business," said Craig to the first uniform he approached. He assumed it was a policeman and not a high school kid out on a bender in fancy dress.
"OK, sir, just wait a minute. We've got two officers upstairs checking the premises are not harbouring an intruder."
Sounds serious enough, even if he looks seventeen, thought Craig.
They stood there in the cool night air for a minute or so. The young constable took a call on his walkie-talkie.
"Sir, I can accompany you inside now. Please, do not touch anything, and take careful note of anything that is missing."
The roller gate had been forced from below, but seemed like it had been pushed from the inside rather than the outside. They limboed under it, and walked up the ramp.
About half way up, the constable lost concentration, and took a few steps into a major grease spot. His heavy boots swung out from under him in a swoosh. Gravity did its job and he hit the concrete with a dull thud after an impressive half twist, and then slipped a couple of metres on his backside before coming to an inglorious stop.
"Sorry, sir," he said, getting up and sporting a nasty looking skid mark on the back of his pants.
"Must get this steam cleaned," Craig said. It was pretty funny, but Craig was focussed on what disaster he was about to discover as he rounded the bend and walked into the workshop.
No BMW.
He walked around the workshop slowly, conscious he was under the watchful eye of the two more experienced officers who had gone in first. They'd seen too many inside jobs and insurance frauds to make any assumptions about Craig's integrity.
"Sir, can you tell me if you notice anything disturbed or missing?"
"Disturbed, only me. Missing, a black BMW sedan that was parked right here when we locked up last night." Craig stood in the vacant spot left by the absent car.
"Are you sure, sir?"
Craig looked around the workshop again. "All the other cars are still here. I'll double check my job register, if you like." Craig walked over to his office and stopped to let his eyes wander over the whole room. It looked untouched. The key locker in the storeroom was locked, but he had a sudden thought that he wasn't 100 percent sure if the BMW keys were in the locker or in the pocket of the pants he'd worn yesterday. He kept that to himself.
"Key locker looks untouched, officer, so does my office."
"What can you tell me about the car that is missing?"
"Black BMW sedan. Owned by Dr Milo Bedrosian. He had an accident two days ago, and the insurance assessor decided to write it off this morning. Yesterday morning, I mean. It's due to be towed to a wrecking yard later this morning."
"Thank you, sir. Please don't touch anything, we'd like to check for finger prints. You could probably go back home and get some sleep."
Craig slumped at the thought of the mess that was about to be made, but suddenly had an idea. He walked casually over to the back of the workshop, and dialled the last number that called him.
"Hello, Doug speaking."
"Hi, Doug, it's Craig from Advanced Smash Repairs. You rang me about half an hour ago."
"Oh, yes. How can I help you, Mr Comino?"
"Can you tell which of the sensors tripped first?"
"We'd normally only share that information with the police, sir."
"They're busy with other stuff at the moment. I'm sure they'll ask if they think it's important."
"I guess. Just let me check." There was the sound of tapping at the keyboard. "The movement sensor in the upstairs area was tripped first, the front gate just afterwards."
"Thanks."
Spillage Page 6
