The duty officer looked at his watch. ‘If he’s not on a call, he’ll be having lunch about now. Do you know Langley Hill?’
‘Yeah.’
‘You’ll find him at the Green Man. They do a good pub lunch there.’
‘Thanks,’ I said and walked to the Capri.
I floored it to Langley Hill. I was under no illusion that the duty officer wouldn’t be straight on the phone to Brennan. Brennan would either be conveniently gone or he’d be waiting there to read me the riot act. I hoped for the latter. He could bark at me all he liked, as long as he listened to my side of the story.
I slowed when I reached Langley Hill. It had a quaint thoroughfare and all the buildings were at least a couple of hundred years old. It looked to have been a highway rest stop for anyone on their way back from London. Despite its tourist trap possibilities, it remained a well-kept secret. I’d never seen a tourist within twenty miles of this place, just the locals. I don’t know if the locals wanted it that way, but it worked. I spotted the pub on the left and parked across the street.
I jogged across the street, which was free of traffic, and climbed the steps going into the pub. I stopped in the doorway. I realized I hadn’t asked the duty officer for the detective’s description. I searched the sea of faces for him, but no one’s manner screamed cop. My search came to an abrupt end. Derek Deacon sat next to a middle-aged guy in a suit playing with an unlit cigarette in his hand. Derek and his friend were laughing and Derek slapped his companion on the back.
I couldn’t walk in there. Derek couldn’t see me talking to Brennan. I needed Brennan to come outside. I pulled out my mobile and redialled the detective’s number while keeping my gaze on Derek. A sense of dread came over me seconds before Brennan answered the phone. The man sitting next to Derek, sharing a joke and a pint, reached inside his suit coat pocket and brought out his mobile. He eyed the caller ID for a moment before answering. As he spoke, Brennan’s voice came over the line in my ear.
‘Is that you again, Mr Westlake?’
Lap Nine
‘So the cops are in bed with Derek?’ Steve said.
‘It sure looks that way. Who interviews a suspect in a pub?’
‘Good point.’
Steve and I were sitting in the quiet and relative safety of the office at Archway. What I’d stumbled on to made so much sense. It explained why Brennan hadn’t interviewed any of us who’d been in The Chequered Flag the night Derek tossed his death threat around, the short reach of the investigation, and why a lid had been placed on the TV coverage.
But none of it explained why Brennan was protecting Derek. Were they friends? That was a pretty big favour to ask a friend, especially a cop friend. Was there something more? Did Derek have his hooks into Brennan? Anything was possible.
‘Now Derek knows you’re gunning for him.’
‘I don’t need reminding,’ I said. I’d driven back to Windsor with one eye permanently on the rear-view mirror fully expecting to see Derek there. If he was willing to kill to win a championship, he was going to tear me apart for informing on him.
‘I might have put Derek on the defensive, but he won’t stay that way. If he thinks I’m on to him, then he’s going to come after me and chances are I won’t see it coming.’
Steve nodded slowly. ‘I know. You’re going to have to watch your step.’
‘Oh, God. How can this be happening?’
‘It shouldn’t be, but it is. You’ve got two choices open to you now: walk away or take him down.’
‘Some choice.’
‘Be thankful you still have choices.’
‘Am I even in a position to walk away?’
‘I think so. Word can get back to Derek that you’re backing off.’
Walk away. The idea of it sounded appealing, but Alex’s death had been eating away at me for over a week. The thought of Derek getting away with murder burned a hole right through me. Alex deserved justice and he wasn’t getting it. If I didn’t finish what I’d started, the injustice would keep eating away at me.
‘I can’t walk away,’ I said.
A thin smile spread across Steve’s face. It lasted a moment before it fell away. ‘We have to decide what we’re going to do to protect you.’
I liked that Steve saw my problems as a joint issue.
‘So what do we do now? Talk to police here? The Windsor cops aren’t connected to the Wiltshire force. Derek and Brennan won’t have any influence over them. The police will want to get involved with a corruption scandal within their ranks, won’t they?’
‘They might,’ Steve said not sounding convinced. ‘Let’s say we go to the locals. What do we have to give them?’
All I had was hearsay, photos of skid marks and a belief. I already knew what would happen if we contacted the Windsor police. They would go straight to Brennan. He’d tell them how I’d accused Derek of killing Alex with nothing to back it up and what a monumental pain in the arse I’d been. If I told them about Brennan’s meeting with Derek, Brennan could easily dismiss it and I had no way of proving it. Even if Brennan did admit to meeting Derek, it still didn’t mean anything. Derek wasn’t a suspect. My claims were worthless. Telling the police would only make matters worse.
‘Nothing. So what do you suggest?’
‘Stay off Derek’s radar. Concentrate on working the information you have and don’t go off half-cocked. Tie up the loose ends and when you have something solid enough then go to the cops. They won’t be able to ignore you when you have something no one can refute, even this Brennan guy. In the meantime, give Derek a wide berth.’
‘I was going to pick up Alex’s car on Saturday. Should I wait?’
‘No, go. If we’re going to prove anything, we need that car. Just don’t go alone.’
Steve was good. He made it all sound simple. ‘OK.’
Music from the Jumping Bean Mexican cantina next door bled through the brick wall. The management only turned the music up when they had a crowd. Considering it was only a Tuesday night, it looked as if people were having as rough a week as I was and were starting the weekend early.
Steve looked at the wall where the music threatened to crack the mortar holding the bricks in place. ‘Want to go next door to get some dinner? There’ll be some ladies there.’
‘What will Maggie say?’
‘Nothing if she doesn’t find out.’
I smiled. ‘You’re a terrible man. Let’s go.’
We went next door. It felt good to be surrounded by people who knew nothing about the racing world. We got a table and ordered food and drinks.
A group of a dozen hotties on a girls’ night out had a long table running down the centre of the restaurant to themselves. Every one of them was dressed to kill. Steve tried to distract me from the subject of Derek by pointing out their various attributes, but I wasn’t having any of it.
‘Do you know Derek?’ I asked.
‘By reputation. Why?’
‘He said he knew Dad and they’d raced against each other.’
Steve pondered, flicking through more than thirty seasons of pit lane memories. He nodded slowly when he struck upon something. A wry smile creased his lips. ‘Your dad did what Alex almost accomplished.’
‘He beat Derek for the championship?’
‘Not quite. The year your dad won the Formula Ford Junior series, the last race of the season was at Stowe. He double-entered, racing in the junior race and the Champion of Stowe Park race. It was a one-circuit series back then. Your dad won both races. Derek crashed in the Stowe race in a frustrated move to overtake your dad. The crash cost him the championship.’
Great. Another reason for Derek to hold a grudge.
For the next few days, I followed Steve’s advice and kept a low profile. From then on, after going to the office each day, I either worked on my Van Diemen at Archway or worked on my proposal for Vic Hancock. I mailed it out to him on Thursday and called him to let him know it was coming. We made an appointment to meet the following week. He sounded eager to put money in my hands. I tried to sound enthusiastic.