Thursday was also the day the new issues of Motorsport News and Pit Lane magazine came out. I turned to the pages with Alex’s tribute in them. Alex was being heralded as a lost star. Motorsport News even went so far as to suggest his death was the greatest loss in motorsport since my father. Both magazines patted me on the back for my good deed. Naturally, Derek got talked about in glowing terms. Reading it all just made me more determined to bring out the truth.
Keeping to myself seemed to work. Derek made no move on me. I wondered if Brennan had reined him in. A man in his position wouldn’t want Derek making life more difficult for him. Of course, Derek could be playing the same waiting game to see what I would do next. That put us in an uneasy stand-off, which sounded good, but wasn’t a permanent solution. Eventually, one of us would have to make a move. Hopefully, my inactivity had convinced him to lower his guard. It didn’t make me lower mine. I lived in fear that at any moment Derek would appear with a baseball bat trailing from one hand. Time dragged. I thought Saturday would never come.
I picked up Dylan in the morning and we drove down to Stowe Park in Steve’s van. I didn’t bother with the trailer. With so much of Alex’s car in pieces, we would easily be able to fit it inside the vehicle.
Part way through the drive, Bob Dylan’s ‘Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door’ came on the radio. Dylan immediately switched the radio off.
‘Hey, I like that song,’ I said with a smirk.
‘Ha-bloody-ha.’
Bob Dylan was a sore point with Dylan. His mum was a massive fan and named him after the singer. His school years hadn’t been fun since everyone teased him about his name. Even now when he introduced himself, most people asked him if he was named after Bob Dylan.
As I reached to switch the radio back on, my mobile phone rang. It was Fergus. I told Dylan to keep quiet. I didn’t want Fergus knowing I had someone with me. ‘Hey, Fergus. What have you got for me?’
‘Yeah. About that. I couldn’t get the tape from the race. I tried. I really did, Aidy, but…’ He trailed off.
‘But what?’
Dylan flashed me a worried look.
‘My dad put me in touch with a guy at the studio. I met with him and I thought things were OK.’ Fergus stopped talking for second. ‘Aidy, they put me in a room and grilled me. It was like a bad movie. They wanted to know why I wanted the footage.’
‘What did you tell them?’
‘Nothing. What do I know? You’re the one with the ideas.’
‘Did you mention me?’
‘Of course not. I have to protect my sources.’
Fergus was taking the reporter thing way too seriously. Still, I owed him one for not mentioning my name, although I was positive they already knew. I’d hardly been keeping a low profile.
‘Do you think they believed you when you told them you knew nothing?’
‘I think so. They said the tape was gone. Destroyed.’
‘Why?’
‘By request.’
‘Whose?’
‘The family? I don’t know. They weren’t telling and I wasn’t asking. I just wanted the hell out. Aidy, you’re on your own.’
‘I’m sorry, Fergus. If I knew this was going to put you in hot water, I wouldn’t have dragged you in.’
‘Yeah, well, the damage is done. I’m out, OK?’
‘Yeah, sure thing. Look, if I find anything out, I’ll give you an exclusive or whatever.’
‘Sounds good, Aidy. Talk later, yeah? Gotta go. Bye.’
Fergus didn’t sound like he wanted to hear from me even if I had the map to the Holy Grail. I couldn’t blame him.
We arrived at Stowe Park around lunchtime. The circuit offices were dead, which wasn’t surprising on such a grim and overcast day. Myles had called the night before to tell me Chris or Paul at Chicane’s would be waiting for me.
I got out at Chicane’s and went inside while Dylan drove the van over to the scrutineering bay.
Chris was packing parts into boxes for mail orders. It would be boom time for him until the next season got going in March. He saw me and called out to Paul.
‘Aidy’s here. Will you open up for him?’
A moment later, Paul appeared jingling a set of keys. ‘Gotcha covered, Aidy.’
He ducked under the counter and led me out of the store. As he marched across the paddock, I struggled to keep up with his pace.
‘Isn’t it great about the collection for Alex? Mr Beecham says he’s received over twenty thousand. I donated. I put in a race fee donation like most people.’
Paul was a sweet guy. There was no other way of saying it. He didn’t make much money working for Chris and two hundred was a big deal. Luckily for the world, for every Derek Deacon, there was a Paul balancing out the scale.
‘That’s fantastic,’ I said, then something suddenly occurred to me. Paul was a true fan. He filmed every race on his camcorder. Paul’s coverage was often used for a montage at the end of season banquet. ‘Paul, were you up at Barrack Hill at the time of the crash?’
‘Yeah. I wish I hadn’t been. Normally, I’d be over at Wilts, but it was too busy and I couldn’t get a decent shot of the cars.’
‘So, you filmed Alex’s crash.’
‘Yeah, terrible. I can’t watch it. I wanted to record over it, but I can’t. It wouldn’t be right.’
‘Could I see the tape?’
Paul came to a dead stop. ‘Why would you want to see that?’
‘To help me come to terms with Alex’s death. We were chatting minutes before the race, wishing each other good luck, then he was dead. I can’t really believe it. I want to see it with my own eyes. The telly didn’t show the crash and if I could see it, it would help me say goodbye to him.’
I didn’t like deceiving Paul. He was the most honest guy in motorsport and he believed everyone was just as trustworthy, even someone like Derek. Lying to him put me on thin ice with him. If he found out I’d betrayed his trust, I’d never win it back.
My dilemma reminded me of what Steve had said to me. If I kept digging into Alex’s death, it wouldn’t make me any friends. I was happy to lose people like Derek as friends, but not Paul. He might not thank me, but I hoped he’d understand what I had done.
Paul must have mistaken my distress for feelings about Alex. His expression changed into one of understanding and he patted me on the shoulder.
‘Sure, I understand, Aidy, and it’s OK. I’ll get you the tape.’
‘Thanks, but please keep it to yourself. I don’t want people knowing. OK?’
‘No worries.’
I pulled out my business card with my name, address and phone numbers. He took it and pocketed it.
A light rain had started coming down by the time we reached the scrutineering bay. Dylan jumped out of the van and jogged over to us.
‘Hey, Dylan,’ Paul said as he sorted through the keys for the one to the heavy padlock.
‘How’s it going, Paul?’
‘Straight up and down with a swirl at the end.’
Dylan and I smiled at each other. Neither of us knew what that meant, but Paul always said it.
Paul found the key and removed the padlock. Dylan helped him pull the doors open. The scrutineering bay was empty.
Lap Ten
I couldn’t believe it. The car was gone. I felt intense stupidity which quickly turned to anger. I looked at Paul. He just shook his head.