‘Where’s the car, Paul?’
‘I don’t know.’
I took two fast steps, putting me right in his face. Paul backed away from me into the scrutineering bay. I wasn’t about to give him any breathing space and I followed him inside.
‘C’mon, who’s been here?’
I didn’t need to ask. I knew. Derek had stolen the car out from under me, but I wanted someone to admit it.
‘I don’t know.’
‘Don’t lie to me, Paul. You’re here all day. Nothing gets past you and Chris. Now tell me.’
Paul went to duck past me, but I blocked his path. ‘I don’t know, Aidy. Really, I don’t.’
Dylan grabbed my arm. ‘He doesn’t know.’
Everyone kept their place inside the bay. The only sound to be heard was rain bouncing off the bay’s roof. Hearing it took the sting out of me.
‘I’m sorry, Paul. I didn’t mean to take it out on you.’
Paul nodded, not saying a word.
‘Who else has keys to this place?’ Dylan asked.
‘Mr and Mrs Beecham, some of the race officials and the Hansen brothers for the race school. That’s it.’
I’d expected to hear Derek’s name amongst the group, but I shouldn’t have been surprised. Derek wasn’t dumb enough to do this himself. He’d have someone do his dirty work to give him plausible deniability. He had Brennan to take care of his legal problems and he’d have someone here at the circuit to grab Alex’s car for him. The question was who would have done it for him? Any one of the people Paul had named would buckle to Derek’s demands if he showed up at their door.
Stupid. I’d screwed up. I had given Derek the opening he needed. I should have taken the car when I came for the press conference.
‘Who’s been here today?’ I asked.
‘No one besides us.’
I nodded. Paul wouldn’t lie. That meant someone had claimed the car the night before.
‘You need to go,’ Paul said. ‘I have to lock up.’
Dylan and I walked out into the rain and watched Paul lock the doors.
‘Again, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lose my temper.’ I put out my hand. Paul hesitated before shaking it. ‘You’ll get me that tape, yeah?’
Paul nodded. ‘I’ll call you.’
The rain was coming down hard now.
‘Get in the van. We’ll drop you at the door so you don’t get wet,’ I said.
‘It’s OK,’ Paul answered.
I didn’t push the matter. I’d done enough damage. Dylan and I climbed into the van and watched Paul trudge back to Chicane’s. I gunned the engine and pulled away.
‘Where are we going?’ Dylan asked.
‘Myles’s place. Nothing happens here without his say so.’
I’d been out to Myles’s home only once at the end of last season. He had everyone back for drinks after the championship dinner. He and Eva lived in a six bedroom house sitting on an acre of land in Corsham.
The house was set back from the road. I turned down the long gravel driveway and parked in front of the three-car garage. My les wasn’t giving me the slip.
‘Keep a lid on your temper, Aidy. You can’t blow up at Myles the way you did at Paul.’
‘I know,’ I said, and I wouldn’t. Finding the car gone was a shock. Getting the runaround from Myles wouldn’t be.
Dylan pressed the doorbell. The chimes sounded like Big Ben was being kept hostage somewhere inside. It was a long minute before footsteps approached and Eva Beecham opened the door.
‘Hello, Aidy. I’m sorry. I don’t know your friend.’
‘This is Dylan.’
Eva smiled at Dylan. She made no offer to let us in.
‘Can we speak to Myles?’
‘He’s not here.’
‘When will he be back?’
‘I don’t know. What’s the problem?’
‘I came to collect Alex’s car, but it’s gone.’
The news failed to surprise her. I could tell without pressing her that she knew where Alex’s car had gone. She had her thumb on the pulse of everything at Stowe Park just like Myles. It also meant she wouldn’t be giving up information to me unless she and Myles had agreed to it.
‘You’ll have to take the matter up with Myles.’
‘I will. Can I wait?’
‘No. I don’t expect him back until late.’
I could have kept pushing, but I was wasting my time.
‘Just tell him I came by.’
‘I will,’ she said and closed the door before we’d even turned our backs.
In the van, I called Myles’s mobile. It went straight to voicemail, so I left a message.
‘We’ve got two choices,’ I said. ‘We either hang around on the off chance we’ll get Alex’s car or we go home.’
‘The car’s gone and there’s nothing we can do about it. I say we go home.’
Dylan echoed my thoughts, but a part of me didn’t want to leave with nothing. Even if I didn’t leave with Alex’s car, I wanted to leave with answers. But I didn’t see any point. Even if I camped outside Myles’s house until he came home, he wouldn’t tell me anything. A wall of silence was being built and this was just another section to keep me out.
I fired up the van and pulled onto the road. Myles’s home put us in the middle of the Wiltshire countryside, miles from the motorway. I followed a series of winding, narrow roads barely wide enough for two cars to pass each other comfortably. It was slow going. It was going to take twenty minutes before we reached the motorway. Just to add insult to injury, I ran into roadworks. The car ahead of me made it through before a workman put his hand out and dragged a barrier across the road. He said sorry and directed me down a farm lane.
‘Our day isn’t getting any better, is it?’ Dylan said as I followed the detour.
Hedgerows leaned into the road, narrowing it to a single lane track. If I was struggling, the moving van behind me had it worse. Its sides clipped the outstretched branches.
‘Do you know where this brings us out?’ I asked.
Dylan shook his head, broke out a road atlas and flicked through the pages. ‘The bloody thing isn’t even shown.’
A tractor reversed out of the field to our left and blocked the road. I slammed on the brakes. The van skidded on the rain-slick surface.
The atlas went flying out of Dylan’s hands as momentum threw him forward against his seat belt. ‘Jesus, Aidy. I would like to make it home in one piece.’
The tractor driver raised an apologetic hand. ‘Sorry. Just need to get something.’
I rolled down the window and called back, ‘It’s OK.’
The tractor driver reached down to his right and brought out a double-barrelled shotgun. He aimed it straight at us.
Dylan reflexively raised his hands.
I jammed the van in reverse and checked my mirrors for the moving van behind. I hoped the sight of my reversing lights would inspire the van to do likewise, but they’d already made their move. Both driver and passenger were out of the vehicle, shotguns in their grasp. I took my van out of gear and raised my hands.
‘Pull into the field,’ the tractor driver said, gesturing with his shotgun.
I heard my pounding heart in my ears. I exchanged a glance with Dylan. He’d turned pale. No doubt, I had too.
‘Move,’ the tractor driver said.
I drove the van into the wet field. Derek Deacon was standing there with rain running off his wax jacket. He held a shotgun, broken, between his big arms folded across his chest. He stared directly at me and grinned. His eyes disappeared as his thick face squeezed them shut.
If I had any thoughts about hitting the gas and mowing the murdering bastard down, they ended when Derek snapped the shotgun shut and aimed it at me. I stopped the van a respectful distance from the gun’s twin barrels.
‘Come on out, Aidy. We need to talk.’
Both Dylan and I opened our doors. Derek swung the shotgun around in Dylan’s direction.