He spoke as if he knew for sure Derek hadn’t had anything to do with Alex’s death. I almost believed him.
‘You have Alex’s car now, right?’
‘Yes, I’ve got it.’
‘I know you’re planning to have the car scrapped, so I’d like to compact it. No charge of course. It’s something I’d like to do for Alex.’
‘Thanks, I appreciate it.’ My appreciation failed to sound sincere, but Hancock’s alcoholic state left him too dulled to pick up on it.
‘I can send someone over to pick up the car tomorrow.’
‘No,’ I said. I needed an excuse. I couldn’t say I was keeping the car for evidence. ‘It wouldn’t be convenient. I’m working and Steve won’t be at the workshop for the next few days. And I know a few of the drivers want to be there when it’s destroyed.’
‘Just give me the nod when it’s a good time and I’ll have someone there.’
‘Sure.’
With Hancock’s bizarre questioning, I wasn’t sure I wanted him to have the car at all. Looking at everything that had been said, I questioned the validity of his sponsorship offer. Was he dangling this carrot so that he could pump me for information?
Hancock finished his drink. The waitress took that as her signal to deliver the bill. He paid and I was more than ready to go. We headed out to the lobby, but he stopped short of leaving.
‘I’m getting a room here tonight.’
‘Good move,’ I said.
He didn’t say anything for a moment, just stared at me, as if examining me for answers. ‘So you don’t know much about me.’
‘No,’ I said.
He smiled. ‘We’ll have to change that.’
Lap Thirteen
Wednesday evening gave me and Steve our first chance to examine Alex’s car. We hadn’t had time to do more than unload the wreck from the van, get it on stands and cover it with a drop cloth since picking it up from Alison’s on Monday night.
We stood looking at the remains of the car. The damage had robbed it of its elegance. It sagged under its own weight and its scars were ugly. In racing trim, it looked like a formidable piece of machinery. Now, it looked vulnerable, like an injured creature.
‘What do you want to do?’ Steve asked me.
‘Reconstruct.’
We emptied out the boxes of buckled and broken parts which hadn’t remained intact from the crash. I didn’t want to reassemble the car. Couldn’t. Many of the parts were too damaged to simply reattach them. Instead, we laid the parts out like an aircraft crash investigator with aircraft parts or a palaeontologist with a dinosaur skeleton. I hoped to see how the car had picked up its wounds. It was hard to tell which ones were a direct result of hitting the wall and which ones had caused the wreck.
The biggest broken piece was the right front corner, consisting of the upper and lower suspension wishbones, the push rod to the shock absorber, the wheel and tyre still attached to the upright. The impact had tied it into a knot, but it was all in one piece. Steve and I put it on the floor where it should have been attached. We duct taped the fibreglass bodywork in place and spent the next hour placing all the pieces of this skewed automotive jigsaw in their rightful positions until we had an exploded view.
We didn’t have all the parts. It wasn’t surprising, really. The car had crashed at high velocity. The tinier pieces would have been flung far and wide. Even if they weren’t, they could have been lost when the recovery vehicle lifted the car over to scrutineering or during the car’s transportation from Stowe Park to Alison’s parents’ house. One of the missing pieces was a bolt that connects the tracking arm to the mounting on the gearbox. The tracking arm is a tie-rod that adjusts the ‘toe-in’, the angle at which the wheels need to point in order for the car to travel in a straight line. Generally, all four wheels on any car point slightly inwards to make this happen. Considering the massive impact, the bolt had probably been sheared off.
I snapped photos of the car for later reference. I planned on keeping the car to use it as evidence, but I knew people expected it to be crushed, and soon. In case I lost the car before I was done, I needed a photographic record.
I made sure I had plenty of shots of the tyre burns on the right side of the car. The telltale black, circular scuffs strafed the bodywork behind the radiator pod. This proved Derek had manoeuvred his wheels inside Alex’s. If I was right, there’d be corresponding tyre burns on the side of Derek’s car. No wonder Derek hadn’t wanted me getting my hands on Alex’s car.
I picked up the envelope containing the pictures I’d taken of the crash site. I slipped them out and compared the skid marks on the track to the wrecked car in front of me.
Steve moved in behind me to peer over my shoulder. ‘You know this doesn’t prove anything.’
I’d come to the same conclusion, but I hadn’t wanted to admit it.
‘We can prove that Alex crashed into that wall,’ Steve said, tapping the photo in my hands. ‘We can prove that Alex and Derek locked wheels. What we can’t prove is intent. All that we can prove is what everyone says; this was an accident. Nothing here says malice was involved.’
Every one of Steve’s words was a kick in the teeth. I’d been threatened with a shotgun, warned off by the cops, burned bridges with people in the community and pissed off the grieving families. Now I was in serious danger of picking up a defamation charge if I said too much. And all for what? I couldn’t prove a damn thing beyond the official story. I shoved the photos back in the envelope and tossed them on the work bench.
‘I need the videotape,’ I said.
‘No, we need the videotape,’ Steve said and patted me on the back. ‘You’re not alone in this. Has Paul gotten back to you?’
I shook my head. ‘I’ll call him.’
‘Get that tape and you’ve got Derek over the barrel. Prove intent and the wreckage, skid marks, and photographs will mean something.’
The workshop doors rattled and then someone knocked. Steve looked at me for answers and I shook my head.
‘Hello?’ a familiar voice called out.
‘It’s Alison,’ I said.
Steve crossed the workshop and swung open one of the large double doors. He smiled at her.
‘Is Aidy here?’
‘Come in, Alison,’ I called out.
She smiled when she spotted me in the depths of the workshop, but her smile dropped when she saw me standing next to Alex’s car. I reached for a drop cloth to toss over it.
‘No, it’s OK,’ she said. ‘I came to see what you’re doing.’
‘OK,’ I said and put the cloth down.
‘Aidy, I need to go out for a while,’ Steve said.
This was his code for giving us some privacy. I almost frowned. What happened to I wasn’t alone in all this? Actually, it was probably better that I talked to her alone. I got the feeling she wanted to talk and she might feel uncomfortable with Steve in the room.
Passing Alison in the doorway, Steve said, ‘That boy is going all out for you and Alex. Let him know how much it means to you. He’s got a good heart and he deserves thanks for it.’
She smiled at Steve’s fatherly tone. ‘I will.’
I blushed.
‘Back in an hour, Aidy,’ Steve said.
‘That was embarrassing,’ I said.
‘But he’s right.’
Alison hesitated in the doorway a fraction too long.
‘We don’t have to do this now if you don’t want to,’ I said.
‘No, I want to,’ she said.
She came over to the car and ran a hand over the shiny fibreglass. It was a loving touch, as if she were stroking Alex’s cheek. I looked away to give her this moment and picked up the envelope of photos.