‘Hello,’ a voice called from downstairs. ‘Anyone home?’
Steve and I were up in the office and we looked down into the workshop. It looked like my worries about Wednesday were pointless, considering Derek Deacon was wandering through the workshop.
‘Stay here,’ I told Steve. ‘I want you as a witness.’
‘To what — your beating? No way.’
‘Yes. I’ll need someone to call the cops.’
Steve grimaced, but he nodded his agreement.
‘I’m here,’ I called out and descended the stairs.
By the time I walked into the workshop, Derek was rooting around, picking up tools and putting them down and examining the cars Steve was restoring for his clients. He patted Graham Hill’s Lotus.
‘You’ve got some nice wheels here.’
‘They aren’t mine. They belong to Steve’s clients.’
Derek nodded then his gaze fell to my new Mygale. He walked up to it. If he was hoping to scare me, he was doing a good job. He crouched to study the car’s lines up close and smiled at what he saw.
‘This the car for the Festival?’
The Mygale looked so vulnerable on its stands. One hard shove would send it crashing to the ground.
‘Yes.’
‘Nice.’ He looked around then paused for a second. ‘How many Formula Fords do you need?’ He laughed. ‘It sounds like one of those light bulb jokes. How many racecar drivers does it take to screw in a light bulb? None. Their pit crew would do it for them.’
He laughed. I didn’t.
He sidestepped the car to take another step towards me. ‘You didn’t answer my question, Aidy.’
‘I’ve only got the one.’
‘But I see three.’
‘I only own one.’
He nodded again. ‘That’s right. Vic Hancock leased this one for the Festival. And that one,’ he pointed at Alex’s car under the drop cloth, ‘doesn’t belong to you.’
He brushed by me to jerk the drop cloth off the car. I didn’t bother stopping him. He wanted to make a point and I wanted him to make it. The more he talked the more he incriminated himself.
‘Why do you have Alex’s car?’
‘I’m going to have it destroyed.’
‘That’s what I’ve heard, so why do you still have it? It’s not that hard to get it crushed. I heard Hancock offered to do it, but here it is. You’re not thinking about cannibalizing it for parts before selling it, are you?’
‘Christ, no. Of course not.’ I didn’t pretend to hide my disgust.
‘So if you’re not stripping the car, then why are you keeping it — to prove I killed Alex?’
There was no point in playing coy anymore. ‘Yes.’
Derek rubbed a hand over the tyre burn. ‘So, you thought if you kept the wreckage, you’d be able to piece together how I did it. Was that the idea?’
I said nothing.
‘How’s that working out for ya?’
I still said nothing.
‘That good, huh? For that to work, you need my car to line up all the telltale marks. The problem with that is it still wouldn’t prove that I pushed him off. You’d need something more substantial to back it up. Wouldn’t you?’
‘If you say so.’
‘I do. I would say you’d need a recording of the crash to prove it.
‘That would be helpful.’
Derek grinned. ‘I stuck a shotgun in your face and told you to forget it and still you keep clinging to your belief.’
‘No shotgun today, I see.’
Derek opened up his jacket to let me see he was unarmed. ‘Physical threats don’t work with you. I’m hoping that talking to you will make you see reason.’
‘So convince me.’
He put the bravado to one side and looked me in the face. ‘I didn’t kill Alex.’
If that was true, he shouldn’t have been frightened of me or what I knew, yet here he was. It looked as if my story about having a tape had worked.
‘So it’s coincidence that ever since you said you’d kill Alex, people have been protecting you.’
‘I have a lot of friends.’
‘Friends who go around beating people into silence.’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Did you see Paul last night? Someone beat the living crap out of him.’
‘That wasn’t me. I have no reason to hurt Paul.’
‘Coincidence again?’
‘It wasn’t me.’
Derek picked up a five pound mallet, examined it then swung it as if he was limbering up before exerting himself. I held my ground.
‘I heard a rumour about a tape of Alex’s crash. Do you have it?’
‘That’s become a rare commodity. The people at Redline destroyed their original. Paul had his copy taken from him after a good kicking. Anybody who has seen it won’t talk about it. It’s like no one is supposed to see this footage.’
Derek stopped swinging the mallet and gripped it tight in his fist. ‘Again, you’ve not answered my question. I’m trying to be polite here as an apology for the whole shotgun thing. Do you have the tape?’
‘Why?’
‘Have you seen it?’
‘Does me having it make you sweat?’
Derek grinned and the mallet went slack in his hand. ‘You haven’t seen it. What’s the problem — is the person with it asking too much?’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘If you had the tape, we wouldn’t be having this conversation and you wouldn’t still be holding on to Alex’s car. You’d know the truth.’
‘And what’s that?’
A crash from the other side of the workshop doors cut off Derek’s answer and shouting followed. I recognized Dylan’s voice and glared at Derek. I should have known he would have come mob-handed. When talk didn’t work, force had to take over.
I shoved past him for the doors. Derek dropped the mallet and raced after me. I threw the door open. It slammed into Morgan, sending him crashing to the ground. The full shotgun crew was here. Tommy and Strickland held Dylan down. I hurled myself at them, taking both of them down.
Dylan broke free, jumped to his feet and threw a punch at Derek. Derek blocked it and laid Dylan out with a punch of his own.
Tommy put me in a headlock, cutting off my breath, while Strickland drove a fist deep into my gut, dropping me to my knees. Tommy laughed and dragged me to my feet to line me up for some punch bag duty. Strickland duly obliged. I clenched my stomach muscles up to protect myself, but collapsed when he buried a fist low into my gut. I sagged in Tommy’s grasp.
Dylan tried to get back onto his feet. We both knew from too many school playground fights that you had to keep on your feet. Stay on the ground and you were prime meat for a kicking party. Derek knocked Dylan back down and pinned him to the ground with his weight.
It left Morgan with no one to fight. He brought out a flick knife and snapped it open. ‘We should have taken care of you back there in the field. No one would have found you.’
Tommy and Strickland got drunk on the idea. Tommy rearranged his hold on me, hoisting me onto my toes. Strickland tore open my shirt, exposing my stomach to Morgan’s knife.
‘Have you ever seen your intestines?’ he cooed as he approached.
He didn’t get far. Steve burst through the open doorway with a quick-lift jack handle in his hands. The four foot length of pipe made for a useful street weapon.
‘No,’ Derek yelled out.
Steve brought the handle down on Morgan’s forearm, breaking it. Morgan screamed and dropped to his knees, the flick knife slipping from his loose grasp. Strickland gathered up the knife and went for Steve.
The jack handle was big and heavy, making it unwieldy. It would take Steve time to tee up another swing, far more time than it would take Strickland to stab him. I knew it and so did Steve, but he had nowhere to go.