‘OK. Whoever she is, she’s trying to get back at me over this roundabout thing. There’s nothing to it.’
Lucas nodded. ‘Maybe you should look at this.’
He removed a Polaroid from his folder and handed it to me. It was a driver’s-side shot of the Renault hatchback sitting in a field. The front windscreen was split and the side windows were missing, but that was the least of the damage. The car looked as if it had been dropped from a great height. Every body panel was bent and buckled. The door mirror dangled from a trail of wires. My mouth dropped open in shock.
‘What is this?’
‘I have to warn you that a number of charges are being levelled at you which include failing to stop after an accident, failing to give particulars or report an accident within twenty-four hours, driving without due care and attention, dangerous driving, furious driving and offences not covered by other codes. These are serious charges.’
‘I realize that. This is insane.’
Any two of these charges was enough to claim my driver’s licence. I didn’t have a clue how long I’d lose it for if all of them applied. My racing career was staring into an abyss.
‘I don’t get any of this,’ I said. ‘I swear to you that I didn’t put a scratch on this car, let alone the damage pictured here.’
Lucas produced the pained smile again and took the Polaroid from me.
‘Don’t give me that look. This is bullshit. If I’d done that, my grandfather’s van would be a mess and my trailer would be in pieces. But they’re not. My grandfather’s out in the van right now, but the trailer’s right outside. Go look. You won’t find a dent, scratch or repair.’
‘There’ll be time for that later. You’re getting excited again.’
‘Wouldn’t you be?’
‘Maybe I would. Let’s calm down and just go through the facts. I think if we take things logically, one step at a time, there’ll be less emotion and we’ll have everything we need to be able to make a judgement. Sound like a plan?’
I exhaled. I appreciated what Lucas was doing. He was working with me. ‘Yeah. Sounds like a good plan.’
‘OK, I need to get a formal statement from you. I need the one-two-three of everything that occurred as you experienced it and nothing else. Just your viewpoint. OK?’
I liked Lucas and the way he went about his job. He was impartial and balanced, which made sense. He wasn’t judge and jury. He just collected the information.
I nodded and proceeded to outline what happened from the moment I entered the roundabout until the woman in the Renault gave up on her chase. Lucas wrote down everything I said on a statement form, stopping me when he needed clarification on a point. Every time I tried to insert an assumption, Lucas reined me in and asked me to stick to the facts. At the end, he handed me three pages of paperwork.
‘Read that over, initial each page and sign the last page. If you need to make changes, just make them and initial.’
I looked the pages over. Sergeant Lucas had captured my account as I’d described it. A couple of additional things occurred to me as I read the statement. Lucas stood next to me while I hand wrote in additions and initialled the changes.
‘So, is this an accurate account, according to you?’
It was and it didn’t look like much. I put my faith in the facts. They were probably the only thing that could save me. This woman could say I’d driven her off the road, but her story didn’t hold water. Steve’s van didn’t have a scratch. Considering the damage to her car, she probably ran off the road all by herself in her rage, and was trying to squeeze some money out of Steve’s insurance to pay for it. ‘Yes, this is how it happened.’
‘Then all I need is your signature.’
I picked up the pen to sign, but Sergeant Lucas put his hand over mine. ‘Now you’re sure you want to sign this?’
‘Yes.’
‘Once you sign this statement, it goes on record, so if there’s anything you want to change, do it now. We can tear this up and start over. It doesn’t matter to me how long this takes as long as we get the truth.’
I tapped my statement. ‘This is the truth.’
He looked at me with disappointment. He didn’t believe me.
‘What are you trying to say?’
‘All I’m saying is if your cars collided, I understand the situation. You’re a racing driver who can’t afford to lose your licence. Maybe you panicked and drove off. It’s totally understandable. I could see myself doing the same in your position.’
‘But I didn’t. I did exactly what’s written here. I don’t know why the other driver is saying what she’s saying, but it’s not the truth.’ I tapped the statement again. ‘This is the truth.’
Sergeant Lucas stood back from me. ‘If you sign that document, I can’t help you further. Charges will likely be filed against you.’
‘I don’t need your help,’ I said and signed the statement.
Lap Ten
Dylan poked his head through the door just after noon. ‘Ready for lunch?’
I was more than ready. I’d been stewing in my own thoughts since Sergeant Lucas had left. I couldn’t believe that Miss Angry Renault had lied. What did she want — revenge for the incident? No. She couldn’t be that bent out of shape over it. Maybe she’d seen the Archway logo on the back of the van and thought she could squeeze some money out of the business. ‘Let’s get out of here,’ I said.
‘Rough morning?’ Dylan asked.
‘More than you know.’
I locked up Archway and Dylan drove us towards Ascot.
‘You want to lose the scowl and tell me what happened this morning?’
I hadn’t realized I’d been wearing my feelings for all to see. ‘Sorry. When I dropped off the Van Diemen the other day, I had a near miss with a car on the way back. The police just came by to question me because they’re investigating a claim that I ran a woman off the road.’
‘Has she got anything to back this up?’
‘Her word and her car. It’s a write-off.’
‘But you never made contact with her car?’
‘No.’
‘Then you’re golden. Did you show them the van?’
‘Couldn’t. Steve was out in it. The cops are coming back to check it out in the next week or so.’
‘Then you’ve got nothing to worry about, mate. The second they see the Transit hasn’t got a scratch, this bird is screwed.’
It was nice to have someone believe in me. My recent run-ins with the police showed they had little faith in anything I said.
‘Have you told Steve?’
‘Not yet. I’m not looking forward to that.’
‘Steve will have your back; you know that,’ Dylan said. ‘Let’s forget that crap. How’d testing go yesterday? Tell me all about it. I want to hear.’
‘It’s amazing, mate. I have five guys working on my car alone. If something needs replacing, it gets replaced. No scrambling for loose change to pay for it. You wouldn’t believe how many sets of tyres we burned through.’
Dylan beamed. ‘You are in a different world. You’re not trying to compete with the big boys — you are one of the big boys. I’m so proud of you.’
Dylan drove us out to one of his favourite haunts, The Coach and Horses. It was a pub restaurant where the local AC Cobra owners’ club held their meetings. Drive by the last Sunday of the month and the car park would be chocka with the king of muscle cars.
We ordered food and drinks at the bar. We grabbed a table by the window and Dylan went quiet. He fiddled with the beer mats on the table, stacking a bunch together, shuffling them, turning them around in his hands, only to shuffle them again.
‘You OK?’
‘If I say no, is that a problem?’
‘No. What’s up?’
‘It’s a weekday and I’m not working, and I’m not likely to be any time soon.’