‘Claudia, can you get me Barrington? He’s not answering his phone.’
‘Aidy, what ’appened? John went ballistic. ’E said there were no drugs.’
‘I’m not sure, but I’m at Stansted waiting for Rags. He’s ditched his car and he’s flying back to meet with someone. This may be our chance to find out who he’s working with.’
‘John is still in ’olland. ’Is ’ole team is. Today was supposed to be the big bust.’
Yeah, don’t rub it in. ‘Shit. Rags will be on the ground in twenty minutes. Where are you?’
‘I’m in Norfolk with the ESCC.’
She was too far away to meet us in time.
‘I’m going to follow Rags to his meeting. Tell Barrington what I’m doing and to call me if he wants me to do anything.’
‘OK. Be careful, Aidy.’
She sounded like she cared.
‘I will. Thanks.’
I hung up and counted down the minutes as I watched the Arrivals screen for updates. I almost cheered when Rags’ flight went from ‘On time’ to ‘Arrived’.
I called Steve. ‘Rags’ plane is on the ground. Come around to Arrivals to pick me up.’
‘Keep an eye out for whoever is picking him up.’
I hadn’t thought of that. ‘Will do.’
I hung up and disappeared into the crowd in the lounge. I didn’t want Rags spotting me the second he appeared. I scanned the faces of the people waiting patiently. It was the usual mix of friends, family, business acquaintances and drivers with handwritten signs. No one stood out as a drug kingpin.
My heart hit the red zone when Rags poured into the lounge with a glut of passengers. I remained still, waiting for him to reach out to his connection. Instead, he slalomed between groups of people, acknowledging no one.
I gave him a twenty-yard head start before following him. I pulled out my phone and called Steve. ‘He’s here and he’s not got anyone waiting.’
‘What’s he doing?’
‘He’s on his way to hire a car.’
‘I’ll keep circling until you need me.’
I hung up.
I watched Rags pay for the car and cross the terminal for a courtesy bus to take him to the vehicle. Steve picked me up and we followed his bus to the car depot. Still on the Terminal Road, we couldn’t pull over, so Steve overtook the bus, pulled off at the roundabout and parked on the grass. I jumped out of the car, backtracked up the road and watched for Rags.
I ran back to Steve and jumped into the passenger seat. ‘Red Ford Mondeo.’
Steve let Rags pass us by before rejoining traffic. Steve’s old Capri stuck out amongst the modern cars on the road, but considering Rags’ driving, he seemed to be a man on a mission who was paying little attention to his surroundings. I think I could have stood next to him in the terminal and he wouldn’t have noticed me. He certainly had plenty on his mind.
Rags picked up the M11 going south towards London. From there, he took the M25 anticlockwise. We were catching the M25 late, so traffic was light.
‘He looks like he’s going home,’ Steve said.
Steve’s words jinxed us. Rags joined the A1(M) and headed north.
‘He’s not going home,’ I said.
Rags went as far as Hatfield. He cut through the town, drove on to an industrial estate and stopped at a derelict factory. He climbed from his hire car armed only with his mobile phone and slipped through an open doorway.
Steve pulled up at the side of the road. ‘Looks like he’s first to arrive.’
I wasn’t so sure. Time would have been on the side of the person who’d demanded Rags fly back from Holland. ‘Make a loop.’
Steve followed the roads encompassing the warehouse. It was after eight p.m. and everyone at the neighbouring industrial units had finished their working day. There were no other cars parked. It looked as if Steve was right about Rags being alone.
Steve completed his loop and stopped. ‘You going in?’
‘Yeah. The place is big enough that I can hide and no one will see me.’
‘You want me to come?’
‘No. It’s just me and Rags at this point. You stay alert in case this party gets gatecrashers.’
Steve nodded. ‘Just be careful.’
‘Aren’t I always?’
‘No.’
I slipped from the car and jogged across the weed-ravaged car park. I circled around the building and entered on the far side from Rags. No fancy lock-picking skills were required. The door had long since been kicked in. From the look of this place, whatever this factory had once been, it was now the local punching bag for graffiti artists and vandals.
I used the backlight on my mobile to illuminate my way and found myself in the offices.
I could hear Rags talking to himself and cursing whoever had the audacity to keep him waiting. His voice helped guide me even better than my mobile. I reached a stairwell and climbed to the top. It opened out into a suite of offices overlooking the factory floor. The windows insulating the office workers from the factory noise were gone, so I kept quiet. I dropped to my knees and peered through a window frame.
Rags stood a hundred feet away, lit by his car’s headlights. He paced back and forth within the boundaries of the light, staring at his mobile, seemingly willing it to ring.
He kept up this performance for twenty minutes before dialling a number. His pace quickened as his call went unanswered.
‘I’m here. Just as you asked. Now where the fuck are you? The cops are on to us. The Dutch police had a warrant. How long before the cops here have a warrant to do the same? You can’t hide from me. Call me now.’
A call didn’t come. Rags called back two more times over the next hour before snatching up a length of pipe he found and hurling it across the warehouse. The sound of it clanging on the floor echoed off the walls.
‘I’d say you’ve been stood up, Rags,’ I whispered. ‘Worse luck.’
Rags stormed out of the factory.
I stood and winced at the sound of the Mondeo’s engine screaming in pain as Rags slammed the car into reverse and roared away. Just as he did, his headlights swept through the building and splashed across something familiar — a tubular steel chair with a broken wooden back. The sight of that chair brought back ugly memories.
My mobile rang. It was Steve.
‘Everything OK?’
‘Yeah. Rags got stood up.’
‘It happens to the best of us.’
‘Bring your car over. I need your lights. There should be a loading door close to where Rags parked.’
‘I see it.’
‘OK, I’ll meet you there.’
I raced down the stairs two at a time and across the factory floor. I found the loading door and raised it. Steve poked the nose of the Capri through the door and lit the place up with his high beams. His spotlights struck the chair I recognized. I picked it up and examined it. The last time I’d seen this chair, I’d been pinned to it.
I tossed the broken chair aside and dropped to my knees. I ran my hands over the concrete and found the gouges that a five-pound mallet had made.
Steve emerged from his car and crossed over to me. ‘What’s going on?’
‘I’ve been here. Crichlow brought me here the night Jason was killed. This place belongs to Andrew Gates.’
Lap Thirty-Four
Steve and I were at work on Gates’ Jensen Interceptor when we heard the sound of a car sliding to a halt behind Archway. I checked my watch. It was just after ten. I’d called Claudia with an update after I’d left Gates’ factory last night. Barrington still wasn’t taking my calls. An hour later, she’d called back telling me Barrington wanted to meet the next morning.
‘It’s him,’ I said to Steve. ‘Brace yourself.’
He frowned.
A moment later, Barrington burst through the door with Claudia in tow.