Crack Down (5 page)

“You mean she really isn't meant to be here?” Richard asked, his grin irrepressible even in the face of Ruth's frown.

“If you weren't facing such serious charges, I'd have bounced her out of the door. It didn't seem like a good time to generate even more suspicion on the part of the police. Now, Richard, let's get to it. I don't have all night.” Ruth picked up her pencil and started to write. “Let's start at the beginning. What happened tonight?”

Richard looked uncertain. “Well, the beginning isn't tonight. I mean, depending on what you mean, the beginning's either Tuesday night or three weeks ago.”

It was my turn to grin. I didn't envy Ruth her task. I love him dearly, but the only time Richard can tell a story in a straight line from beginning to end is when he's sat in front of a word processor with the prospect of a nice little earner at the end of the day.

Ruth squeezed the bridge of her nose. “Maybe you could give me the short version, and I'll stop you when I don't understand something.”

“It's this job Kate's got on. I've been helping her out with it. We have to buy these cars, you see, and then we give them back to the car company.” Richard paused hopefully.

Ruth's gray eyes swivelled round and fixed on me. “Perhaps you'd like to elaborate … ?”

I nodded. “My clients are the finance arm of the Leo Motor Company. They suspect some dealerships of committing fraud. It's our job to provide them with evidence, so Richard and I have been posing as a married couple, buying cars with money supplied by Leo, who then take the cars back from us,” I said.

“Thanks. So, you've been buying these cars. What happened on Tuesday night?” she asked.

“We'd picked up this really ace motor, the Gemini turbo super coupé,” Richard said enthusiastically. “Anyway, I had to go into town, and I decided to treat myself and drive the coupé, since we'd only got it for a day or two. Then when I came out of the club, the car was gone. So I came home and reported it stolen to the police.”

Ruth looked up from her pad. “Did they send anyone round?”

“Yeah, a copper came round about an hour later and I gave him all the details,” Richard said.

“And I informed my client first thing on Wednesday morning, if that's any help,” I added.

This time Ruth didn't scowl at me. She just made another note and said, “So what happened next?”

Richard took off his glasses and stared up at the ceiling. A line appeared between his brows as he focused his memory. “I went into town about nine tonight. I had to meet a couple of women in the Paradise Factory. They're the singers in a jazz fusion band, and they've just signed their first record deal. I'm doing a piece on them for one of the glossies. It was too noisy in the Factory to hear ourselves talk, so we left and went round to Manto's.” Trust Richard to spend his evening in the trendiest café bar in the North West. Looking at his outfit, I was surprised the style police had let him in. “We stayed till closing time,” he went on. “The girls were going on to the Hacienda, but I didn't fancy it, so I went off to get my car. I'd parked it off Portland Street, and I was walking past the
gardens on Sackville Street when I saw the car.” He put his glasses back on and looked expectantly at Ruth.

“Which car, Richard?” Ruth asked patiently.

“The coupé,” he said, in the injured tones of someone who thinks they've already made themselves abundantly clear. Poor misguided soul.

“You saw the car that you had reported stolen in the early hours of Wednesday morning?”

“That's right,” he said. “Only, I wasn't sure right away if it was the same one. It was the right model and the right color, but I couldn't see if it was the right registration number. It had trade plates on, you see.”

“Trade plates,” Ruth repeated as she scribbled. I was intrigued. Any self-respecting car thief would have smacked fake plates on a stolen car right away. I couldn't for the life of me see why they'd use the red and white plates garages use to shift untaxed cars from one place to another. It was just asking to be noticed.

“Yeah, trade plates,” Richard said impatiently. “Anyway, I went over to this car, and I lifted up the trade plate on the front, and it was the same reg as the one that got nicked on Tuesday night,” Richard said triumphantly. He put his glasses on and grinned nervously at both of us. “It's going to be OK, isn't it?”

Ruth nodded. “We'll get it sorted out, Richard. Now, are you absolutely certain that this was the same car?”

“I still had the keys on my key-ring,” he said. “It had one of those little cardboard tags on it with the number of the car, so I wasn't just relying on my memory. It was the identical number. Besides, the key I had opened the car, and there was still one of my tapes in the cassette. Isn't that proof enough?”

“Somehow, I don't think the point at issue is going to be the car,” I muttered quietly. Ruth gave me a look that would have curdled a piña colada.

“Did you call the police and tell them you'd found the car?” Ruth asked.

“Well, I figured that if I wandered off to look for a phone, the guy that had nicked it could easily have had it away again while I was busy talking to the Dibble. So I thought I'd just repo it myself
and call the cops when I got home,” Richard explained. It wasn't so unreasonable. Even I had to concede that.

“What did you do next?” Ruth said.

“Well, I did what any reasonable person would have done,” Richard said. My heart sank. “I took the trade plates off and cobbed them in the gutter.”

“You cobbed them in the gutter?” Ruth and I chorused, neck and neck in the incredulity stakes.

“Of course I did. They didn't belong to me. I'm not a thief,” Richard said with a mixture of self-righteousness and naïvety that made my fingers itch with the desire to get round his throat.

“It didn't occur to you that they might be helpful evidence for the police in catching the car thieves?” Ruth said, all silky savagery.

“No, it didn't, I'm sorry. I'm not like you two. I don't have a criminal sort of mind.”

Ruth looked like she wanted to join me in the lynch mob. “Go on,” she said, her voice icy. “What did you do after you disposed of your corroboration?”

“I got in the car and set off. I was nearly home when I saw the flashing blue lights in my rear-view mirror. I didn't even pull over at first, because I wasn't speeding or anything. Anyway, they cut me up at the lights on Upper Brook Street, and I realized it was me they were after. So I stopped. I opened the window a couple of inches, but before I could say anything, one of the busies opened the door and dragged me out of the motor. Next thing I know, I'm spread-eagled over the bonnet with a pair of handcuffs on and his oppo's got the boot open.

“They kept on at me about the car being stolen, and I kept telling them, yeah, I knew that, 'cos I was the person it had been stolen off, but they just wouldn't listen. Then the guy looking in the boot came round with this Sainsbury's plastic bag, and he's waving it in my face saying, ‘And I suppose the villains that nicked your car decided to leave you a little something for your trouble?' Well, I had no idea what was in the boot, did I? So I told them that, and they just laughed, and bundled me into their car and brought me here. Next thing I know is they're on at me about a parcel of crack. And that's when I thought, uh-oh, I need a brief.”

Richard sat back and looked at the two of us. “It's an unexpected bonus, getting Brannigan as well,” he added. “How soon can you get me out of this dump, Ruth?” he asked, gesturing round the shabby interview room.

“That depends on several things. Being absolutely honest, Richard, I'm not optimistic that I can avoid them charging you, which means you won't be going anywhere until I can get you in front of a magistrate and apply for bail, which we can probably manage tomorrow morning. I still have some questions, though. Have you at any time opened the boot of the coupé?”

Richard frowned. “I don't think so,” he said hesitantly. “No, I'm pretty sure I haven't. I mean, why would I?”

“You didn't check it out when you bought it? Look to see if there was a spare wheel and a jack?” Ruth asked.

“The salesman showed us when we took it for a test drive,” I interjected. “I certainly don't remember Richard ever going near it.”

He managed a grin. “We didn't have it long enough for Brannigan to take it shopping, so we didn't need the boot.”

“Good,” Ruth said. “This carrier bag that they produced from the boot. Had you ever seen it before?”

Richard shrugged. “Well, I don't know. It was just an ordinary Sainsbury's carrier bag. Brannigan's got a drawer full of them. There was nothing about it to make it any different from any other one. But it wasn't in the boot when that rattlesnake showed us the car on Monday. And I didn't put it there. So I guess it's fair to say I'd never seen it before.”

“Did you touch it at all?”

“How could I? I said, I'd never seen it before,” Richard said plaintively.

“The officer didn't throw it to you, or hand it to you?” Ruth persisted.

“He couldn't, could he? His oppo had me cuffed already,” Richard replied.

“Yes, I'm a little surprised at that. Had you put up a struggle? Or had you perhaps been a little over-energetic in the verbal department?” Ruth asked carefully.

“Well, I wasn't exactly thrilled at being bodily dragged out of what was, technically, my own motor when I hadn't even been speeding and I'd been on the Diet Coke all night. So I suppose I was a bit gobby,” Richard admitted. If my heart could have sunk any further, it would have done. Add resisting arrest to the list, I thought gloomily.

Ruth was clearly as cheered as I was by this news. “But you didn't actually offer any physical violence?” she asked, the hope in her voice as obvious as a City supporter in a United bus.

“No,” Richard said indignantly. “What do you take me for?”

Diplomatically, neither of us answered. “The keys for this coupé—did you have both sets?”

Richard shook his head. “No, Brannigan had the others.”

“Have you still got them?” she asked me.

I nodded. “They're in the kitchen drawer. No one but the two of us has had access to them.”

“Good,” Ruth said. “These two women you were with—can you give me their names and addresses? I'll need statements from them to show you were talking about their record contract, rather than sitting in some dark corner negotiating a drug deal.”

“You're not going to like this,” Richard predicted. Correctly, as it turned out. “I only know their stage names. Lilith Annsdaughter and Eve Uhuru. I don't have any addresses for them, just a phone number. It's in my notebook, but the boys in blue have taken that off me. Sorry.” He tried a smile, but the magic didn't work on either of us.

Ruth showed her first real sign of tiredness. Her eyes closed momentarily and her shoulders dropped. “Leave that with me,” she said, her voice little stronger than a sigh. Then she took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders and pulled a packet of extralong menthol cigarettes out of her briefcase. She offered them round, but got no takers. “Do you suppose this counts as Thursday's eleventh or Friday's first?” she asked. “Either way, it's against the rules.” She lit the cigarette, surprisingly, with a match torn from a restaurant matchbook. I'd have had Ruth marked down as a Dunhill lighter.

“One more thing,” Ruth said. “You've got a son, haven't you, Richard?”

Richard frowned, puzzled. “Yeah. Davy. Why?”

“What does he look like?”

“Why do you want to know that?” Richard asked. I was glad he had; it saved me the bother.

“According to the custody sergeant, when the officers searched the car more thoroughly, they found a Polaroid photograph that had slid down the side of the rear seat. It shows a young boy.” Ruth took a deep breath. “In a rather unpleasant pose. I think they're going to want to ask some questions about that too.”

“How do you mean, a rather unpleasant pose?” I demanded.

“He's stripped down to his underpants and handcuffed to a bed,” Ruth said.

Richard looked thunderstruck. I knew just how he felt. “And you think that's got something to do with
me
?” he gasped, outraged.

“The police might,” Ruth said.

“It couldn't be anything to do with us,” I butted in. “Neither of us has been in the back seat since we got the car. The only person who'd been in the back seat that I know of is the salesman, on the test drive.”

“OK, OK,” Ruth said. “Calm down. All I was thinking is that the photograph might possibly have an innocent explanation, and that it might have been your son.”

“So what does this kid look like?” Richard said belligerently.

“I'd say about ten, dark wavy hair, skinny.”

Richard let out a sigh. “Well, you can count Davy out. He's only eight, average size for his age, and his hair's straight like mine, and the same color. Light brown.” The color of butterscotch, to be precise.

“Fine. I'm glad we've cleared that up,” Ruth said. “Any questions, Kate?”

I nodded. Not that I had any hopes of a useful answer. “Richard, when you were in Manto's, did you see anyone you recognized from the club the other night? Anyone a bit flash, a bit hooky, the type that just might have nicked the motor?”

Richard screwed up his eyes in concentration. Then he shook his head. “You know me, Brannigan. I don't go places to look at the punters,” he said apologetically.