The Stealers Page 9

  ‘Davy, Davy Porter,’ he gasped. ‘Ease up on my neck, will yuh?’

  Crane raised his knee slightly, ‘Okay, Davy. It’s a nice place you got here. Now once more, tell me, where’s Bradley?’

  ‘I don’t know anyone called Bradley.’

  Crane sighed loudly and increased the pressure on Davy’s neck, ‘You’d better.’

  ‘Alright, alright. He’s just a tenant, I rent this place to him.’

  Crane kept up the pressure on Davy’s neck and said, ‘You’re going to have to do better than that.’

  ‘Bradley will kill me if he finds out I’ve told anyone.’

  There was menace in Crane’s voice as he said, ‘I’ll kill you right now if you don’t,’ And with that said, he increased the pressure once more. ‘I haven’t got all day, this is the last time: tell me or I’ll crush your windpipe.’

  ‘Alright, alright,’ Davy gasped, ‘I don’t know where he is, he could be anywhere but,’ he hastened to add, ‘I’m meeting him later this afternoon.’

  ‘What time and where? And don’t lie to me; I picked up some of your conversation just now.’

  ‘Four o’clock; Harwich Docks.’

  ‘That’s better. What have you got for him?’

  ‘Some motors on a transporter.’

  ‘Okay. Now this is what’s going to happen. First of all, when you get up, you are going to give me your mobile so that you won’t be able to contact Bradley. I’ll be right behind you when you drive to Harwich. When I catch sight of Bradley, I’ll leave you alone.’

  ‘Yeah okay. Why do you want this so bad? I mean, what’s he done to you?’

  ‘He stole my car, an old Mustang and I want it back.’

  ‘Oh.’

  Crane straightened up, and as he did so he looked down at the prone figure of Davy and said, ‘Just so you know who you are dealing with, don’t try any tricks if you want to get out of this in one piece – is that clear?’

  Davy propped himself up on his elbows and said, ‘Alright, I know when things are stacked against me. Can I get up now?’

  ‘Yeah, but remember what I’ve just said.’

  Davy got to his feet and at that point, his mobile rang. He removed it from his jacket pocket and looking at Crane, hesitated. ‘Answer it with the speaker on,’ Crane warned, ‘and if it’s our friend Bradley, be very careful about what you say – it could cost you dearly.’

  Crane’s assumption was correct. Bradley’s voice resounded around the room. ‘Davy, I meant to warn you; there’s a guy called Jack Crane that’s poking around. He knows about the house, that’s why we moved out. He’s about six foot tall fairly well built, ex-SAS, so don’t tangle with him; give him a wide berth – okay?’

  Davy shot a quick forlorn glance at Crane and with some resignation replied, ‘Yeah thanks, I need to know that,’ and hung up.

  *

  Bradley and Ryan had spent the night at a boarding house in the back streets of Westcliff-on-Sea, during which time Bradley had made phone calls and arranged for his new assignment to be shipped from Harwich.

  It was lunchtime and Ryan was busy re-fuelling the car that they were both using. Bradley leant back comfortably in the front passenger seat, flicking through the pages of his diary as Ryan replaced the petrol pump nozzle and went off to pay the bill. Waiting to be served inside the kiosk, the front page of the Southend Echo caught his attention: ‘Camper Drives off Bridge’. Ryan grabbed hold of a copy before he left the kiosk and dashed across the forecourt to show Bradley. Together they stared wide-eyed at the bold print and colour photo of the camper, which was partially submerged near the bridge, ‘That’s Harry’s latest camper alright.’ Ryan said, ‘It explains why we haven’t heard from him.’

  ‘Do you think Crane has had anything to do with this?’

  Bradley shrugged and looked askance as he replied, ‘There’s no mention of a third party being involved. Witnesses say he couldn’t have been concentrating. They say the vehicle braked too late and skidded straight through the temporary traffic lights, through the open rails and into the drink.’

  ‘It’s a bloody coincidence though, all the same.’

  ‘Yeah, I guess we’ll never know.’

  Bradley turned the page and another report stared back at him; ‘Murder in Canford’. He grinned at Ryan and said, ‘That should have been Crane; he’s one lucky sod.’

  Ryan shrugged a reply, ‘Yeah, but it won’t be long before his luck runs out; his turn will come soon enough – I promise you.’ There was a pause and he continued, ‘By the way, how did you meet up with Harry in the first place?’

  Still scanning the newspaper and without looking up, Bradley replied, ‘In Broadmoor.’

  Ryan stared at the nonchalant Bradley expectantly, as if awaiting some kind of punch line of a joke. There was none. Bradley rustled the paper as he turned a page and added, ‘I was there for a short time, being assessed, as they call it. I met Harry, realised his potential and helped him escape.’

  Ryan felt a little uneasy at these revelations, but did not dare show it. He began to regret asking and said simply, ‘Oh well, we’ll miss him,’ but the unease remained. However, he managed to brush things aside and concentrated on only one thought; “Bradley’s helping me earn a lot of money.”

  *

  Crane trailed the car transporter, lagging behind at a hundred metres or so distance. Porter grinned to himself, eyeing the rear-view mirrors and picking up his spare mobile phone he dialled Bradley. ‘I’ve got that Crane bloke on my tail.’

  ‘What! How… ’

  Porter bought Bradley up to date with his encounter with Crane. Bradley was furious, but he managed to hold it back as he almost whispered a reply, ‘And you told him about our meeting place?’

  ‘I had no choice. When you called first, I was outside the house. I didn’t know he was inside; he’d heard part of our conversation. I tried lying but he was choking me – I had to tell him – didn’t I?’

  Bradley was quiet for a moment. An idea was gradually forming, and he replied slowly, ‘Okay… be sure to contact me before you turn off at Ipswich on the A14 Felixstowe road.’

  ‘Sure thing, Brad.’

  Bradley hated having his name shortened, but he let it go; he had more important things to think about. He looked at Ryan and said, ‘Crane’s on Davy’s tail. He’s driving an old white Merc 500. Give Terry a shout – find out where he is.’

  Ryan dialled Terry’s number and almost immediately the call was answered. After the usual salutations, Ryan said, ‘Are you in the Ipswich area?’

  ‘It’s where I live innit?’ came the jovial reply. ‘What are you after?’

  Ryan smiled, nodded at Bradley and said, ‘There’s a guy giving us a bit of aggro; he’s following Davy in a white Merc 500. Can you tap him off the track for us?’

  There was amusement in Terry’s voice as he said, ‘No problem; what, when and where?’

  Ryan gave Terry the details, hung up and gave Bradley a satisfied look, ‘That’s Crane sorted out.’

  Within the hour Bradley’s mobile rang. It was Davy. ‘I’m approaching the A14 junction now. He’s still behind me.’

  A brief smile and an, ‘okay,’ escaped from Bradley’s lips and he dialled Terry’s number. ‘He’s on his way.’

  ‘Right. I’ll be waiting.’

  Chapter Eleven

  Penny’s head seemed to be in a whirl. She felt like bursting into tears as she rummaged around her apartment, cleaning and tidying things up. Her mind was torn between the grief she felt for her dead brother and the constant worry about the fate of her missing sister, but she knew that she had to hold herself together for young Andrew’s sake. She cast a glance in his direction; he had found a quiet corner and was amusing himself drawing on a pad with coloured felt-tip pens. She stood for a moment watching him, and it seemed to give her a sense of purpose and a calm strength of resolve.

  *

  One thing that can be relied upon in England is the unre
liable weather. The sun was bright and cheerful when Crane took to the road. He had followed Davy’s transporter through Rochford and Ashingdon, but by the time they reached the roundabout on the outskirts of Ipswich, ominous groups of heavy cloud had taken its place. As they turned onto the A14 road to Felixstowe, a heavy downpour ensued causing automatic headlamps from the passing traffic to switch on, their beams reflecting a silvery path as they trundled along at a steady pace.

  Crane was surprised when a heavy truck sped past, its rear wheels splattering water and dirt onto his windscreen. Then suddenly, its driver swung the vehicle in front of his Mercedes, blocking his view of the transporter. Instinctively Crane eased on the brakes. Without warning, the truck in front began to slow down. Crane, keeping an eye on his rear-view mirror, waited until the outside lane was clear, and then pulled out in an attempt to pass the slow moving truck. Terry, the driver of the truck, had other ideas and swung his lorry out directly into Crane’s path. Crane’s reactions were swift. He slammed hard on the brakes, the tyres aquaplaning on the drenched surface sending the Merc towards the hard shoulder. By now, Crane surmised that the truck driver was involved with Bradley. Every time Crane tried to pass, the truck blocked his path. It was a dangerous game. Crane saw a chance of escape when a daisy chain of cars raced past in the outside lane. He tried to tag on the end, but the truck swerved out, braked and once again confined his movements.

  Meanwhile Davy, keeping a watchful eye on his rear-view mirrors, saw what was happening. He grinned to himself as he rammed his foot hard down on the accelerator and outpaced the jousting pair. A mile or so on, he breathed a sigh of relief and seized upon the opportunity to leave the A14 unseen. He stopped to contact Bradley in order to meet up at a different location near the docks.

  Crane pulled up on the hard shoulder whilst the truck drifted ahead. He stabbed his finger on the satnav for an alternate route to Felixstowe docks. He was in luck, it was only half a mile away. The sound of high-pitch whining of gears and a screaming engine made Crane look up from the small screen. He saw the truck hurtling backwards along the hard shoulder towards him. Instinctively he slammed the Merc into reverse. He half turned in his seat and with one hand on the steering wheel quickly guided the car up an adjacent narrow ramp, normally used by police to observe traffic speed. The bulky truck roared past with barely inches to spare. The truck driver, Terry, rammed his foot hard down on the brakes. The rear end of his truck slewed wildly out of control on the rain-drenched surface; it slithered into the main highway and straight into the path of an approaching police car. The quick acting driver of the police car slid to a halt and switched on his hazard lights. Terry frantically tried to restart the stalled engine as the policemen cautiously approached.

  The police did not seem to notice Crane as he gunned his vehicle down the ramp and sped off. Unfortunately, his speed meant that he did not have the pleasure of witnessing the truck driver being tasered as he tried to run away from the law.

  Crane trawled around the docks area for half an hour before spotting the stationary car transporter. It was down a side road but its cargo of three vehicles were missing. Crane parked the Merc directly in front of it and leapt out. Davy remained motionless in the driver’s seat. Half-open eyes stared vacantly through the windscreen. There was no reaction as Crane marched up to the driver’s door, swung it open and bellowed, ‘Where’s Bradley?’

  There was no reply. Davy remained inanimate; with glazed eyes staring through the windscreen. There was a tortured expression on Davy’s face and he was panting heavily and gasping for breath. Crane noticed a dark red, wet stain on the seat and on Davy’s jacket. It was blood. Slowly, he lifted the edge of the jacket; the hilt of a long kitchen knife was visible. The knife had pinned Davy to his seat. He became aware of Crane’s presence and whispered hoarsely, ‘Help me. Take it out.’

  Crane examined the area around the knife and replied, ‘The blade seems to have missed bones, but if I take it out it may cause more damage; you need a doctor. Who did this? Bradley?’

  Davy waited a few seconds and gasped, ‘Yeah. I’m no saint, but that man’s evil. He didn’t have to do this to me. He meant to do me in. He would have done so, if I hadn’t seen it coming. I turned to one side as he drove the knife in me. It hurts like hell.’

  Crane saw Davy’s mobile in the door pocket and picked it up. ‘I’ll call an ambulance.’ As he dialled, Crane continued, ‘Meanwhile tell me, how can I find Bradley? Do you know where he lives?’

  ‘No one knows. It’s one of life’s mysteries.’

  Davy winced with pain with each intake of breath, ‘He rents places here and there. He has a barn full of motors in France.’

  ‘It’s a big country, do you know whereabouts in France?’

  ‘Ryan told me, he was boasting about it. Near Calais; a farm at Cap Nez, that’s it. He may go there next. Bradley is an evil bastard. I wasn’t gonna deal with him any more. I mean, nicking cars is one thing, but he’s got no conscience; he’ll steal anything or anybody.’

  ‘So he’s not just into cars then?’ Crane echoed. ‘What else does he take?’

  ‘You don’t know the half of it. Bradley thinks I overheard something I shouldn’t have when he was on the phone, but I didn’t hear it all. I think that’s why he’s done me.’ Davy winced with pain once more and was quiet for a moment.

  ‘Do you know which car he is using?’

  ‘He was using a white Transit van – ’bout three years old; probably just nicked it. He’s cunning, that’s for sure. He gets others to do all his dirty work.’ At that point Davy passed out.

  The wailing noise of an ambulance siren sounded in the distance and Crane, deciding it was time to leave, straightened up. The sudden movement caused Davy to stir and wincing with pain gasped, ‘If you find Ryan, Bradley won’t be far away; they’re always together.’

  Crane drove out of the cul-de-sac as the ambulance turned in. He parked the Mercedes on the edge of town in a lay-by adjacent to the A14, reflecting on Davy’s last words; the registration number of Ryan’s dark blue Mondeo came to mind.

  *

  Bradley was in ebullient mood as he sat chatting with Ryan. They were gulping cups of tea in a cafe near the town centre of Felixstowe. Ryan pulled a face as he sipped the brew, ‘The bloke that made this should be put in prison for spoiling good water.’

  Bradley shrugged and said, ‘Give Terry a call, see how he got on with Crane.’

  As he palmed his mobile and dialled Terry’s number, Ryan grinned at the thought of Crane being knocked off the road.

  A muffled raucous noise of a mobile phone resounded around the police cell in which Terry was housed. He reached deep into his trouser pocket and responded with a desultory, ‘Yeah?’

  ‘It’s Ryan. How’s it going?’

  ‘I’ll tell you how it’s fucking going. I managed to delay the guy in the Merc, but that’s all. I got nabbed by the law and tasered as I tried to hop it.’

  Ryan looked at Bradley and shrugged, ‘Crane’s still on the loose and Terry’s in the nick.’

  Bradley laughed out loud, ‘Silly bugger, he wants to be more careful.’

  Ryan joined in the mirth and said, ‘Still, at least he put Crane off the trail. When you paid Davy did he say there was anything else to be had?’

  This caused Bradley to laugh again, the money he had promised Davy was still in his pocket. ‘No, I don’t think he’ll be getting anything else for us.’

  Ryan did not know why, but for the second time in the last few days, he felt uncomfortable during the silence that followed this terse reply and he wanted him to elaborate. ‘Is erm… Davy, is he retiring or something then?’

  Bradley grinned as he gave another brief answer, ‘Dunno, I just got the feeling that erm… somehow he’d had enough.’

  Realising that was all the response he was going to get, Ryan left it at that.

  *

  Crane sat in his vehicle parked in the lay-by pondering his next move. Traffic st
reamed past and his eyes were glued to the door mirror in the hope that the villainous pair he was seeking were still in the neighbourhood and that they would suddenly materialise in the mirror. He was having no luck and was beginning to think that the whole country drove white vans, when suddenly, he saw a dark blue Mondeo in front of a line of vehicles. It was them, it was definitely the vehicle that Ryan had been using. At the same time, Crane’s sharp eyes quickly noted the registration number of a Transit van with dirt-streaked finger-marked sides, following behind. He immediately gunned his Merc off the lay-by into the mainstream of traffic but, in order not to be seen, he trailed a few cars behind. At last he felt confident he would catch up with them.

  Now driving on the A12 Colchester Road, Crane was certain that he had not been spotted. Unfortunately the Mercedes engine missed a beat and began to pull back. Crane groaned, “Fuel… I should have fixed the fuel gauge,” and at the same time, the car slithered to a halt on the hard shoulder. Crane leapt out, opened the boot and cursed when he saw the spare fuel can was empty. Luck had not entirely abandoned him; a service station was visible just about half a mile away but he realised that there was no hurry because his quarry would now have plenty of time to get beyond his grasp.

  *

  Bradley and Ryan headed for a boarding house in Folkestone, Kent. During the evening meal they made plans to cross over to Calais via the Channel Tunnel. Bradley said, ‘Later this evening, take one of the left-hand drive motorhomes and I’ll meet you sometime tomorrow at the Cap.’

  Ryan, with a full stomach and a glass of ale down him, looked at his watch and replied, ‘No problem, I’ll make the ten o’clock crossing. By the way, at one stage after we left Felixstowe, I could have sworn Crane’s white Merc was following us, but after twenty minutes or so it disappeared. Still, I guess there’s more than one white Merc flying around.’