Snatched From Home: What Would You Do To Save Your Children? (DI Harry Evans Book 1) (6 page)

‘I’m gonna show you a trick. Harry, come and see this.’ Evans had wandered around the forecourt and was paying more attention to a second-hand M5 than he was to Campbell.

Campbell got Evans to re-count the cards the salesman had counted and they both agreed there were one hundred playing cards in the pile.

Picking up the stack of cards, Campbell sat down at a desk and motioned for the salesman to sit on the opposite side. Once the man was seated, he started counting the cards onto the desk.

‘One.’

‘Two.’

‘Three.’

‘Four.’

‘How many cars have you for sale today?’

The salesman took a moment to calculate the number before he answered Campbell. ‘Twenty-three.’

Campbell laid a card down. ‘Twenty-four.’

‘Twenty-five.’

‘Twenty-six.’

‘How old are you? You look near retirement age?

‘I’m only fifty-four, so a few years yet.’ The salesman pulled a face at Campbell’s question, irritation creeping into his voice.

‘Fifty-five.’

‘Fifty-six.’

‘Fifty-seven.’

‘Fifty-eight.’

‘Sorry about that. I’m twenty years younger than you. I was born in December seventy-nine.’

‘It’s OK.’ The salesman nodded at Campbell’s apology.

‘Eighty.’

‘Eighty-one.’

‘Eighty-two.’

‘Eighty-three.’

‘I’ve heard the temperature is to hit ninety-eight this weekend.’ Campbell laid down another card as he spoke.

‘Really, ninety-eight?’

‘Ninety-nine, one hundred.’ Campbell crossed his hands on the table.

‘Please, can you count the cards I have given you?’

‘Again? They been counted three times now: first, I counted them and then he counted them and then you counted them in front of us both.’

‘Just count them for me please.’

‘This is where you learn how you’ve been tricked, you imbecile.’ Evans made no attempt to hide his disdain of the salesman.

The salesman counted the cards that Campbell had laid on the table, and looked up in amazement when he finished. There were only twenty-one cards in his hands.

‘Are you looking for these?’ Campbell lifted his hands to reveal the other seventy-nine cards.

‘How the hell did you do that?’

‘I distracted you by asking you questions which had numbers as the answer or were about different numbers. When I started counting again I carried on from the number which had just been spoken.’

‘Well, fuck me sideways with a pickaxe.’

‘Was that familiar?’ Campbell ignored Evans’s outburst, and directed his question at the salesman.

‘Yeah. That’s just what it was like.’ A hand rubbed the salesman’s reddening face. ‘Mebbe the jumps in numbers weren’t as big, but that’s just how it was when he counted the money out.

Campbell was elated at discovering the method used to con the garages. As they drove out of the forecourt he explained the methodology to Evans. ‘It’s a simple enough scam if you have the confidence to pull it off and if you use the same questions at each garage you get the same amount of money. The key is the questions. The ones I chose were designed to annoy or interest him, which gives the bigger distraction. Also I overcooked it for effect. He would never have missed the jumps in numbers if I had given him notes instead of playing cards.’

‘So these folk are walking in with three grand and driving away with a car worth five? That has to be one of the best cons I’ve ever heard of. When we catch them we should give them a medal for services to motorists.’

‘Is it even illegal?’

‘If both parties agree to the amount of money that changes hands, I think it’d be very hard to prove otherwise in court.’

‘That’s what I was thinking. Say we do catch the folk who’re doing this, what then? We know how they’re doing it, but it’ll be a nightmare to prove without CCTV footage. Any halfway competent solicitor will get them off the hook in a few minutes.’

Evans gave a twisted smile. ‘I’ll think of something. There’s no way we can let people get ripped off like this.

While Evans rocketed the BMW to Silloth with his usual disregard for traffic laws and other road users, Campbell used the time to call Bhaki, instructing him to get onto the DVLA and flag up the cars on their system. With luck they could trace the new owners and find out who was behind the scam.

When they reached Silloth, Evans declined Campbell’s suggestion of a visit to the garage, instead pulling into the sprawling caravan site that housed Jumpers Entertainment Centre. A disco-pub, family-style restaurant and games machines were all housed in one shed-like building.

There were rows of static caravans running perpendicular to the Solway Firth, most had cars parked in front of them. People wandered back and forth in holiday clothes despite the cool sea breeze carried from the nearby shore.

Pulling into a disabled parking space, Evans switched off the engine, pulled out his mobile and sent off a short text which Campbell did not get to see.

A groundskeeper approached them and pointing out they’d parked in a disabled space. Evans fixed the man with an icy stare. ‘I’ve got Tourette’s. Fuck off.’

‘You can’t speak to members of the public like that.’ Campbell struggled to keep his face straight while getting the right amount of condemnation into his voice, as the bemused groundskeeper walked away shaking his head. Despite being shocked by Evans’s cavalier attitude to public relations, he couldn’t help but laugh at his terminology.

‘Jobsworths get right on my tit end. Why is this place not open yet? Don’t they want to get back on track? Or are they having a coupla days’ mourning for the missing wonga?’

‘There’s somebody in there.’ Campbell had ignored Evans’s latest diatribe and was peering through the window. He banged on the glass and the person who came across to the door was in charge of something or other, if the flashy suit and expensive haircut were any indication.

This guy has to be a wanker; he’s dressed like he’s managing the Waldorf Astoria, when in reality he’s in charge of a shitty little caravan site in a godforsaken, weather-beaten hellhole.

‘DIs Campbell and Evans.’ Campbell made the introductions to the man who identified himself as George Davis, the manager. ‘All we need to trouble you for is a look at where the safe is, our colleagues have got most of the details we require.’

‘Just follow me and I’ll show you where it is.’ Davis led them through the building into the back of house area. An emergency exit and the door to the public areas were the only means of accessing the area.

‘Is this door alarmed?’ Evans peered at the back door looking for wires or contact sensors.

‘No, it’s not, unfortunately. I’ve asked the proprietor to have the alarm system added to it, but he was reluctant to spend the money.’

‘He’ll mebbe have more of an incentive now.’ Evans turned to Campbell. ‘Right, mara, take a look at this safe then tell me what the code number is.’

Evans scribbled on a piece of paper he retrieved from his pocket, while Campbell scrutinised the safe.

Campbell studied the safe for a moment and when he felt confident he straightened up and faced Evans. ‘0898A.’

Evans unfolded the scrap of paper he’d written on. ‘0898A.’

‘How the hell do you both know that?’ Davis was now questioning the validity of these policemen who had waltzed in and cracked the safe code in less than two minutes.

‘The numbers eight, nine and zero are practically worn away, while all the others are virtually factory fresh, as is the letter B while A is again very much worn. By the look of the safe it dates back to the early nineties at most. This was a time when the number oh eight nine eight preceded all the phone sex lines, so it would be a good mnemonic.’

Campbell was enjoying the look of dismay washing over the pretentious Davis.

‘Bloody hell, it’s obvious when you explain it like that.’

They made their way out with Evans pausing to look at a scenic calendar that hung in the manager’s office.

Campbell got a text from Lauren informing him that they had a meeting with Bandits Express’s owner at 3 p.m., Cumbria Food Service’s manager at 4 p.m. at their respective offices in Carlisle. Euston Vintners was a national company whose head office was in London, but she had arranged for their area manager to meet Evans and Campbell at Carlton Hall – the regional HQ – the next day at 10 a.m. Peters, Waugh and Beckett were Kendal based and the managing partner had rearranged his schedule to see them at noon the next day.

Campbell relayed the information to Evans who checked his watch.

‘Right, let’s get some brain stimulus. We’ve got an hour before we meet with Bandits Express.’

Evans was a good as his word and he pulled into the car park of the Coach and Horses at Wigton just off the A596 – the main artery from Carlisle to West Cumbria.

‘Two pints of Jennings, please, Mike.’ Evans again ordered the drinks without asking what Campbell wanted.

As they made their way over to a vacant table in the busy roadside pub, Campbell steeled himself as they sat down on opposite sides of the table ‘With all due respect, do you realize you are a real-life, walking, talking cliché?’

‘What do you mean, like?’

‘Well, I’ve made your acquaintance twice now and worked with you for half a day. In that time, you’ve assaulted a suspect, driven under the influence of alcohol, smoked on public premises, been less politically correct than Bernard Manning and taken freebies from a member of the public, who we are supposed to protect from gangsters. You are like every seventies TV cop who ever walked the beat. It’s the twenty-first century now and that kind of behaviour is no longer acceptable.’

‘Don’t start to idolize me until you know the full score.’ Evans’s face twisted into a scowl. ‘I was the original and they are just copying what we did back then. Mebbes I can sue the telly companies for plagiarism, if you’re right with your assessment of me.’

Campbell wasn’t prepared to let Evans dodge his accusations. ‘That’s no answer and you know it.’

Evans ignored him and pulled out his mobile, scrolling through the different screens, he found the one he was looking for and showed Campbell the text he’d sent earlier.

Maureen, Larry is innocent on this one. Harry

‘So who the hell is Maureen then?’

‘Let’s just say her surname is Leighton and leave it there.’

‘Then why have you got her number in your mobile? Are you bent or what?’ Campbell tried to appear calm, but inside he was furious with this throwback from the seventies.

‘No, I’m not bent. The longer you are by my side the more you will learn. I may not have been some protégée who set the world alight in the Big Smoke, but I’m the best known copper in Cumbria for two reasons. One, I catch the buggers that no fucker else can, and two, I make sure that the criminals in this area get what’s coming to them, whether by my own methods or through the courts.’ He paused to gulp down a mouthful of the hoppy beer. ‘Anybody I’ve ever brought in has been bang to rights and not one of the fuckers has escaped prosecution. The Cumbrian people either love or fear me, but they all know who I am and what I stand for.’

‘Jesus Christ, man, you can’t behave like this way in today’s world. You’ve got every chav in the land with a mobile phone, videoing every move you make and word you say.’

‘It ain’t happened yet and I’m not worried about it.’

‘Well, you bloody well should be. It’s no wonder they are not offering to keep you on as an active DI. You must get more complaints than a dozen officers.’

‘I’ll admit I’ve been in the rubber-heeler’s office from time to time, but I don’t let that shite stop me from doing my job, which, in case you’ve forgotten, is protecting the public and locking up criminals. The public want to feel safe in their beds, and they all want a return to the days when coppers caught bad guys, and locked them up for a long time.’

‘That’s no reason to go running round like you’re Gene Hunt. There are set procedures and we are supposed to inspire confidence in the public, not insult and offend them.’

‘I don’t give a shite about political correctness and diversity. I have a job to do and I do it. Ask any person on the street if they’ve heard of DI Harry Evans and you’ll get an answer that’ll tell you if they are a criminal or not. The law-abiding applaud me and the scallies do everything they can to keep out of my way.’

‘Just don’t expect me to condone or defend your behaviour. I’m not risking my career just to give you a last week of uncontrolled mayhem.’

‘Don’t worry, mate. I don’t want you or anybody else covering my back. You can piss about being polite and diverse. I’ll do what needs done and catch the buggers.’

The barman came across with the burgers Evans had ordered and asked them to keep their voices down. Both men reddened as neither had been aware their voices had risen during the argument.

They used the interruption to cool down and attacked their meals, with Evans again dispensing Tabasco sauce from the bottle in his jacket pocket.