CHAPTER 33
It wasn’t a house or an office. It was a back-street garage tucked away at the end of a cul-de-sac which was also home to a craft bakery and a vegan cafe. Even though it was Sunday, a compact, muscular man with blond cropped hair and oil-stained overalls was respraying the wing of an elderly Ford Fiesta. He didn’t stop what he was doing till the unmarked car came to a halt a few feet from him. Then he turned off his spray gun and gave them a challenging look. ‘What is it, then? A hit and run?’
‘Are you Warren Davy?’ Ambrose asked.
The man tilted his head back and laughed. ‘That’s a good one. No, mate. I’m not Warren. What do you want with him?’
‘That’s between us and Mr Davy,’ Ambrose said. ‘And you are?’
‘I’m Bill Carr.’ A smile lit up his blunt features. ‘Carr by name, car by trade. Get it?’
‘And what’s your connection to Warren Davy?’
‘Who says there’s a connection?’
‘DVLA. Warren Davy’s Toyota Verso is registered to this address.’
Carr’s face cleared. ‘Right. Now I get it. Well, sorry to disappoint you, but you won’t find Warren here.’
‘You’re going to have to give me a bit more than that,’ Ambrose said. ‘We’re here on a serious matter. It’s not the sort of thing where you want to be caught out obstructing the police, believe me.’
Carr looked startled. ‘OK, OK.’ He put the spray gun down and stuck his hands in his pockets. ‘I’ve got nothing to hide. I’m his cousin. Warren uses this place as an address for deliveries and stuff. That’s all.’
‘Why would he do that?’ Ambrose didn’t have time for finesse. He wanted answers and he was determined not to let this bodyshop monkey play games with him. Almost without thinking he moved a step forward, right on the edge of Carr’s personal space.
Carr seemed unaffected by the move. ‘Simple, mate. His place is out in the middle of nowhere. He got fed up with missing deliveries when him and Diane were out in the data-storage building, so he started using this place as a mailing address. I’m always here, see? And I’ve got plenty of space to store stuff. When something gets dropped off, I phone them and one of them comes into town to collect it.’
‘Fair enough.’ Ambrose was inclined to believe him. ‘When was the last time you saw him?’
‘Warren? A couple of weeks ago. But Diane’s been in two or three times in the past week. She said he’d been out of town. Nothing unusual in that, you understand. They’ve got clients all over the place.’
‘Clients for what?’
‘They do internet security, data storage - whatever that involves. It’s all double Dutch to me.’
The hair on Ambrose’s arms twitched erect. This was starting to sound like a serious prospect. ‘So where can I find your cousin Warren?’ he asked, casual as he could manage.
Carr wheeled around and made for an office cubicle carved out of a corner of the workshop. ‘They’re out on the edge of the moors,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘I’ll give you the address, but you’ll need directions as well.’
Ambrose stepped smartly after him. ‘If it’s all the same to you, Mr Carr, I’d prefer it if you came with us, to show us the way.’
Carr gave him a baffled look. ‘Like I said, I’ll give you directions. ‘
Ambrose shook his head, a gentle smile on his face. ‘You see, Mr Carr, this is a bit complicated. Like I said, this is a serious business. What I don’t want to happen is for you to call your cousin the minute we walk out of here. I don’t want you to tell him there’s a couple of police officers coming out to his place to talk to him about his car. Because, you see, Mr Carr, I don’t want your cousin Warren deciding to leg it before I have the chance of a chat with him.’
There was a hard edge to Ambrose’s voice that only a fool would have chosen to ignore. It dawned on Carr that his best option was to give in with good grace. He spread his hands. ‘I can see how you might feel like that. And I appreciate you not threatening me. I tell you what: why don’t you come with me in my car and your lass here can drive behind us in your car? That way, I can shoot off when we get there and Warren doesn’t have to know it was me that dobbed him in.’
‘Are you frightened of your cousin, Mr Carr?’
Carr did the head tilt and laugh again. ‘Are you kidding? I’m not scared. Don’t you get it? I like Warren. He’s a good bloke. I don’t want him to feel like I let him down, you berk.’ For the first time, Carr sounded annoyed. ‘I know I’d feel pissed off if someone brought the cops to my door.’
Ambrose examined the suggestion and could find no fault with it. Carr seemed both co-operative and harmless. Apart from his discomfort at the notion of someone bringing the cops to his door, which wasn’t necessarily a sign of guilt. ‘Fair enough,’ he said. ‘Lead the way, Mr Carr.’
It had started as an experiment years ago, but now it had become part of the armoury Tony used to crawl inside the labyrinth of a killer’s mind. He set up two chairs opposite each other, each illuminated by a single cone of light. He would sit in one chair as himself and pose the question. Then he’d physically get up and sit in the other chair to grope for a possible answer. Now, having assimilated as much as he could from the files, this was where he had to go.
Elbows on knees, chin on his fists, he sat staring at the empty chair facing him. ‘This isn’t about pleasure, is it?’
Then he got up and crossed to the other chair, where he sprawled, legs apart, arms draped over the sides of the armchair. A long pause, then in a different tone, much darker than his usual light tenor, he said, ‘No. It’s a mission.’
Back to the first chair. ‘A mission to achieve what?’
‘The end of the line.’
‘The end of whose line? It’s not random, is it?’
