Joe put down the thick china cup. “How’s that?”
Bruce explained that he had sold the Toyota to a couple of backpackers in Sydney.
“There’s a big underground car park downtown and anyone who wants to buy a camper van or whatever. You know for seeing the outback. They just -----.”
Joe was getting impatient. “Get to the point, mate. You said something about the police. You had all the papers and you already told me that you got the stuff to the bloke in Brisbane.”
“No, that bit went okay. After I unloaded the stuff there I just wanted to shift the truck and get back home. Nobody told me.”
“You’re not makin’ sense pal. Nobody told you what?”
“After I’d got rid of the truck, I had to wait for a flight back to England. That was when I spent three days in Sydney. I got a cheap hotel so no one’d be able to trace me.”
Joe was tired and Bruce was beginning to try his patience.
“Just get to the point, sod it,” he shouted at his friend.
“I’m trying to, Joe. Anyhow, while I was in Sydney I heard on the radio that the police wanted to speak to a Ray Smith.”
“That’s the name that was on those false vehicle documents I got from that bloke in Bristol; cost a bomb.” said Joe.
“Well that part was okay, Joe, but it turned out that the kids who bought it went to have it serviced and the bloke at the garage found what you’d done to the chassis. It was all on the news the next day. It said that the police had found traces of gold and silver.”
“Did you do go to that bloke I told you about in Brisbane to get the license plates changed like I told you?”
“I did just like you said,” Joe. “He said he’d filed off the engine number and took the ID labels off the doors and everything. He even checked that the new registration documents made out to Ray Smith were okay and gave me the blue copy of the safety certificate as well.”
“So there’s no way the truck could be traced back to the one that came into Sydney on that container ship.” Joe laughed. “So what’s the problem? There’s no way a bunch of dumb Aussie police are going to trace it to you, mate. Relax and finish your tea. I want to get home and get some sleep. My god, Bruce, you nearly gave me a turn then.”
Bruce still fretted as they drove off.
“Did you hear anything from that bloke about our money? Shouldn’t it already be in the bank on The Isle of Man by now?”
Joe had not heard back. When he had phoned the number he had been given, the operator had told him that there was no listing for a Williams and Sons Bank either on the Isle of Man or in the UK. He had even driven over to Lord Farleigh’s estate and quizzed the old man’s secretary about Lord Farleigh’s friend who had set it all up. When he called the number she had given him, he was told that they would get right back. So far he had heard nothing. He had begun to worry that it was all going pear-shaped, but he was not about to say anything about it to Bruce.
“It’s fine, Bruce; just a few more weeks. You get your head down and I’ll give you a shout when we get to the turn-off to Lynton. I’ve fixed up the back room over the garage so everything’s all set up.”
When he glanced over at the passenger seat, Bruce was fast asleep, his head against the neck cushion he had bought for the flight home. Joe tried listening to the radio but soon got tired of the banal chatter of the two announcers who seemed to think that people wanted to hear their jokes at eight o’clock in the morning. As they passed Stonehenge, he wondered if there were any finds to be made there. ‘Not likely’, he muttered to himself. That’s probably why they pinched it from the Romans and stuck it in that hole up at Sherracombe. He chuckled to himself.
***
Over the next couple of weeks Joe concentrated on his work and Bruce spent his time looking up one or two contacts in the town and trying unsuccessfully to find a job.
One evening as they sat in the small room at the back of the garage that Joe had fixed up as a kitchen and a place to eat, they talked about what they were going to do about the gold and silver in the safe. Bruce wanted to sell it and move on. He was still convinced that the Australian police would track him down. He had lain in bed thinking about it. In his mind he traced through how they would match the Toyota up with the one that the customs people had on their records using the engine mileage or some detail that the people in Brisbane had missed. They might even find his fingerprints in the cab and match them with the ones they had on file. Then they would contact MI5 or whatever, and he would be arrested. He had even thought out an escape plan.
Bruce selected a night when Joe seemed to be in a good mood. He had bought a pack of beer at the local shop and they had heated up two take-away turkey dinners in the rusty gas oven. It had not been used for years and the inside was covered in grease, but it did the job.
“Look Joe, It’s all well and good for you down here; you’ve got your business and all, but there’s nothing for me. I’ve looked, and I can’t find a job anywhere; once the holiday-makers go, it’ll be even worse. I wanna sell my share of what’s left in the safe and go to London or somewhere and start a new life.”
“You’re still jet
