‘Considering what happened to your parents, I thought you would be more sensitive.’
I wouldn’t let Myles distract me with my parents. ‘Why did Redline edit the coverage and not even mention Alex’s death?’
‘Why’d you think?’ Myles snapped. ‘Some people understand the meaning of respect.’
‘Respect for whom — Derek or Alex?’
‘You’re a piece of work.’
‘Have you seen the TV coverage?’
‘I’ve seen the footage. It showed nothing. You should get your facts straight before you start mouthing off.’
Myles knew the dirty tricks of the racing trade. He was either lying or deluding himself. Alex’s car hadn’t simply spun out. It was launched into the air from locking wheels with Derek’s car.
‘Yes, Derek said something stupid, but it was just words. Alex died as a result of a terrible accident. You’d do well to remember that. I have to go now. I’m attending the burial on behalf of people like you.’ Myles couldn’t have injected any more disgust into his words if he tried.
He turned away from me to leave, but I grabbed his wrist. ‘Does this mean you’ll be installing a tyre wall and gravel traps at all the bends now?’
Stowe Park was one of the only tracks not to have installed gravel traps. In Myles’s opinion, dragging stranded cars from gravel traps slowed down the action for the spectators. It was a fair point, but gravel traps saved lives and drivers’ money.
My backhanded remark struck a nerve. Myles put his face in mine, but kept his voice down to a growl. ‘You little shit.’
Eva grabbed his wrist. She was a small, squat woman but she knew how to handle her husband. ‘Leave it. He isn’t worth it.’
Myles didn’t let go of his anger, but he obeyed his wife and headed toward his car. I’d lost the support of my fellow drivers. They’d already started walking away. If I had any backing for getting to the truth, it was gone now.
Our little row had failed to reach the other mourners, except for Alison. She was looking directly at me as she climbed into the idling Bentley.
Dylan waited until Myles walked away before approaching. He passed Myles and Eva on his way and gave them room as they hurried past.
‘That looked like it went well,’ he said.
‘I’m sorry, but I’m sick and tired of this crap.’
‘You’re preaching to the choir, mate. You just need to be careful. There are more people than just you involved in all this.’
I nodded and remembered Alison looking my way. ‘Did anyone overhear us?’
‘No, you got lucky, although any louder and you would have been in trouble.’
‘I’m glad to see everyone stuck around to back me up.’
‘What do you expect, Aidy? People are scared. They’ve seen something and they’re not sure they can believe it. They don’t know what to do. Hell, I don’t know what to do.’
‘Well, I do.’
I pulled out my mobile phone and dialled Steve’s number.
‘I’m not sure it’s respectful to make a call in a graveyard.’
I knew Dylan was trying to lighten the mood, but it wasn’t working.
When Steve answered, I switched the call over to speaker. ‘You’re on speaker with me and Dylan.’
‘What’s up?’ Steve asked.
‘I just found out that the police have completed their investigation. They’re calling it an accident. Case closed.’
‘And that bothers you?’
‘Yes, it bothers me. The TV coverage was cut, Myles is pretending nothing happened at The Chequered Flag and the cops closed the case. Unless someone steps up, Alex’s lasting memorial will just be a Did Not Finish classification on the official race record and that isn’t right.’
‘Why is this so important to you, son? Alex wasn’t a friend.’
Steve was testing me. I felt him pushing me from the other end of the phone line. There was no sidestepping the answer he wanted to hear.
‘Because I don’t want to see someone get away with murder again,’ I admitted. ‘They did with Gran. The hospital closed ranks to protect the surgeon who killed her.’
‘But he never worked again.’
‘He should have gone to prison.’
Six years ago, Gran died from blood poisoning after a routine replacement hip operation. It was obvious something was wrong during recovery. The excessive bruising should have told the surgeon something, but he ignored it and first signs of septicaemia. By the time he finally acted, it was too late. The post-mortem revealed a catalogue of mistakes that had occurred during the operation. Instead of this sparking a criminal investigation, acceptable risk got plastered over all the mistakes.
Steve exhaled. ‘God, you sound just like her. She was a terror when it came to injustice. She always fought for what was right and she instilled that in you.’
‘And is that such a bad thing?’
‘No. She’d be very proud of you.’
‘I know,’ I said.
‘So what do you want to do about this situation?’
‘Build a case against Derek and take it to the cops.’
‘Then let’s do it,’ Steve said.
Lap Six
The first part of our investigation was to examine the scene of the crime. Saturday morning, I drove out to Stowe Park.
I went down in Steve’s pride and joy, a 1972 Ford Capri RS2600. When it came to affordable coupes of yesteryear, the Americans had the Mustang and the British had the Capri. Steve had bought it new and he’d kept it in mint condition. He’d made a number of modifications that ensured it kept up with its more modern counterparts. I got to drive it when he needed the van, which was pretty often.
For my cover, I went armed with a laundry list of replacement parts I needed to rebuild my car. Like most tracks across the country, someone ran a parts and equipment business on the track’s premises. The stores all did a roaring trade on race days and survived the rest of the time through mail order. Chicane Motorsports, located in the paddock at Stowe Park, was the most reasonably priced outfit across the country.
I ignored the signs for the paddock entrance and followed the ones for the flea market. On non-race weekends, Myles rented the general parking area out to the market. The track was acres and acres of overhead and the income earned from ten race meetings throughout the year wasn’t going to cut it. He needed other sources of revenue and the market was a great moneymaker.
I parked and cut through the market. There was no security on hand to stop me from exploring the track.
It took me fifteen minutes to cover the distance from the start-finish line to the spectator area at Barrack Hill. During a race, I would have covered the same distance in less than thirty seconds. You don’t really understand how fast you’re travelling until you have to cover the same distance on foot.
I climbed the dirt embankment at Wilts and followed it to where Alex had crashed at Barrack Hill. The concrete wall he hit is built into the embankment. Spectators are allowed to watch from the mound. Last Saturday, anyone there got a close-up view they weren’t expecting.
I looked to see if anyone was watching me before bringing out my digital camera and snapping a couple of shots of the track from the embankment. I wanted pictures of the skid marks before the weather and other cars ruined them. I climbed down the embankment and over the gate onto the track.
Alex’s tyre marks were impossible to mistake. There was the usual array of skid marks where drivers locked up their brakes before going into the turn. Only one set of skid marks started in the middle of the bend. Alex’s skid marks. You don’t brake in the middle of a turn. It’s suicidal.
These skid marks might not have meant much to most people, but they told me a story. The marks were in two parts. The first set occurred part-way through the bend. It was a heavy, violently drawn S-shape. This came from the initial contact with Derek which kicked Alex’s car onto two wheels. The second set of skid marks began just as the first ended. A set of four ugly black lines slewed off the track at an angle and dead ended into the wall. These short skid marks indicated Alex’s futile gesture. He would have scrubbed little to no speed off before hitting the wall.