The Stealers (8 page)

Penny gave a nod and a weak smile as she followed him towards the door and turned the latch after he left.

*

Harry chased around his rented accommodation, a small terrace house off the main road near Small Gains Corner on Canvey Island. Thoughts and plans whirled around his head in a kaleidoscopic manner;
‘Passport, passport, car insurance, drivers licence,'
as he rushed around gradually filling a large suitcase. It had not been much joy on the road travelling back home. The traffic had been particularly heavy, plus a front tyre had punctured – probably caused by something in that damn lane. He considered himself lucky to find a service station in the nick of time. So all-in-all, it had taken him much longer than expected to get home.

Harry felt dry-mouthed and kept looking at the large clock hanging high on the wall, each ominously loud tick jerking into his brain and reminding him to hurry up, ‘
But don't forget anything.'
He forced himself to remain calm. He had never killed anyone before, just smashed their bones. His plan had been to bring the hammer down hard on Crane's collarbone and then smash it into his knees. ‘
That would put him
out of action,'
he thought at the time. How was he to know it was the wrong man? Now the police will get involved and it will be a murder hunt, but
‘Nobody knows it was me.'
Harry's mind was in overdrive,
‘After all, it's not as
though anybody was chasing me
,
I could walk if I wanted to.'
But the nagging doubt would not go away, and it spurred him on. He was now packed and ready to leave.

The sound of a car door slamming made him drop his suitcase. His right hand sprang up, like a switchblade, and flicked off the light before dashing across the room, in the dark, to the window. His hand slowly eased a tiny gap in the curtain and he peered into the shadowy greyness outside, only to find it was a neighbour arriving home late from work. Like a sentinel, he remained in the same position for some time until he felt confident it was safe enough to leave and he grabbed hold of his suitcase and exited through the rear door.

Harry walked cautiously round to the front of the house and made his way towards his old Escort van that was parked amongst a row of assorted vehicles. He intended to drive to the lock-up garage where he had left the Volkswagen camper; he could then switch the vehicles over and head for the continent in the camper van.

Crane drove into Harry's road in time to see a shadowy figure leaving the side of a house, then toss a suitcase into the back of a van, before driving off. There was no doubt in Crane's mind that the shadowy, almost macabre, figure, was Harry.

Crane followed the van at a distance whilst figuring out his next move. He did not have to wait long. After approximately a mile, the van turned off the main road and entered a small courtyard. Crane parked his car nearby and leapt out. Approaching the yard with caution and keeping close to a wall, he peered around the edge of the building. In front of him he noted there were twelve double-sized detached garages. In the dim light, he saw that one garage door was fully open and that an Escort van stood in the yard to one side; its door was flung wide open and the engine was still ticking over.

The sound of another vehicle engine starting up, prompted Crane to make his move. The clatter of both engines camouflaged the noise made by the sudden rush of his feet against the gravel surface of the yard. He darted towards the stationary Escort and found a suitable gap, where he could press himself in between two garages. He made it in time to see the camper now emerge into the centre of the yard. Harry jumped out – leaving the camper engine running and the driver's door wide open. He then ran frantically to the Escort to garage it. As the Escort disappeared into the garage, Crane darted from his hiding place up to the camper, turned the engine off and swiftly removed the ignition keys, before retreating to his hiding place. Harry pulled hard on the up and over garage door; crashing it down noisily. Then, without bothering to lock it, he darted like a ferret back to the camper van, jumped in and slammed the door violently.

Crane left his hiding place and sauntered towards the driver's door of the camper. As he approached, he could see the frantic movements of Harry, who was scrambling about in the front of the camper searching high and low for the ignition keys. In the now suddenly quiet surroundings, Harry turned his head sharply as he heard the crunching sound of heavy feet upon gravel. His weasel-like eyes strained as they peered into the light of his headlamps, diffused and laced with rain. His eyes widened as he recognised the well-built figure of Crane approaching, holding aloft a set of keys. In a flash, Harry snatched at the central locking with his right hand; all the locks snapped shut. A wide grin of delight suddenly spread across his face. Then his left hand delved into his jacket pocket and produced a spare set of keys. Without delay he plunged them into the ignition, started the engine and, with the rear wheels displacing a generous mound of gravel, left the yard.

Crane cursed as he hurled himself towards his Mercedes. He leapt in, fired up the engine and slotted the auto transmission into drive, aiming his car at the receding haze of tiny red lights in the distance.

Harry knew he was lucky to escape another face-to-face confrontation with Crane. He was beginning to feel invincible; he had got away with it for a second time. The road ahead was empty, so he slammed his foot down hard on the accelerator as soon as he entered the long stretch of Canvey Road. The shock of seeing Crane was subsiding, but he could not stop his eyes from continually darting to the rear-view mirrors.

Far in the distance, two pin pricks of white light appeared; it worried him –
could it be
Crane?
Further along the road, he nearly lost control when taking a roundabout too fast and the camper slithered on the wet surface into the kerb. This made Harry feel more edgy as he sped towards the bridge that spanned Benfleet Creek. As though mesmerised, he could not take his eyes off of the camper's door mirrors, because the pin-pricks of light that they reflected had steadily grown into much larger orbs;
“Is it Crane? If not why are the lights catching up?”
He watched, as the car behind also slithered at the roundabout and was now less than a hundred metres away.

Crane was in no doubt that he was following Harry's camper van. He was surprised that the villain, given a head start, had not tried to hide in any of the side roads, but was instead making a straight run towards the bridge that joined the island to the mainland. Crane, foot hard down, was catching up by the second but then he suddenly braked, slithering to a halt.

Harry was fixated; he was concentrating on the rear-view mirror, more so than looking at the road ahead. If he had done so he would have noticed that one side of the bridge was sectioned off. It was closed for repairs to the barriers. His enthralment with the road behind was interrupted by flashing amber warning lights that filled the cab of the camper van. Harry's right foot tramped down hard on the brake pedal, as he tried to veer away, but it was far too late. A look of terror spread across his face as the camper smashed through the warning signs and slithered towards the area where the barrier had been removed. Shocked workmen threw themselves to one side as the camper slid towards the side of the bridge. Bright floodlights, set up by the workforce to facilitate the repairs, illuminated the camper as it teetered on the edge – balancing for a split second – before it plunged headlong into the murky depths of a high tide. The camper bounced up on the surface of the creek and floated on the swift current, but as gallons of water rapidly seeped through door seals, cracks and openings, the vehicle quickly began to submerge. Harry frantically tried to open the door; but the outside pressure of water made it impossible. His hand repeatedly stabbed at a button controlling the windows, but the electrics had short circuited. He was trapped.

Crane watched fascinated as the camper gradually sank to the muddy bottom. It would not be seen again until some hours later when the tide ebbed once more. There were enough witnesses around. Having recovered from the shock of jumping out of harm's way, the work crew stood by watching helplessly. One of them contacted the emergency services. Crane, not wanting to get involved, managed to slip away unnoticed. He would send an anonymous note to the police informing them of the Escort van's location and of Harry's involvement of Trevor's demise.

Crane drove back to Canford through patchy squalls of heavy rain and was glad when he swung the car into Palmers Rise. Penny heard the car in the lane, long before Crane pulled into the drive. She stood anxiously in a front room by the window, watching as he got out. By the time he reached the front porch, door keys in hand, Penny was already standing by the front door and with a look of relief swung it open and said breathlessly, ‘Any luck? Did you find him?'

‘Sort of,' Crane replied briefly, as he stepped inside and continued, ‘things didn't turn out quite as I'd planned.'

Penny, with a puzzled expression on her face, followed him into the kitchen, and as he filled the kettle and put it on, he brought her up to date on the past hours' events. She stood silent for a moment, watching Crane make a pot of tea, until eventually she said, ‘Are you sure he's dead?'

‘Oh yes, unless he has aqua diving gear on board.'

Penny continued with her questions, ‘And you're sure it was him?'

‘Yeah, the Escort van had a sample of paint all along one side, and the other side still had bits of bracken poking out. Plus the fact I had a good look at his face before he sped off.'

And pushing a mug towards her said, ‘Tea?'

As Penny lifted the mug she gave him a steady gaze and remarked, ‘You're a cool one, Mr Crane.'

*

The two thieves had finished their meal in silence. Bradley was now thumbing through a small diary as they were mulling over their next move.

‘We have six left-hand drive classic Yanks containered at Southampton docks. They are due to be shipped to Jacksonville next week; very collectable in the States. And three left-hand drive motorhomes stored at Dover; they need to be taken over one at a time.'

Ryan was deep in thought; wondering whether now was the time to quit. Underneath it all Crane was beginning to bug him and he reasoned he would not stop until he got his Mustang back. Bradley interrupted his thoughts, ‘It's a pity that Crane has hastened our departure, I owe him big-time, but in the meanwhile, I'll make sure that our stock is on its way out of the country before I make it up to him.'

At that moment a raucous sound reverberated between the two men. Bradley snatched at his jacket pocket, plucked out his mobile phone and looked at the tiny screen. A smile spread across his face as he answered. ‘What have you got Davy?'

Ryan watched with interest as Bradley's eyes widened as he listened to the caller until eventually Bradley finished with, ‘Yeah, I'm interested, I'll call you back later this evening.' The phone remained clenched in his fist for a while until he broke the silence with, ‘That was Davy Porter.'

‘What's he got?'

‘Three good un's.'

‘Really, what are they?'

Bradley smiled and continued, ‘Late cars – about two years old. A Jag, a Merc, and a Beamer.'

‘Are they hot?'

‘All cold metal, so he says. Cleaned up and ready to ship. I was about ready to suspend things, but this is an offer I can't refuse.'

*

It had been a long tiring day and Penny, feeling totally exhausted, settled down in the same room as Andrew and soon fell into a fitful sleep. The tragic loss of her brother and the dangerous situation of her sister, were scored deeply into her soul and she awoke tearfully several times. Crane, after setting the alarms and locks also turned in – his mind awash with the past few days events; “
Penny's sister could be dead.
Why did they want young Andrew? As a lever to
get Penny to do their bidding? Or to take him to his mother?”
At present there was no next move. Things mulled around in his mind until eventually he fell asleep.

He awoke early next morning to find Penny and Andrew up and already dressed. She looked at him, gave a half smile and said, ‘I thought it best to go back to my apartment now I'm not forced to live in that house any more.'

‘Do you think Bradley will go back to the house?'

‘I don't see why, he only rented the place. I suppose I fitted in to his plans very well, but not any more.'

Crane suddenly had an idea, but decided to keep it to himself for the time being. It was a long shot, but then he was used to taking long shots; it was what he did.

Crane watched as Penny turned her Mini out of the drive; Andrew gave a quick glance and a wave before looking down at his electronic game. Now they were gone, Crane prepared a few sandwiches, got in his car and headed for the house in Denisons Lane, in the hope of finding something that may lead him to the whereabouts of Bradley. As soon as he arrived there at the lane he parked the car some distance away from the house and walked along the pavement and then past the building before turning into the service road at the rear. After satisfying himself that he was alone and unobserved, he used the keys that Penny had given him, and slipped in the house through the back entrance. He had figured, if anyone was going to come to this place it would be sooner rather than later.

After he had checked over every room in the house, he looked in the garage – there were no clues as to what had been going on there. He was fairly certain that the place was exactly as he had left it on the previous morning. At lunchtime he settled down with a sandwich and a mug of coffee. By mid-afternoon, his patience was about to be rewarded. Peering out of the front window, he saw a small car transporter pull up and park adjacent to the driveway. Its single occupant, a man, about five foot ten in height and of stocky build, got out and sauntered towards the front door. His bunch of keys rattled and as one of them entered the lock, the man hesitated when he heard the urgent ringtone of his mobile. Crane stood near to the front door and listened intently to one side of the conversation. The man had a gruff London accent; ‘So you made your mind up then. Where do you want them delivered?' There was a pause and the conversation continued, ‘Okay, but I want readies, large notes will do nicely okay? Oh, and don't forget you owe me for the rent.' There was a pause and then he finished the conversation with, ‘I'm at my house now, I'll meet you at the docks around four this afternoon.'

He returned the mobile to his jacket pocket, turned the key and stepped into the hall and walked straight into the kitchen and switched a kettle on. It was then his heart skipped a beat as he noticed Crane casually leaning against the wall drinking a mug of coffee.

‘What the fuck are you doing in my house?'

‘I've come to ask you where I might find Bradley,' Crane replied pleasantly.

The man took a step towards Crane and said aggressively, ‘What? Me tell you? Are you fucking mad? There's more chance of a one-legged man winning an arse kicking competition! Now get out!'

Crane didn't move, ‘I'll go when you tell me where I can find Bradley.'

‘You get out of here now or I'm throwing you out!'

Crane did not move.

At that moment the man's mobile rang; he ignored it and with a look as dark as thunder he rushed towards Crane. In a flash, Crane tossed the full mug of hot coffee straight into the man's face. An agonising scream followed and the unfortunate victim's hands shot up towards his eyes. Crane pulled him down to the floor sat on his chest and leant a knee across his neck, and with his free hand wiped the man's face with a tissue. ‘There,' Crane remarked calmly, ‘let's start this all over again shall we. First off, what's your name?'

‘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.'