Classic Bestsellers from Josephine Cox: Bumper Collection. Josephine Cox

piles of junk, deeper into the maze of crushed cars and broken metal, and there, in a deep hollow of earth up against a wall, was the blue Hillman Minx car which Jimmy Rollinson had found on scraping back the mangled wreckage.

      ‘I had no idea,’ he said. ‘Like I told your sergeant, the damned thing was so well concealed, I’m not surprised you couldn’t find it the last time you were here. I pride myself on knowing every single car that comes in here … it’s all logged in the book. But not this time, more’s the pity!’

      ‘So, when you’re not here,’ the inspector asked, ‘who keeps the ledger then?’

      ‘Even when I am away, which isn’t often enough, I can tell you, I make sure the foreman records everything for when I get back. He’s a trusted bloke, Cyril. I’ve never had any reason to doubt his word, and I don’t doubt it now. If he says he knew nothing whatsoever about this particular car, I believe him, all the way.’

      ‘Where is he, this foreman of yours?’

      Jimmy Rollinson jerked a thumb towards the run of buildings on the other side of the yard. ‘The sergeant told him to wait in the office. He knew you’d want to speak with him.’

      The inspector nodded. ‘He’s not likely to scarper, is he?’

      Rollinson chuckled at that. ‘Cyril? Hardly! It takes him all his time to waddle, let alone “scarper”. And he’s got a gammy leg into the bargain. The poor old bugger should have been retired years since, only I’ve a soft spot for him, and, besides, he knows how to make a belting cup of tea. Apart from that, he needs the money. His wife’s not been well of late. He’s had to get her a wheelchair, and a special bed so she can get in and out more easily. It all costs money, I’m afraid.’

      Proud of himself, he grinned from ear to ear. ‘I sent the pair of ’em on a little holiday last year, but you can’t keep on helping out, can you? I reckon I’m doing more than my fair share by keeping him on here … he’s coming up seventy if he’s a day.’

      Aware of how quiet Tom had gone, the inspector turned towards him. ‘All right, are you, Tom?’

      Tom’s gaze was glued to the car: with its bent body and crushed bumper, the blue Hillman Minx was burnt into his brain. ‘I can’t be sure until I see it front on, but, from here, it could be the same one.’

      In his mind it came alive: the big headlamps set either side of the high grille – like bared teeth. Through that broken window he could see the shape of the figure behind the wheel, but he couldn’t see the face; the hat was pulled down and he couldn’t see! ‘I can’t be sure …’ he murmured. ‘But it could be …’ All his instincts cried out. ‘Yes, it could be.’

      Rollinson was chattering on. ‘That’s yer 1947 Hillman Minx, there,’ he said. ‘“Mediterranean Blue”, they called that colour.’ He laughed. ‘Where they get these names, I can’t imagine!’

      ‘Right!’ The inspector issued orders to his sergeant. ‘Give me what you’ve got so far.’

      The sergeant told him all he had learned. ‘Apparently, there used to be a young lad working here, name of William Aitken. Some weeks after we’d searched this yard, he handed in his notice and left.’

      Rollinson thought to interrupt here. ‘I didn’t think nothing of it at the time. Lads come and go every week.’ He grimaced with disgust. ‘There’s none of ’em can do a day’s work … always looking for a handout, looking for that pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.’

      Not happy at having been interrupted in that way, the sergeant continued. ‘Anyway, Mr Rollinson heard nothing of this William Aitken until another lad came here looking for work.’

      To the sergeant’s annoyance, Rollinson butted in again. ‘I didn’t set him on … too skinny by half, he was. This is heavy stuff here. You need stamina to shift these big machines and such. Besides, the young bugger stank of booze … full of himself, he was.’

      ‘Thank you, Mr Rollinson, I’ve got it all written down, exactly as Cyril told me.’ Giving him a warning glance, the sergeant went on. ‘Anyway, sir, as I understand it, the lad had something interesting to say to the foreman. Mr Rollinson here thought it was the drinking – that is, until the bulldozer uncovered this car. He remembered what the lad said to Cyril, and decided to call us. Perhaps it would be easier if we carried on in the office,’ the sergeant suggested. ‘Then we could hear the foreman’s side of the story.’

      They made their way back to the buildings on the far side of the site, eventually installing themselves in the office with the foreman.

      Having explained to Cyril what they knew so far, the inspector directed his next question to him. ‘What was it this lad said to you, then?’

      ‘Well, you can imagine, I didn’t take no notice at the time – lads will say anything when they’ve had a pint or two. But, well, he’d got chatting to me before the boss spoke to him – the boss was busy with a delivery. Anyway, he said as how he and another young lad, who he kept referring to as William, had been out on the town, and that he had mentioned to the other lad that he was looking for a job.’

      Cyril tried to recall the lad’s exact words. ‘He said William had told him he should come and work here, because there was money to be had … that he’d been given a small fortune to conceal a car … said the boss was hardly ever there, so it was easy enough to do. He asked me if I’d ever got money for hiding a car, cheeky devil!’ Cyril looked suitably indignant.

      His boss gestured to the other side of the site. ‘It wasn’t until we uncovered that car that I put two and two together.’

      The sergeant took up the story. ‘I’m afraid we’ve got no name or address for this young man. Mr Rollinson sent him on his way with a flea in his ear, and he’s not seen him since.’

      ‘Well, o’ course I sent him on his way!’ Rollinson wasn’t taking the blame for anything. ‘You can’t have people drinking and such on this job! You’ve to have your wits about you, working on a site like this!’

      The inspector was not a man to be beaten. ‘Right, then!’ He instructed his sergeant to ‘Get that little lot cordoned off, and don’t let anybody near it. I want a forensic study of that car; make sure it’s gone over with a fine-tooth comb!’

      Addressing Cyril and the site-owner, he said, ‘Right, I want a description of this young man, and anything else you can remember.’

      Tom sat silently, every now and then glancing over to the car, seeing it all, his heart heavy. But there was hope.

      At long last, there was hope.

      Further questioning of Cyril produced no more information. The old foreman was adamant. ‘I knew nothing about that car.’ Sucking on his pipe, he explained. ‘Okay, I may have nipped down the shop for a wad o’ baccy occasionally, but otherwise I was here all the time with that lad, William. And I always padlocked the gate if I went out! Mr Rollinson will tell you the very same.’ His weary old gaze shifted to the boss. ‘Ain’t that so, boss?’

      Jimmy Rollinson backed up his statement. ‘I’d trust Cyril with my life. It was the young layabout who did it. Find him, and you’ll find the culprit!’

      A few minutes later, when Tom was preparing to leave them to it, he drew the inspector aside. ‘The old man’s holding something back.’

      The inspector didn’t agree. ‘What makes you say that?’

      ‘I’m not sure.’ Tom gave it a moment’s thought. ‘He seemed shifty. A bit too nervous for my liking.’

      Though he wasn’t convinced, Inspector Lawson agreed to go and have another word with the old man. ‘My money’s on the William lad,’ he said. ‘But look, you get off now. Leave it to us. When we find him, I’ll be in touch.’

      Tom wanted to be sure. ‘You will keep me informed every step of the way, won’t you?’