Crack Down. Val McDermid

gardens on Sackville Street when I saw the car.’ He put his glasses back on and looked expectantly at Ruth.

      ‘Which car, Richard?’ Ruth asked patiently.

      ‘The coupé,’ he said, in the injured tones of someone who thinks they’ve already made themselves abundantly clear. Poor misguided soul.

      ‘You saw the car that you had reported stolen in the early hours of Wednesday morning?’

      ‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘Only, I wasn’t sure right away if it was the same one. It was the right model and the right colour. but I couldn’t see if it was the right registration number. It had trade plates on, you see.’

      ‘Trade plates,’ Ruth repeated as she scribbled. I was intrigued. Any self-respecting car thief would have smacked fake plates on a stolen car right away. I couldn’t for the life of me see why they’d use the red and white plates garages use to shift untaxed cars from one place to another. It was just asking to be noticed.

      ‘Yeah, trade plates,’ Richard said impatiently. ‘Anyway, I went over to this car, and I lifted up the trade plate on the front, and it was the same reg as the one that got nicked on Tuesday night,’ Richard said triumphantly. He put his glasses on and grinned nervously at both of us. ‘It’s going to be OK, isn’t it?’ he added.

      Ruth nodded. ‘We’ll get it sorted out, Richard. Now, are you absolutely certain that this was the same car?’

      ‘I still had the keys on my key-ring,’ he said. ‘It had one of those little cardboard tags on it with the number of the car, so I wasn’t just relying on my memory. It was the identical number. Besides, the key I had opened the car, and there was still one of my tapes in the cassette. Isn’t that proof enough?’

      ‘Somehow, I don’t think the point at issue is going to be the car,’ I muttered quietly. Ruth gave me a look that would have curdled a pin¯a colada.

      ‘Did you call the police and tell them you’d found the car?’ Ruth asked.

      ‘Well, I figured that if I wandered off to look for a phone, the guy that had nicked it could easily have had it away again while I was busy talking to the Dibble. So I thought I’d just repo it myself and call the cops when I got home,’ Richard explained. It wasn’t so unreasonable. Even I had to concede that.

      ‘What did you do next?’ Ruth said.

      ‘Well, I did what any reasonable person would have done,’ Richard said. My heart sank. ‘I took the trade plates off and cobbed them in the gutter.’

      ‘You cobbed them in the gutter?’ Ruth and I chorused, neck and neck in the incredulity stakes.

      ‘Of course I did. They didn’t belong to me. I’m not a thief,’ Richard said with a mixture of self-righteousness and naïvety that made my fingers itch with the desire to get round his throat.

      ‘It didn’t occur to you that they might be helpful evidence for the police in catching the car thieves?’ Ruth said, all silky savagery.

      ‘No, it didn’t, I’m sorry. I’m not like you two. I don’t have a criminal sort of mind.’

      Ruth looked like she wanted to join me in the lynch mob. ‘Go on,’ she said, her voice icy. ‘What did you do after you disposed of your corroboration?’

      ‘I got in the car and set off. I was nearly home when I saw the flashing blue lights in my rear-view mirror. I didn’t even pull over at first, because I wasn’t speeding or anything. Anyway, they cut me up at the lights on Upper Brook Street, and I realized it was me they were after. So I stopped. I opened the window a couple of inches, but before I could say anything, one of the busies opened the door and dragged me out of the motor. Next thing I know, I’m spread-eagled over the bonnet with a pair of handcuffs on and his oppo’s got the boot open.

      ‘They kept on at me about the car being stolen, and I kept telling them, yeah, I knew that, ’cos I was the person it had been stolen off, but they just wouldn’t listen. Then the guy looking in the boot came round with this Sainsbury’s plastic bag, and he’s waving it in my face saying, “And I suppose the villains that nicked your car decided to leave you a little something for your trouble?” Well, I had no idea what was in the boot, did I? So I told them that, and they just laughed, and bundled me into their car and brought me here. Next thing I know is they’re on at me about a parcel of crack. And that’s when I thought, uh-oh, I need a brief.’

      Richard sat back and looked at the two of us. ‘It’s an unexpected bonus, getting Brannigan as well,’ he added. ‘How soon can you get me out of this dump, Ruth?’ he asked, gesturing round the shabby interview room.

      ‘That depends on several things. Being absolutely honest, Richard, I’m not optimistic that I can avoid them charging you, which means you won’t be going anywhere until I can get you in front of a magistrate and apply for bail, which we can probably manage tomorrow morning. I still have some questions, though. Have you at any time opened the boot of the coupé?’

      Richard frowned. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said hesitantly. ‘No, I’m pretty sure I haven’t. I mean, why would I?’

      ‘You didn’t check it out when you bought it? Look to see if there was a spare wheel and a jack?’ Ruth asked.

      ‘The salesman showed us when we took it for a test drive,’ I interjected. ‘I certainly don’t remember Richard ever going near it.’

      He managed a grin. ‘We didn’t have it long enough for Brannigan to take it shopping, so we didn’t need the boot.’

      ‘Good,’ Ruth said. ‘This carrier bag that they produced from the boot. Had you ever seen it before?’

      Richard shrugged. ‘Well, I don’t know. It was just an ordinary Sainsbury’s carrier bag. Brannigan’s got a drawer full of them. There was nothing about it to make it any different from any other one. But it wasn’t in the boot when that rattlesnake showed us the car on Monday. And I didn’t put it there. So I guess it’s fair to say I’d never seen it before.’

      ‘Did you touch it at all?’

      ‘How could I? I said, I’d never seen it before,’ Richard said plaintively.

      ‘The officer didn’t throw it to you, or hand it to you?’ Ruth persisted.

      ‘He couldn’t, could he? His oppo had me cuffed already,’ Richard replied.

      ‘Yes, I’m a little surprised at that. Had you put up a struggle? Or had you perhaps been a little over-energetic in the verbal department?’ Ruth asked carefully.

      ‘Well, I wasn’t exactly thrilled at being bodily dragged out of what was, technically, my own motor when I hadn’t even been speeding and I’d been on the Diet Coke all night. So I suppose I was a bit gobby,’ Richard admitted. If my heart could have sunk any further, it would have done. Add resisting arrest to the list, I thought gloomily.

      Ruth was clearly as cheered as I was by this news. ‘But you didn’t actually offer any physical violence?’ she asked, the hope in her voice as obvious as a City supporter in a United bus.

      ‘No,’ Richard said indignantly. ‘What do you take me for?’

      Diplomatically, neither of us answered. ‘The keys for this coupé – did you have both sets?’

      Richard shook his head. ‘No, Brannigan had the others.’

      ‘Have you still got them?’ she asked me.

      I nodded. ‘They’re in the kitchen drawer. No one but the two of us has had access to them.’

      ‘Good,’ Ruth said. ‘These two women you were with – can you give me their names and addresses? I’ll need statements from them to show you were talking about their record contract, rather than sitting in some dark corner negotiating a drug deal.’

      ‘You’re not going to like this,’ Richard predicted.