The Car

Paddy had only stayed away for a couple of nights after the Theresa episode. He had never disbelieved Bridget and knew there would be a good reason for her actions, but right at that moment he had other fish to fry.

The police investigating the vehicle seen at the time of Billy’s disappearance had eventually got round to checking the one owned by Michael Coyle. This was serious stuff, and Paddy could see Michael having a hard time if they couldn’t produce the car or a report that it had been stolen.

The only way out of this mess was to doctor the vehicle just recently acquired. They would swap VIN numbers, which was a dodgy venture at the best of times. But in a car one connected to the disappearance of a kid, Forensics would go over it with a fine toothcomb.

The answer to their problem came via Gerry and Tiny. A certain Mr George Dodds owed Paddy over five grand, which had been used to finance a bank job that had gone wrong. Unfortunately for Mr Dodds the debt was still in place and he was toiling with the payments. George was probably the best wheel man in the country; he could pick up and disguise a car better than the manufacturers. The plan was to change the VIN number, run the clock forward and hand the car in for examination. It would then disappear from the pound. It was chancy, but they had no alternative and George Dodds would be debt-free.

Over the years Paddy had built up a whole network of bent cops and judges throughout the city. It was time for a few to earn their crust. Facing him was D.I. Higgins, an old acquaintance. Higgins and his wife had enjoyed many a Caribbean cruise, courtesy of the Coyle family, but it was payback time. Like most villains, Paddy hated the police in general, but he hated bent cops even more. To get collared fair and square was one thing, but to get put away by bent filth was intolerable. That’s what could happen to Michael if they didn’t get this matter sorted. To put Sean in the frame, guilty or not, was never going to happen. Paddy would exact his own revenge at a suitable time.

“So you want me to let some wee tea-leaf have the run of the pound and take his pick? I don’t think so, Paddy.”

“It’s Mr Coyle to you.” Paddy walked round from his side of the desk holding a small ball-peen hammer. “That wasn’t a request, Higgins. It was an order. You will allow my man access to the pound and not only that, you will personally make sure everything goes smoothly.”

“But Paddy, sorry, Mr Coyle, it’s never been done before.”

“Well, you’re just the man to make it happen,” Paddy smacked the hammer against his hand.

Higgins was rigid with terror. He’d taken Coyle’s brass for years – to such an extent that he considered it part of his salary. It was reasonable payment for the favours Paddy asked in return, but this, this was way out of his league. He had no idea how to pull it off, but the alternative was staring him straight in the face. If it went awry he’d probably never walk again, courtesy of the ball-peen.

“The car will be available next week. Michael will hand it over, late on Friday. It’s unlikely the forensic guys will work on it straight away. Our man will collect it that night. Don’t think going off on the sick will save you, Higgins. If you mess up on this you’ll be on long term sick. This should cover your expenses.” He threw a bulky envelope onto the table.

Higgins left the lounge bar of the Ingram Hotel, where he and Paddy had met, a far less jaunty fellow than when he’d entered the building. He had no idea how he’d pull this off and there was no-one he could run it past. He could hardly ask one of his colleagues for advice on how to stage a break-in to the highly secure police car pound. But he had only a few days to accomplish the task or his time was up.

The car now sported a new VIN number and had allegedly clocked up over twelve thousand miles. It was delivered by Michael to his local police station in London Road, together with all the requisite documentation, and D.I. Higgins was duly notified.

The brand new 4 x 4 arrived at the scrapyard at just after eight that night and was crushed and rendered unidentifiable by nine. How Higgins had accomplished this was of no interest to the Coyle brothers, nor was the fact that Higgins had gone off sick the following morning.

The theft had been relatively simple. The police officer had easily acquired a full set of keys to the pound which he gave to the wheelman whilst ensuring he was at no time out of camera range while the theft was taking place so that he was never under suspicion.

Michael Coyle eventually received compensation from the Greater Glasgow Police Force for the loss of a top of the range Range Rover, stolen from their secure pound and the vehicle was dropped from their enquiries.