I had Archway to myself the following morning since Steve had gone out on a parts run. The problem with maintaining cars thirty and forty years after production has ceased is that replacement parts are a rarity, but luckily Steve had Grant Smith. Grant was a classic-car parts dealer. He was the Indiana Jones of lost car parts. If he didn’t have it, he’d make it his quest to track it down. He was worth his weight in gold to Steve.
The Brabham was finished and back in the loving arms of its collector, so I cleaned up the workshop, sweeping the floor and returning tools to their rightful places. The task helped me think and I had plenty to think about. Yesterday’s revelations had served only to muddy my situation. I was wedged firmly between a rock and a nutcase. Rags could be dirty and so could Andrew. That left me in an ugly position. I had to watch myself with both of them. I could throw myself at DI Huston’s feet and plead for mercy, but she didn’t seem like the merciful type.
I had my back to the workshop door when it creaked on its old hinges. I turned expecting to see Steve, but a uniformed police officer stood in the doorway instead.
He smiled. ‘Hello. I’m Sergeant David Lucas, Surrey Police. I’m looking for Mr Stephen Westlake. Is that you?’
I leaned the broom against a bench and picked up a rag to clean my hands. ‘No, that’s my grandfather. He’s out at the moment. Can I help?’
‘Maybe you can. Does he own a white Ford Transit van?’ He flipped open a slim file folder and read off the number plate.
‘Yes. Is there a problem?’
‘I’m afraid so. The vehicle was involved in a traffic incident.’ Sergeant Lucas studied me for a second then referred to his notes. ‘The incident occurred last Friday evening at approximately four thirty p.m.’
Suddenly, I understood the meaning of the curious look. ‘Where did the incident take place?’
‘Staines.’
‘With a Renault hatchback?’
Sergeant Lucas took a step closer. ‘Yes.’
‘Steve wasn’t driving the van. I was.’
Sergeant Lucas smiled at my admission. I think my honesty passed his test. I didn’t see the need for a test, since I couldn’t see why my roundabout near miss warranted police intervention. I guessed that angry Renault woman must have been pissed off enough to report my number plate to the police. I supposed I deserved a slapped wrist for the inconvenience I’d caused.
‘You were. Good. Then you’re the man I need to talk to. What’s your name?’
‘Aidy Westlake.’
‘Do you have somewhere we could talk, Aidy?’
I led Lucas up to the crow’s-nest and we both took a seat.
He looked up at the memorabilia on the walls. ‘You like motor racing, I see.’
‘It’s what we do. My grandfather was a grand prix mechanic in his day. He restores racecars and sports cars now.’
‘Really? Wow. And you work for him?’
‘I just help out.’
‘So what do you do?’
‘I’m a racing driver.’ A blush followed my admission. I hadn’t gotten used to the idea that I’d graduated from someone who raced cars to a full-time racing driver. My chosen career sounded so pretentious without a championship title under my belt.
‘Really? That must be exciting.’
‘It has its moments.’
Sergeant Lucas showed no sign of recognizing my name or a connection to my father’s career. It made for a refreshing change.
‘Obviously, you know why I’m here, yes?’
‘Over the traffic jam we caused on the Runnymede roundabout.’
Lucas squeezed out a pained smile. ‘I’m afraid it’s a bit more than that, Aidy.’
‘What do you mean?’
Lucas held up his hand and opened up a notebook. ‘I just have to get this part out of the way before we go any further. You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’
‘Are you arresting me?’
‘No, it’s just a caution at this stage, but I do have to make you aware of your rights.’
‘What’s all this about? I want to know why you’re cautioning me. What am I being accused of?’
‘Whoa, slow down. One thing at a time. The victim alleges—’
‘Victim?’
‘Please, Aidy. Just calm yourself. You’ll have all the time you need to respond, but let me get through the basics first. OK?’
What had Miss Angry Renault said that had brought the police to my door?
‘The victim in question alleges you crashed into her at the roundabout then drove off. When you didn’t stop, she pursued you and you proceeded to run her off the road.’
‘Bullshit.’
‘Mr Westlake, please.’
‘I’m sorry, but nothing of the kind happened. She cut me off in traffic and I went around her. End of story. Do you think I’d drive off if I had clipped her, let alone run her off the road?’
‘Mr Westlake, I don’t know you.’ Unlike me, Sergeant Lucas kept his tone level, but he’d switched to using my last name. We were no longer buddies.
‘I’m a racing driver. I don’t take chances on the road. If I lose my driver’s licence, I lose my race licence. The risks are just too high.’
Lucas nodded thoughtfully.
‘This woman – what’s her name?’
‘I can’t divulge that information.’
‘OK. Whoever she is, she’s trying to get back at me over this roundabout thing. There’s nothing to it.’
Lucas nodded. ‘Maybe you should look at this.’
He removed a Polaroid from his folder and handed it to me. It was a driver’s-side shot of the Renault hatchback sitting in a field. The front windscreen was split and the side windows were missing, but that was the least of the damage. The car looked as if it had been dropped from a great height. Every body panel was bent and buckled. The door mirror dangled from a trail of wires. My mouth dropped open in shock.
‘What is this?’
‘I have to warn you that a number of charges are being levelled at you which include failing to stop after an accident, failing to give particulars or report an accident within twenty-four hours, driving without due care and attention, dangerous driving, furious driving and offences not covered by other codes. These are serious charges.’
‘I realize that. This is insane.’
Any two of these charges was enough to claim my driver’s licence. I didn’t have a clue how long I’d lose it for if all of them applied. My racing career was staring into an abyss.
‘I don’t get any of this,’ I said. ‘I swear to you that I didn’t put a scratch on this car, let alone the damage pictured here.’
Lucas produced the pained smile again and took the Polaroid from me.
‘Don’t give me that look. This is bullshit. If I’d done that, my grandfather’s van would be a mess and my trailer would be in pieces. But they’re not. My grandfather’s out in the van right now, but the trailer’s right outside. Go look. You won’t find a dent, scratch or repair.’
‘There’ll be time for that later. You’re getting excited again.’
‘Wouldn’t you be?’
‘Maybe I would. Let’s calm down and just go through the facts. I think if we take things logically, one step at a time, there’ll be less emotion and we’ll have everything we need to be able to make a judgement. Sound like a plan?’
I exhaled. I appreciated what Lucas was doing. He was working with me. ‘Yeah. Sounds like a good plan.’
‘OK, I need to get a formal statement from you. I need the one-two-three of everything that occurred as you experienced it and nothing else. Just your viewpoint. OK?’
I liked Lucas and the way he went about his job. He was impartial and balanced, which made sense. He wasn’t judge and jury. He just collected the information.
I nodded and proceeded to outline what happened from the moment I entered the roundabout until the woman in the Renault gave up on her chase. Lucas wrote down everything I said on a statement form, stopping me when he needed clarification on a point. Every time I tried to insert an assumption, Lucas reined me in and asked me to stick to the facts. At the end, he handed me three pages of paperwork.
‘Read that over, initial each page and sign the last page. If you need to make changes, just make them and initial.’
I looked the pages over. Sergeant Lucas had captured my account as I’d described it. A couple of additional things occurred to me as I read the statement. Lucas stood next to me while I hand wrote in additions and initialled the changes.
‘So, is this an accurate account, according to you?’
It was and it didn’t look like much. I put my faith in the facts. They were probably the only thing that could save me. This woman could say I’d driven her off the road, but her story didn’t hold water. Steve’s van didn’t have a scratch. Considering the damage to her car, she probably ran off the road all by herself in her rage, and was trying to squeeze some money out of Steve’s insurance to pay for it. ‘Yes, this is how it happened.’
‘Then all I need is your signature.’
I picked up the pen to sign, but Sergeant Lucas put his hand over mine. ‘Now you’re sure you want to sign this?’
‘Yes.’
‘Once you sign this statement, it goes on record, so if there’s anything you want to change, do it now. We can tear this up and start over. It doesn’t matter to me how long this takes as long as we get the truth.’
I tapped my statement. ‘This is the truth.’
He looked at me with disappointment. He didn’t believe me.
‘What are you trying to say?’
‘All I’m saying is if your cars collided, I understand the situation. You’re a racing driver who can’t afford to lose your licence. Maybe you panicked and drove off. It’s totally understandable. I could see myself doing the same in your position.’
‘But I didn’t. I did exactly what’s written here. I don’t know why the other driver is saying what she’s saying, but it’s not the truth.’ I tapped the statement again. ‘This is the truth.’
Sergeant Lucas stood back from me. ‘If you sign that document, I can’t help you further. Charges will likely be filed against you.’
‘I don’t need your help,’ I said and signed the statement.