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don’t know where they are with their investigation. They probably know all this.’
    ‘And if they don’t?’ I asked. ‘Don’t we have an obligation to tell the cops what we know?’
    ‘Which is what? Rumour and innuendo? That doesn’t help anything.’ Tony said.
    I wasn’t sure what I’d been expecting from everyone, but it wasn’t this reticence. I understood it though. No one was under any obligation to come forward. It wasn’t their place.
    ‘Can we talk about something else?’ Jerry said after a long moment.
    ‘Has anyone seen the car?’ John asked.
    Pete Hansen nodded. ‘It’s locked up in the scrutineering bay. It’s a mess.’
    ‘Can it be rebuilt?’ Jerry asked.
    ‘Bloody hell,’ Dylan muttered.
    ‘I’m just asking.’
    ‘Repairable or not, the car shouldn’t be raced again,’ John said.
    Few people would want to drive in a dead man’s car, but this had more to do with respect. The car had taken a life and it needed to be retired from the system. Steve had told me about a Formula Three driver killed in the seventies. Every one of the drivers and team owners put money together to buy the car and have it scrapped.
    ‘We should buy the car and have it crushed,’ I said.
    ‘That’s a good idea,’ John said. ‘If all the registered drivers chipped in, it wouldn’t cost too much. And I really don’t want to see that car make an appearance somewhere next season.’
    John’s willingness ignited unanimous approval. Between us, we formed a plan to get in contact with the other drivers. I would talk to the family about purchasing the car.
    The hearse pulled up with two Bentley limousines containing Alex’s family. Alex’s parents climbed out from the first one. Mr Fanning had to lift his wife from the car. No one should witness this level of human misery. It was private and it should be kept that way. Seeing Alex’s mum reminded me of how much I’d lost and I touched my mum’s St Christopher.
    My parents had died thirteen years ago. I’d been without them for over half my life, but my memories of them remained vivid. I remember squeezing the hell out of Mum’s hand as we cheered Dad on at tracks around Britain and Europe. I remember Dad lowering me inside his various cars and telling me that I’d be following in his footsteps. I loved the attention the teams and other drivers gave me. Dad’s exploits made me popular at school. They were fun and exciting times.
    The years since hadn’t been so fun. I grew up without parents. My grandparents were great, but they weren’t my mum and dad and when Gran died, Steve was all I had left.
    I thought of Alison and Alex’s parents going through their version of this; visiting a graveside to reminisce their loss. Nothing could have saved my parents, but I could have saved Alex. If I’d stood up to Derek, I could have prevented this family’s pain.
    Alex’s dad guided his wife up the path into the church. He’d always carried himself with Cary Grant-like composure, but Alex’s death seemed to have snuffed out that youthful spark.
    Alison and her family got out of the second Bentley. Alison followed behind the Fannings, flanked by her parents. She kept her gaze forward, not taking in her surroundings.
    The funeral director called everyone into the church.
    Dylan and I filed inside. Ushers directed family and friends to different seating areas. If it wasn’t for Derek’s selfishness, these same ushers would have been directing people to seating areas for Alex and Alison’s wedding.
    The racing fraternity and acquaintances were directed to a section at the rear of the church. I had no problems with our second class status.
    Myles and Eva Beecham came in and joined us in the pews.
    When the congregation was assembled, the vicar asked for everyone to remain standing while the coffin was brought in. The pall-bearers carried Alex in with practised ease and placed his coffin on a stand in front of the altar. Alex’s mum broke down. Her