Hope Road Read Online Free PDF Page B

fall down by his sides, flexing his fingers.
    “Steady profession, accountancy. It’d be an effective cover, wouldn’t it?”
    “Cover for what?”
    “I don’t know.”
    John laughs. “My family were crims, so
I’m
a crim! Yep, I rob banks in my spare time. Little hobby of mine…”
    Baron moves forward, both forearms flat on the table.
    “Mr Ray. This is about a young woman found dead in the boot of one of your cars.”
    “What?”
    He’s bluffing. What the…
    “Dead. In the boot. Beaten up, skull smashed in. Possibly raped.”
    “I thought this was about a stolen car.”
    “This is about murder, Mr Ray. That and forty thousand pounds cash tucked away inside the spare tyre.”
    Silence.
    “A dead girl,” Baron finally says, “and forty thousand in cash.”
    Forty? Ignore him. Ignore the money.
    “Who was she?” says John, confused. “Who was it? Was there, I mean who, who the hell was she…?”
    “The victim died sometime between ten o’clock last night and two this morning. Can you account for your whereabouts for those times, Mr Ray?”
    Baron doesn’t wait for an answer. He opens a brown file and takes out a photograph of the dead girl. Her head lies on one side, and her skirt is almost around her waist.
    “Jesus,” John whispers, shaking his head in disbelief at the sight of her fragile, huddled body.
    “You know her?”
    “No. No, I don’t.”
    He stares at her face, the eyes almost closed but not quite, dark lipstick smudged, some swelling to the cheeks and around the eyes. Strong features, pretty. Even in death.
    A beautiful, dead face.
    But he doesn’t know her. Why should he?
    What the hell is this? Den? Where’s Den?
    “I was
there
last night, at the awards,” he says, pointing to the newspaper, perhaps to allow him to avert his eyes from the girl, perhaps out of disbelief.
    “The car,” Baron says, ignoring him.
    Think. Now think…
    “The car? Mondeo.” He finds it hard to think. Unknown girl dead in one his cars. And not just any car. “It just came in,” he says, desperately trying to keep himself together, to think straight. “Bought it from a bloke down on Kirkstall Road. He had it parked up,
for sale
sign in the windscreen.”
    “When?”
    “Monday. Monday, about twelve.”
    “Funny time for someone to be selling a car, isn’t it?”
    “Not if you’re out of work it isn’t. Good for me, that. Beat him down on price.”
    “Kirkstall Road. What were you doing down there?”
    “Coming back from Frazer’s place.”
    “Social call?
    “Yeah, and looking over his stock, his prices, you know. We all do it.”
    Baron pauses as Steele gets up and leaves the room. He returns in what seems like seconds.
    “The car,” Baron says when his colleague has retaken his seat. “Tell us more.”
    “Young guy, twenties. Ehm, short brown hair, bomber jacket. He was putting the
for sale
sign in when I saw it. He wanted 900, I offered 550 cash. He looked desperate. I gave him 575.”
    “Just like that?”
    “Just like that. I’ll sell it for 800. I might even part-ex it on something better. Scrub up well, Mondeos.”
    “Aren’t you a bit above bangers like that?”
    “You’d be surprised. Not everybody moves up. If you’re driving a decent motor and you can trade down to something cheap but tidy, you make quick money. The neighbours’ll talk, but you’ve still got wheels. Some of my best mid-range stock comes in that way.”
    “Interesting. Did you know that, DC Steele?”
    Steele shakes his head, raised eyebrows, playing along.
    “So, I had three hundred quid on me. I went to a cash point about half a mile further on, got three hundred more. Bought the car there and then. Locked it up, drove back to the showroom, got a taxi back and picked up the Mondeo.”
    “You can verify that?”
    “The taxi? Derek’s Cabs. About three in the afternoon, Monday. It’ll be in here.”
    He thumbs through the call log on his iPhone.
    “Yes. Quarter to three.