Crack Down. Val McDermid

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СКАЧАТЬ Leo are fighting it tooth and nail because it involves them in initial expenditure of more than threepence ha’penny,’ I said resignedly.

      ‘And that’s where you come in, Ms Brannigan. I want to prove to Leo that my system would be of ultimate financial benefit to both of us. Now, if I can prove that at least one of our bigger chains of dealerships is committing this particular fraud, then I can maybe start to get it through Leo’s corporate skulls that a helluva lot of cash that should be in our business is being siphoned off. And then maybe, just maybe, they’ll accept that a revamped distribution service is worth every penny.’

      Which is how Richard and I came to be playing happy newly-weds round the car showrooms of England. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Three weeks into the job, it still seemed like a good idea. Which only goes to show how wrong even I can be.

       2

      The following afternoon, I was in my office, putting the finishing touches to a routine report on a fraudulent personal accident claim I’d been investigating on behalf of a local insurance company. As I reached the end, I glanced at my watch. Twenty-five to three. Surprise, surprise, Richard was late. I saved the file to disc, then switched off my computer. I took the disc through to the outer office, where Shelley Carmichael was filling in a stationery supplies order form. If good office management got you on to the Honours List, Shelley would be up there with a life peerage. It’s a toss-up who I treat with more respect – Shelley or the local pub’s Rottweiler.

      She glanced up as I came through. ‘Late again, is he?’ she asked. I nodded. ‘Want me to give him an alarm call?’

      ‘I don’t think he’s in,’ I said. ‘He mumbled something this morning about going to a bistro in Oldham where they do live rockabilly at lunch time. It sounded so improbable it has to be true. Did you check if today’s draft has come through?’

      Shelley nodded. Silly question, really. ‘It’s at the King Street branch,’ she said.

      ‘I’ll pop out and get it now,’ I said. ‘If Boy Wonder shows up, tell him to wait for me. None of that “I’ll just pop out to the Corner House for ten minutes to have a look at their new exhibition” routine.’

      I gave the lift a miss and ran downstairs. It helps me maintain the illusion of fitness. As I walked briskly up Oxford Street, I felt at peace with the world. It was a bright, sunny day, though the temperature was as low as you’d expect the week before the spring bank holiday. It’s a myth about it always raining in Manchester – we only make it up to irritate all those patronizing bastards in the South with their hose-pipe bans. I could hear the comic Thomas the Tank Engine hooting of the trams in the distance. The traffic was less clogged than usual, and some of my fellow pedestrians actually had smiles on their faces. More importantly, the ALF job had gone without a hitch, and with a bit of luck, this would be the last banker’s draft I’d have to collect. It had been a pretty straightforward routine, once Bill and I had decided to bring Richard in to increase the credibility of the car buying operation. It must be the first time in his life he’s ever been accused of enhancing the credibility of anything. Our major target had been a garage chain with fifteen branches throughout the North. Richard and I had hit eight of them, from Stafford to York, plus four independents that Andrew also suspected of being on the fiddle.

      There was nothing complicated about it. Richard and I simply rolled up to the car dealers, pretending to be a married couple, and bought a car on the spot from the range in the showroom. Broderick had called in a few favours with his buddies in the credit rating agencies that lenders used to check on their victims’ creditworthiness. So, when the car sales people got the finance companies to check the names and addresses Richard gave them, they discovered he had an excellent credit rating, a sheaf of credit cards and no outstanding debt except his mortgage. The granting of the loan was then a formality. The only hard bit was getting Richard to remember what his hooky names and addresses were.

      The next day, we’d go to the bank and pick up the banker’s draft that Broderick had arranged for us. Then it was on to the showroom, where Richard signed the rest of the paperwork so we could take the car home. Some time in the following couple of days, a little man from ALF arrived and took it away, presumably to be resold as an ex-demonstration model. Interestingly, Andrew Broderick had been right on the button. Not one of the dealers we’d bought cars from had offered us finance through ALF. The chain had pushed all our purchases through Richmond Credit Finance, while the independents had used a variety of lenders. Now, with a dozen cast-iron cases on the stocks, all Broderick had to do was sit back and wait till the dealers finally got round to admitting they’d flogged some metal. Then it would be gumshields time in the car showrooms.

      While I was queueing at the bank, the schizophrenic weather had had a personality change. A wind had sprung up from nowhere, throwing needle-sharp rain into my face as I headed back towards the office. Luckily, I was wearing low-heeled ankle boots with my twill jodhpur-cut leggings, so I could jog back without risking serious injury either to any of my major joints or to my dignity. That was my first mistake of the day. There’s nothing Richard likes better than a dishevelled Brannigan. Not because it’s a turn-on; no, simply because it lets him indulge in a rare bit of one-upmanship.

      When I got back to the office, damp, scarlet-cheeked and out of breath, my auburn hair in rats’ tails, Richard was of course sitting comfortably in an armchair, sipping a glass of Shelley’s herbal tea, immaculate in the Italian leather jacket I bought him on the last day of our winter break in Florence. His hazel eyes looked at me over the top of his glasses and I could see he was losing his battle not to smile.

      ‘Don’t say a word,’ I warned him. ‘Not unless you want your first trip in your brand new turbo coupé to end up at the infirmary.’

      He grinned. ‘I don’t know how you put up with all this naked aggression, Shelley,’ he said.

      ‘Once you understand it’s compensatory behaviour for her low self-esteem, it’s easy.’ Shelley did A Level psychology at evening classes. I’m just grateful she didn’t pursue it to degree level.

      Ignoring the pair of them, I marched through my office and into the cupboard that doubles as darkroom and ladies’ loo. I towelled my hair as dry as I could get it, then applied the exaggerated amounts of mascara, eye shadow, blusher and lipstick that Mrs Barclay required. I stared critically at the stranger in the mirror. I couldn’t imagine spending my whole life behind that much camouflage. But then, I’ve never wanted to be irresistible to car salesmen.

      We hit the garage just after four. The gleaming, midnight blue Gemini turbo super coupé was standing in splendid isolation on the concrete apron at the side of the showroom. Darryl was beside himself with joy when he actually touched the bank draft. The motor trade’s so far down in the doldrums these days that paying customers are regarded with more affection than the Queen Mum, especially ones who don’t spend three days in a war of attrition trying to shave the price by yet another fifty quid. He was so overjoyed, he didn’t even bother to lie. ‘I’m delighted to see you drive off in this beautiful car,’ he confessed, clutching the bank draft with both hands and staring at it. Then he remembered himself and gave us a greasy smile. ‘Because, of course, it’s our pleasure to give you pleasure.’

      Richard opened the passenger door for me, and, smarting, I climbed in. ‘Oh, this is real luxury,’ I forced out for Darryl’s benefit, as I stroked the charcoal grey leather. The last thing I wanted was for him to think I was anything other than brain-dead. Richard settled in next to me, closing the door with a solid clunk. He turned the key in the ignition, and pressed the button that lowered his window. ‘Thanks, Darryl,’ he said. ‘It’s been a pleasure doing the business.’

      ‘Pleasure’s СКАЧАТЬ