Free Crunch Time by Nick Oldham Page B

for?’
    â€˜Indefinitely – it’s all digitally recorded. Very clever, state of the art, won’t get wiped until the hard drive fills up.’
    â€˜So if someone came and enquired about the Mondeo, it could well be on camera.’
    â€˜Could well be.’
    â€˜Can you find out for me?’
    Ken had obviously been expecting the request, but even so he could not keep his reluctance from showing behind the full-face smile. ‘I’ll do my best … we have eight sales people here, two left since you bought your car.’
    â€˜I know it’s a big ask,’ Henry said in a vain attempt to keep the sarcasm out of his voice, ‘but you’d be doing us, the police, a great favour. And also, which auction house did it go to?’
    â€˜That I don’t know. Head office deals with that side of things. Could be one anywhere in the country.’
    Henry smiled encouragingly.
    â€˜I’ll find out … but can you give us a day or two?’ He looked pained. ‘Has your mobile number changed?’
    â€˜No.’ Henry moved to stand up – but before he rose to his feet the mobile phone in his right-hand pocket rang. ‘Speak of the devil,’ he said, fishing it out.
    It wasn’t his personal phone, it was his business one.
    Someone was calling Frank Jagger.
    Ingram arrived in an old Peugeot 607, big enough for comfort, plain enough not to get noticed. It was driven by another man, a big, overweight slob with porcine eyes and a sneering disposition. Henry guessed he was Ingram’s fists, even though the guy did not look capable of running more than twenty metres. Henry decided there and then that if it came to fisticuffs, he’d simply outrun the big guy, hopefully give him a heart attack.
    They had arranged to meet somewhere neutral, a back street industrial estate behind a large biscuit factory in Bolton. Henry had been reluctant to go to Bolton as it meant creeping ever closer to Lancashire, thereby increasing the odds of being spotted and recognized. On the plus side, he’d never worked very much in Bolton, so not many crims in that neck of the woods would be able to point the finger at him. He decided to chance it.
    Ingram climbed out and lounged against the side of the Peugeot.
    His driver/sidekick rolled out and Henry walked towards them from his Nissan. He extended a hand, which Ingram shook with damp fingers, making Henry cringe inwardly. As he withdrew his hand, he knew he’d just shaken with someone suspected of abusing and killing little girls. Those fingers had probably encircled young necks and squeezed life out; they had certainly touched young girls. Henry looked into Ingram’s eyes, which crinkled with superiority.
    He hoped he didn’t allow his distaste for the man to show, as this would show he knew too much, and it could be picked up by Ingram if Henry wasn’t careful.
    â€˜You got out then,’ Henry said.
    â€˜It was bollocks … this is Mitch, by the way.’ Ingram jabbed a thumb in the direction of the large guy. Ingram scratched his face, then nodded past Henry. ‘Got a new car?’
    â€˜I had it anyway.’
    â€˜So what’s your position, then?’
    All three men turned as a huge HGV stopped a few metres down the street and began a slow reverse towards the biscuit factory gates, accompanied by the warning bleeper.
    â€˜In what way?’ Henry turned back to Ingram. Mitch stood to one side of them, just out of earshot, his eyes taking in Henry, the Nissan and the environment. He was a lookout as well as a fist man, Henry noted.
    â€˜Financially,’ Ingram said.
    â€˜Precarious … if only I was in hock to a bank. At least they don’t have heavies.’
    Ingram smiled knowingly. ‘Don’t you believe it.’
    â€˜OK, I won’t. So what’s this about?’ Henry gestured with his hands to take in this meeting.
    â€˜I’ll come to that when