Page 43 of Deadly Cry
‘Go on,’ she said, narrowing her eyes.
‘I’ve got the frame and…’
‘You’ve got my frame,’ she corrected.
‘Aah, well that’s the rub, see. I day know just how rare these frames was. Had two calls already from folks offering to pay more for it than yer offer.’
‘It wasn’t an offer, Dobbie. We had a deal.’
She could imagine him shrugging cagily. ‘Yeah, but a man’s gorra ate.’
The man was twenty-four stone. He didn’t miss many meals from bad deals. ‘You do all right, Dobbie. It’s my frame and I’ll be round to collect it at—’
‘Hmmm… not sure that’s gonna work for me any more. But I’ll tell yer what I’m prepared to do to help yer out.’
Help her out. It was her bloody frame.
‘Oh do tell me, Dobbie,’ she said, grinding her teeth.
‘I’m gonna hang on to the frame until seven tomorrow night, and whoever comes and offers me the most money is gonna get it. See, gives yer a fighting chance just cos I like you and I cor be fairer than that.’
‘You’re gonna fucking auction it back to me?’ she asked.
‘Fairest way, I reckon,’ he said, and she could hear the smirk in his voice. Her back was aching from the barrel over which he was bending her.
She pictured the thousands of pounds that had made it into his till from her back pocket over the years, and opened her mouth to tell him so, but stopped herself.
She didn’t doubt that there was a higher demand for the frame than he’d thought. The Vincent Black Shadow, with a top speed of 125 mph, had been produced by Vincent HRD at their factory in Stevenage, Hertfordshire from 1948 to 1955 over three Series. Official records said that only 1,774 were ever made alongside the fifteen White Shadow models built to the same mechanical spec, but with an engine that was polished rather than enamelled.
He took her hesitation as an opportunity to drive home his point.
‘Hey, these things are fetching hundreds of thousands at auction. I gotta look after—’
‘Not for just the frame, Dobbie,’ she said, rolling her eyes. ‘And not restored models either. The ones getting silly money are original models that have been kept wrapped in tissue paper and bubble wrap for fifty years.’
‘Yeah, but—’
‘I’ll be there, Dobbie,’ she said, knowing she had little choice. He had possession of the frame and, as she knew, that was nine-tenths of the law.
‘Fanbloodytastic,’ he said.
She could hear him smacking his lips as he salivated in anticipation.
She held the phone away from her ear.
‘And don’t you dare sell it before I get there,’ she shouted before ending the call.
She swallowed down her rage. She’d deal with Dobbie tomorrow. Right now, she had to study the second letter that was addressed to her.
She reloaded it to her phone and the words lit up the screen.
DI Stone
I told you that you needed to stop me. I begged you. I told you this would happen. I had no fucking choice. Do you not understand that? You have failed me, and you have failed the woman who is now dead. Her blood is on your hands. She is dead because of you, and you have to live with yourself just like me.
Well, DI Stone, I’m afraid I can’t help you any further. You fucked up. You didn’t catch me. I asked you to fucking listen to me. I thought you were different. I thought you got it, but I was wrong. I pinned my hopes on you to make this end and I should have known better. You’re just like everyone else. You didn’t fucking listen.
I cannot tell you what I am going to do next, as I do not even know that myself.
