Private Investigations by Quintin Jardine Page B

up.’
    ‘What time would that have been?’
    ‘About half four.’
    ‘Did you make the sale?’
    Haddock’s question drew a scowl. ‘No. Nowhere near. The man was a time-waster. He told me he’d phone me back on Sunday with a decision, but he didn’t. Nor will he; I could tell at the time he was a chancer. You always know, don’t you?’
    The DS nodded. ‘Yes, we find that too, in our line of work. What was the man’s name, the time-waster?’
    ‘King; that’s all he told me. No first name.’
    ‘Can you describe him?’
    Sullivan frowned. ‘He’s about my age, give or take a year or two. I’m thirty-seven,’ he added. ‘He had a beard, glasses with dark frames and he was wearing a Barbour. That’s the best I can do. Why are you interested in him anyway? Do you think he came back and stole the BMW? If he did, he’s got no bloody taste. I’ve got better cars than that in the Kingston garage. If you’re going to suggest he was looking for a getaway vehicle, that was one of the slowest in the place.’
    ‘We’re looking at all possibilities,’ Pye said. He broke off as the PC came into the room, carrying two coffees in takeaway beakers. She placed them on the table, laying a five-pound note and a few coins beside them. As she left, the DCI continued. ‘Did Mr King give you a contact number?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘How did he get in touch with you?’
    ‘He rang my mobile: he said he’d seen my ad for the Bristol in the East Lothian Courier ; the number’s on that.’
    ‘Do you have your phone with you?’
    ‘I do,’ Sullivan told him, ‘but if you’re thinking you might find his number on it, you’re out of luck, lads. I deleted all my recent calls last night.’
    ‘Is that a regular practice?’ Haddock asked.
    ‘Pardon?’
    Pye sighed. ‘Do you do that frequently?’
    ‘Every so often. Like I said, I’m sorry. I’d love to help you but it’s just bad luck.’
    The DCI nodded. ‘As you say. That’s life; some you win, some you lose.’
    ‘Good. We’re agreed on something. Now, can I leave here?’ Sullivan asked. ‘I’ve got a business to run.’
    ‘Not yet,’ Pye said. ‘We’re not finished. When you called this morning to report the theft of the BMW, which phone did you use?’
    ‘The mobile.’
    ‘Where were you when you made the call?’
    Sullivan stared at him. ‘What do you mean? I was in bloody Kingston. I was looking at the empty space where my motor had been.’
    Haddock cut in. ‘Do you have a landline in your garage?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Why didn’t you use that?’
    ‘I just didn’t, okay?’
    ‘No it’s not. Can you prove you were at Kingston when you made the call? Does anyone else work there? Do you have a mechanic?’
    The dealer shook his head. ‘No, I don’t need one full-time. When I have to, I use a guy at Fenton Barns. So no, there was nobody else in the garage, only me.’
    ‘Therefore,’ Haddock continued, ‘as far as we’re concerned, you could have been anywhere when you reported the theft.’
    ‘I suppose.’
    ‘You could even have been standing beside the car.’
    Sullivan’s eyes widened. ‘Why the hell would I want to do that?’ He paused as a possible answer presented itself. ‘Are you thinking this was an insurance scam?’
    ‘No,’ Pye replied. ‘One, if that was the game you’d have totalled the car. Two, any insurance claim would arise out of the subsequent collision, and you weren’t driving when that happened. There is a third scenario where you’d give the car to someone else to take away and write off, but we don’t believe that one either.’
    ‘Good for me,’ the dealer drawled.
    ‘Maybe not. Do you know, or know of, a child, a wee girl, aged around five, by the name of Zena?’
    He frowned. He stared at the two detectives, from one to the other. ‘No, I don’t. Means nothing to me. What’s a five-year-old lassie got to do with my car?’ He laughed, a short, barking sound. ‘Do you think she stole it? Is that