The Stealers by Charles Hall Page B

cement dust; and whoever made them, had not left. They were still there.

Chapter Seven
    Bradley’s mean face was set in anger as he drove the Ferrari around the country lanes like a maniac. He eased up only when he reached the main A130 route. He cursed himself for miscalculating Crane’s resolve; bringing his shady enterprise to a premature halt. A shrill warble resounded around the inside of the car and Bradley’s hand automatically dipped into a jacket pocket to pull out his mobile phone. His eyes quickly flicked at the caller’s number; it was Ryan.
    Bradley answered with an irritable, ‘Yeah?’
    â€˜I left just after you – through the open window.’
    â€˜You alone?’
    â€˜Course I am – in the Mondeo.’
    â€˜It’s a good job we cleared the cars from the barn before Crane’s visit. Things are finished here. We’ll meet up in Suffolk to shift the last of the cars to the docks before we make for Cap Nez, okay?’

    *

    Crane leapt out of the Mercedes; leaving it in the middle of the lane. As he put on his jacket, a weight pulling down on one side reminded him of the Glock. He took out the handgun and stuffed it into the waistband at the back of his trousers. He kept close to the bushes, which lay on either side and slowly made his way along the lane, edging his way towards home. He gradually rounded the slight bend and the cottage came into view. He felt a surge of relief as he realised that the tyre marks, which had been left at the end of the lane, belonged to a police car which was now parked in front of the cottage gate.
    Crane checked his watch. It was nine am. ‘Good morning, Constable Travers, you’re up early.’
    â€˜It seems I’m not the only one, Mr Crane,’ Travers smiled. ‘I was driving down Alders Hill, and being as I know you, so to speak, I thought I’d give you a look in – my Chief Inspector informed me about the theft of your Mustang; that’s the second time in as many days isn’t it? Unfortunately, so far, we haven’t had any luck in tracing it. Have you?’
    Crane pursed his lips and shook his head. ‘No, not yet, I’m of the opinion that it may now be somewhere on the continent.’
    â€˜You may well be right. There’s been a whole spate of car thefts right across the county and into parts of Suffolk. There’s reason to believe a well-organised gang is involved.’ Constable Travers shuffled his feet and continued, ‘Oh well, I’ll be on my way. Let us know if you are successful.’
    Crane did not want to reveal the cement dust trick and said, ‘My newly-acquired car has run out of fuel and is blocking the lane.’ He walked towards his parked Transit van, opened the rear doors and continued, ‘Luckily I’ve got a spare can of fuel in here.’
    As Travers moved towards his police car, his nose caught a whiff of Crane’s clothing. He paused, raised his head, flared his nostrils and sniffed the air.
    â€˜Strange smell,’ he remarked.
    Crane replied quickly with, ‘Probably some of the weed killer and fertilisers I’ve been using lately; I think they have been messing around with the formulas.’
    â€˜Hmmm, smells more like ether, eh?’
    Crane, now with his head in the back of the van said, ‘Oh, I wondered what it reminded me of; you never know what they are mixing up these days do you?’

    *

    Crane was enjoying a good soaking in the bath after putting his clothes in the washing machine. As he idly wallowed in the hot, steamy water, the raucous sound of his alarm resonated throughout the cottage. He sat up and scrambled out of the tub. There was no time to run through the scrubland to see who was approaching, so he hastily wrapped a towel around his waist. Crane was in no mood for physical confrontation; his ribs were still sore from the kicking he had received a few days earlier. So he placed the