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Another thought suddenly entered his mind. Had the car been stolen, or was he the victim of a prank? It was always possible. One of the other three could have done it, though he couldn’t think why.
Then again, they may have taken his car for another reason. Perhaps the same reason that one of them could have played around with his phone service. They were all good enough with computers to do that. Anthony should know.
A chill wind crossed the car park, forcing Anthony to pull his jacket tighter. He wasn’t in the Bahamas now.
If the other three were involved in the theft of his car and messing with his phone, they wouldn’t appreciate the police becoming involved. Come to think of it, in light of what had happened three months ago, Anthony wouldn’t appreciate the police digging into his life either. He had no idea where that could lead.
He paused, staring over at the terminal. It was only a ten-minute walk, no more.
He set off, passing a number of people along the way; one or two nodded but no one actually spoke.
As he neared the main building a taxi was dropping off. Once the driver had unloaded the suitcases he bade his fare goodbye and skipped around to the driver’s door.
“Are you free, mate?” Anthony shouted.
The driver was dressed in jeans, a grey shirt and black leather jacket. With a weary expression, he turned to face Anthony.
“Where do you want to go?”
“Burley in Wharfedale.”
“When?”
“How about now?”
“I’m not sure, I have another fare, maybe.”
Anthony dragged a wad of notes from his pocket. He never went anywhere without a pocket full of money.
He peeled off one hundred pounds. “We go now. No questions asked. It’ll take you ten minutes and it’ll be the best tax-free cash you’ll earn this week.”
The driver didn’t argue.
The journey took twenty minutes, conducted in silence.
When Anthony finally opened his front door, he struggled to push it more than six inches.
He glanced down.
“What the fuck?”
Chapter Twenty-two
Gardener glanced at the queue. There were three people in front of him, and at least another ten behind. The shop was bursting. At the speed the counter assistant was working, it probably wouldn’t take long for him to be served. In the meantime he would have to put up with some brash piped music.
Chris had harped on about a new pair of football boots for the last week. Not simply any boots, they had to be specific – in colour and brand. By the time he’d finished his sermon, Gardener didn’t need it writing down. His son had also dropped some heavy hints about the new Leeds Utd strip. Gardener dropped heavier ones, of the negative variety.
As he had time on his hands he was more than happy to buy the boots. He had no pending cases, unless you counted the disappearance of a certain Robbie Carter – though he doubted that man would reappear any time soon. The DPA case had all but died.
The music stopped for a second or two. He heard one or two random shouts outside on the pedestrian precinct of Bond Street, but paid little attention because the music soon started again. The queue moved forward two places because another checkout girl had joined her friend.
A commotion at the front door of the shop drew Gardener’s attention once again. A plump, middle-aged redhead wearing a heavy winter coat and carrying an M&S carrier bag slipped inside. She barged straight up to the counter.
“Can I use your phone?”
One of the assistants glanced at the redhead as if she’d lost her marbles. “Don’t you have one?”
“Do you think I’d be asking if I had?” She immediately turned her head toward the door and back to the counter again. “Hurry up, will you, it’s an emergency.”
