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“About six weeks ago, Sam and his colleague, Brian Thatcher, noticed a man in military uniform sitting on a bench outside of Transmech, watching the unit at the opposite side of the road, called CDC.”
“What was he doing?” asked Reilly.
“Apparently nothing. He had some dinner with him and a newspaper. Sam Coulthard watched him for quite some time…”
“Alright for some,” said Rawson, “when he’s supposed to be working.”
“Lucky for us he did,” continued Williams. “Anyway, he got up to make some tea and when he came back the man was gone. Same bloke was at the unit yesterday, doing exactly the same thing. He is also at the unit today. For the last week he’s been in and out of there with a white van, loading and unloading gear.”
“What sort of gear?” asked Colin Sharp.
Williams appeared flustered. “I don’t know, and will you shut up while I’m trying to get on with it?”
“Get you,” said Bob Anderson.
“Yeah,” said Thornton, “what’s eating her?”
Williams ignored him. “Anyway, apart from the van there are another five or six vehicles in that compound. One is a white Overfinch. The other is a green Evoque. I asked him for the registrations of all the cars.”
Williams spread his paperwork around on the desk. “It’s definitely them: a Ferrari Diablo, an Audi TT, and a BMW. Registrations all match up and are on the list for the DPA team.”
“Have we finally found them?” asked Reilly.
“Looks like it,” replied Williams.
“At last,” said Gardener. “Address and postcode, please, David.”
“Do you want me to arrange some backup, sir?”
“No need, we’re all going.” Gardener faced his team. “Coffe
e break over. Grab your coats.”
DCI Briggs walked through the door. “Gardener, Reilly, my office now!”
With that he disappeared.
“What’s eating him?” Gardener asked Reilly.
“No idea, but it must be catching because Williams is in the same mood.”
“What do you want us to do, boss?” asked Rawson.
“Hang fire while we sort this out,” replied Gardener.
Chapter Fifty-six
“Sorry about that,” said Briggs, “but I needed you in here immediately.”
Reilly glanced around, sharply.
“What are you looking for?” Briggs asked him.
“The fire.”
“Sit down, smart arse, I’ve got some stuff here that’s going to make your hair fall out. Did you find out anything in Burley, by the way? Williams told me he’d given you a lead.”
“We know it’s not Alan Braithwaite,” said Gardener.
