Stephen Booth - Dying to Sin

Cooper looked around the parking area and the buildings beyond it. If he had to imagine a place where no one belonged and everyone was just passing through, this would be it — a motorway service area. The ultimate nowhere land.

He’d often wondered why they bothered displaying information about local attractions inside the amenities building. Surely anyone who called at a service area was on the way somewhere else, by definition. Nearby attractions were the ones that motorists were least likely to visit, since you couldn’t actually get off the motorway at this point.

Well, that wasn’t quite true, of course. If you were an ‘authorized vehicle’, there was always a local service road over at the back somewhere. But law-abiding motorists weren’t supposed to know that. If they saw a sign that said ‘no unauthorized vehicles past this point’, they obeyed it, didn’t they?

Cooper scanned the exit lanes that ran past the petrol station, and located the service road on the southbound side. According to his map, this one twisted back towards the A609, the Nottingham road.

‘You’re sure Elder is going to meet someone?’

‘Well, he isn’t doing anything else, is he?’ said Fry reasonably. ‘He hasn’t got out of the car yet. It’s my guess he’s waiting, like us.’

They saw Murfin’s car turn in from the motorway, then disappear from view. A moment later, Murfin himself opened the back door of the Toyota and slid in.

‘Anything happening?’

‘Not yet. I need you to get closer to the Nissan over there.’

As they spoke, a liveried police car cruised into the parking area, did a slow circuit, and drove out again through the petrol station forecourt, back on to the motorway.

‘They didn’t even stop for a piss,’ said Murfin. ‘What do you make of that?’

‘Maybe it’s a Nottinghamshire thing.’

‘Aye. They don’t have bodily functions over here. Like the Queen.’

Cooper watched a minibus pull in a few places away from Elder’s Nissan, but a dozen laughing women scrambled out. A hen party on the way to the airport for a couple of days hitting the bars of Prague or Vilnius, probably. This was the way Eastern Europe got a taste of British culture these days.

‘Speaking of having a piss — ’ said Murfin, opening the door again.

‘Gavin, you can’t.’

‘I won’t be a jiffy. You said there was nothing happening.’

‘Well, stay away from the cafe, won’t you?’

‘That’s the trouble with these places,’ said Murfin. ‘They design them so you can’t even go for a slash without passing right between the cafe and the shop. There’s food on all sides of you. It’s a nightmare.’

‘ You’re the nightmare, Gavin.’

‘I’m only kidding. What do you think I am?’

‘Well, make sure you’ve got your phone with you. If anything starts to move, I’ll call you, and you’ll have to get back here damn quick.’

Murfin trotted across to the amenities building, tugging at the waistband of his trousers and shaking his legs to get rid of the cramp from sitting in the car.

Cooper tapped the steering wheel and yawned. People walking back looked at them, but took no notice. Sitting at a service station was different from doing surveillance anywhere else. One person sitting in a car didn’t look unusual, but two people tended to arouse suspicion, especially two men. Residents had been known to dial 999 several times a night to report a suspicious vehicle when a surveillance operation was under way.

He remembered a story Murfin had told him once, about an old lady knocking on the car window and offering him and his partner a cup of tea, because they’d been sitting there a long time and she thought they looked bored. If old ladies could recognize unmarked police cars, then surely no criminal worth his salt would have any trouble.

‘Do you think he might be on to us?’ asked Cooper after a while.

‘Ordinary law-abiding people don’t expect surveillance,’ said Fry.

‘But he’s not an ordinary law-abiding person.’

‘I bet he thinks he is.’

Murfin reappeared, and for once there were no suspicious bulges in his pockets. He got back into his car and moved the other side of Elder’s Nissan so he could see into the passenger side.

Then Cooper tensed. A white van crept slowly past their position with its headlights on. Two men were sitting in the cab, looking left and right as they crawled up to the end of the line of cars and started down the next one. It was an ordinary Ford Transit with no markings, indistinguishable from thousands of others that would be seen on the M1 every day.

‘Did you get the registration?’ asked Fry, noticing the same thing that Cooper had.

‘Yes.’

The van stopped, reversed, and drew in next to Elder’s car. Now Fry and Cooper couldn’t see the Nissan at all.

‘Damn.’ Fry dialled. ‘Gavin, can you make them out?’

‘Yes, I’ve got a good view. Two shifty-looking blokes in a white van.’

‘What are they doing?’

‘The headlights have gone off. Now the passenger is getting out, opening the side door of the van. They haven’t spoken to Elder yet. They’ve hardly acknowledged each other, but it’s definitely a meet.’

Cooper started the engine of the Toyota and fidgeted impatiently. Fry began to get frustrated by even a moment’s silence at the other end of the phone.

‘Gavin? Speak to me.’

‘OK, white van man is getting something out, a package wrapped in plastic, quite long. Elder is opening his door, and the bloke has put the package on his back seat. Hardly a word spoken between them, Diane.’

‘Do you recognize either of the two men?’

‘No, but I’ve seen plenty like them,’ said Murfin. ‘Mostly behind bars. Hold on, they’re back in the van, and the lights are back on. Yes, they’re moving. Elder is starting up, too. What do you want me to do, Diane?’

‘You take the Transit, Gavin, and we’ll follow Elder.’

‘Fair enough. I’m mobile.’

Cooper watched for the Nissan to get well past him before he pulled out. There were three vehicles in between them by the time they left the slip road and re-joined the motorway. They were still heading south, of course, because there was no other option.

‘If he’s heading home, he’ll either come off at Junction 25 and go west, or he’ll double back the way he came,’ said Cooper.

Fry got out the map. ‘Let’s hope he’s going west, anyway.’

At least Derbyshire lay that way. If the Nissan left the M1 to the east, they could be in trouble. Close to the motorway were the sprawling outskirts of Nottingham — Bilborough, Wollaton, Aspley, circular housing estates like spiders’ webs.

Elder chose Junction 25. He led them on the A52 through the lights of Derby and on towards Ashbourne. The fog began to creep in as soon as they got west of the city. At first it was visible only as grey patches lurking in the low-lying fields, but as the land rose it began to drift across the road. On the darker stretches, Cooper had to close the gap on the Nissan, in case it should take a hidden turning.

Murfin called to say that he was in Nottingham and had trailed the Transit back to an address on the St Anne’s estate.

‘I don’t want to hang around here much longer, Diane. This is bandit country.’

‘OK, Gavin. I think you can go home.’

‘Thanks. Well, let me know if you need me.’

‘Jack Elder is on home ground, too,’ said Cooper, when they were past Ashbourne. ‘It’s back to Rakedale, I guess.’

But Rakedale went by in the night, invisible in the fog, and they found themselves passing through the village of Monyash. It was getting late now, and there wasn’t much traffic around by the time Elder took the last turning. Cooper dropped back as far as he could. The brake lights of the Nissan winked in the fog, like a nocturnal animal on the prowl.