Spillage, Page 3
Dave Cornford
Chapter 3
Clint was still half asleep as he stamped the rain off his boots and followed Pavel up the stairs the next morning. They threw the door open and flicked the light switch, and Clint was jolted into full consciousness at the sight of the orange cones and sawdust. A set of footprints, obviously from a pair of ladies' shoes, headed away from the site of the spill, fading as they weaved through the parked cars.
They both knew instantly that they had sent Melinda to her fate at the top of the stairs.
"Oh, crap," was all Clint could say, with a slump of his shoulders.
"Don't worry, he didn't want to see her anyway," said Pavel, patting Clint on the back. "But if you've got any chance of not getting the bullet, you'd better clean this up before he gets here."
Clint knew Pavel was right, and set about the task with gusto. Pavel was checking the job sheets and planning out the day, but every now and again he'd drop by to see how Clint was going, bringing over something to help with the clean up or offering some advice.
The patch of floor was conspicuously cleaner than the rest of the workshop floor before Craig arrived, and the "incident" discussed directly again.
Melinda sat at her desk, greeting patients and watching the waiting room fill up with nervous and damp looking sick people. The rain had been falling since early morning, and it had been an effort to get there and not drown. What they didn't know was that the doctor was half an hour late arriving, and Melinda was about to ring her boss to suggest he come in through the back window rather than run the gauntlet of irate moistness that lurked in the waiting room, when her phone rang.
"Surgery, can I help you?"
"Mel, it's me. I've had a car accident, and we've been here with the police for a while."
"Are you OK? What about the car?" she said with genuine concern.
"I'm fine. Car isn't so bad, but not drivable. I won't be there for another half an hour at least, so can you do some rescheduling."
"What shall I tell them?" she said quietly.
"Make up something, will you? Oh, look, I've got to talk to the police again."
"Where are you having the car towed to?"
"No idea. The towtruck driver who got here first is listing his options - would be great if he was listing mine."
"Get him to take it to Advanced Smash Repairs in Crighton Road. They're brilliant."
"Never heard of it. This is no ordinary car, I can't just take it anywhere." There was some shouting at the other end of the line that Melinda couldn't make out.
"I'll sort things out here, get the car to Advanced Smash Repairs, OK?"
There was more shouting and what sounded like a scuffle. "OK. I'll be in touch."
Melinda hung up, and hoped the waiting room hadn't heard the conversation with Dr Bedrosian. She took a deep breath, stood up and walked into the waiting room.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I'm very sorry, but I've just had a call from Doctor and he is caught up with an emergency he was called to earlier."
"You mean 'e's not even 'ere?" asked an old woman, who looked like she might live in a shoe. She certainly smelt like she did, or maybe it was just her raincoat.
"I'm very sorry. There are a few spots left this afternoon with Dr Bedrosian, and also some with our other doctor, Dr Smith. Come over and see me at the desk when you're ready."
Melinda turned to head towards the desk, and was nearly pushed over by the old lady who was rushing to be first in line. By the time she regained her composure and sat at the computer, there seemed to be a wall of angry sick people clutching umbrellas, daring her not to pick them next. Melinda squirmed her feet in her slightly clammy shoes - at least she wasn't wearing her date shoes, she thought, before remembering their oily demise the previous evening.
Milo Bedrosian was huddling in a bus stop, his shoes and trousers getting wetter and wetter as the rain continued to pelt down and splash off the footpath. It was the sight of a tow truck driver attempting to winch his black BMW onto the back of the truck while holding an umbrella in one hand that was the focus of Milo's attention. Dressed more like a chauffeur than a typical towie, with delusions of grandeur oozing from every orifice, Kendrick Monahan was trying to look like he was arranging some baggage in the lobby of a five star hotel rather than coaxing two thousand kilograms of damaged German engineering onto a flat bed truck in the pouring rain.
Milo looked at his watch. "Get on with it!" he said under his breath.
Eventually the car was tied down and ready to go. Kendrick got into the cab of the towtruck in a deft movement that involved folding the umbrella and diverting as much water away from the driver's seat as possible. He waved for Milo to get into the truck as well, but of course leaving him with 15 metres of ground to cover without the assistance of his own umbrella which was warm and dry back at the surgery.
When he made it to the truck, looking like a house cat that got caught out in the rain, Milo made every effort to get as much water into the tow truck as possible.
"So, where are we going?" said Kendrick, starting the truck as if earning money towing this wrecked car was beneath him.
"Advanced Smash Re . . . ."
"Not going there."
"What, they don't pay kick-backs? Get moving or I'll shove you and your tux out in the rain to unload this car, and I won't pay you a penny!"
"Monahan's just pulling up with a crumpled Beemer. Know anything about it?"
Craig shook his head. "Nup. Can you go down . . . ?" Pavel was staring back when Craig actually looked up. "OK, I'll go and play Mr Diplomacy. Hey, Oil Spill, come and give me a hand with the winch, would you?"
Clint winced at the first use of his new nickname, but was relieved that covering the boss' girlfriend in dirty oil hadn't got him the sack. His last job had ended when he'd been told to fix the computer, the boss being under the impression that being a young person was all the qualification you needed for the task. Clint was up to the task, but got the sack for accidentally deleting half the customer records. The owner never found out that Clint was attempting to cover his own tracks after discovering a large amount of unsavoury material on the computer. Clint tipped off his cousin in the Vice Squad, and the workshop was raided a week after Clint left.
Monahan had backed into the driveway, and the only reason he hadn't taken a chunk out of the wall was that he'd already excavated enhanced access for his truck the last time he was forced to drop a car there.
"Hi, I'm Craig."
"Milo Bedrosian." They shook hands. "My receptionist, Melinda Heise, recommended you very highly. Now, I really need to get on, who knows how many patients are waiting."
Craig gave him a card. "Call or email your insurer's details through, and we'll have a look at the car this afternoon and go from there. Can I call you a cab?"
"I'll do that. All part of the service!" said Monahan, rushing back into his cab to where his phone rested in an elaborate faux-chrome cradle. Craig and Milo exchanged glances.
"Good luck," said Craig.
Craig surveyed the damage, then put plastic protectors over the front seats and in the foot wells.
He turned to find Clint with the tow wire from the winch at the top of the ramp ready to attach to the BMW, and they went through their work methodically and calmly until the car was sitting forlornly in the workshop.
When the phone rang again, Melinda wanted to pick it up and yell "IT'S NOT MY FAULT!" at whoever else wanted to abuse her about the chaotic day patients had had to endure at the surgery.
"Good afternoon, surgery."
"Hi Melinda, it's Craig."
"Oh, Hi."
"I just wanted to say how sorry I am about last night."
"It's OK, I've almost forgotten about it - today has been so horrendous."
"Boss's crash?"
"I had to reschedule everyone, and then something happened with the new doctor who just joined the practice, and he left early leaving more drowned rats yelling at me."
"What happened?"
Craig wasn't really interested in dishonest doctors. "Oh, and thanks for recommending us. I really appreciate it."
"I was happy to. Look, I've got so much to do here, I'd better get back to it. I'll ring when this mess had cleared up and we can have that drink."
"OK, talk to you later," said Craig. "Oh, Oh, I've led her on again" was what he thought as he put the phone down.
The sight of the team gathered around the BMW in the workshop was a relief - he left the phone call and all thoughts of Melinda behind in his office, and joined them to get some real work done.
The car sat in a clearing in the workshop outside Craig's office, doors, bonnet and trunk open. They formed a circle around the car, and walked around slowly until everyone had looked at the car from every angle.
"Ok, what do we see? Don't forget the obvious."
"Left front fender, lights damaged from impact."
"Bonnet damaged, probably bent. Might need new one."
"Scrape down left side, probably only skin damaged."
"Left front tyre flat, wheel a bit skew. Front suspension damage likely."
"Probably no damage in engine bay. Need to check hoses."
"Nice car, but it works hard. Look at tyres." Boris went down on his haunches and pointed at the edge of the front left tyre. Although now flat after the accident, the rough edges that were signs of hard wear were there for all to see.
"Rear seats unused, look at the carpet, but in the boot," said Pavel moving around to the back of the car, "heavy wear on the carpet, scrapes along the sill."
"Golf?"
"Body bags?"
"Weekend trips to the hardware store?"
"Briefcases?" Craig paused. "Clint, was Dr Bedrosian carrying anything when he left to get his cab?"
"Nup."
"And nothing in the car?"
"Don't ask me to fingerprint it, Mr CSI," said Pavel. "We haven't even found any rubber gloves."
"Paint from what ever he hit is white," said Boris, pointing to the impact at the front.
Craig walked in close to look at the scrape down the left side of the car. "It's hard to see, but there is a different coloured paint in the scrape down the doors. This is from something else, but a similar colour to the car."
They crowded around, and watched as Craig gently poked at the scar down the left rear door.
"Two impacts?" said Clint.
"Yeah. Step, splash, ay, Oil Spill?" Pavel and Boris laughed but Craig paid no attention.
"And look. This scrape is from behind," said Craig, again looking closely at the rear door, "as where that impact is obviously from the other direction." He stood up and stepped back.
"Conclusions?"
"The car was involved in two accidents?" said Clint.
"Or he backed into something and scraped his doors, and then had the front impact . . ."
" . . . to cover it up and claim on insurance, or . . ."
"He just hadn't got the side scrape fixed before today's smash?"
They stood in silence for a moment. Craig broke it.
"OK, let's get the estimate done, but I want to make sure this other impact hasn't done something that isn't obvious, like messing up the rear end. Pavel, can you hack the onboard computer on these things?"
Pavel nodded while saying "No, of course not, I'm not a licensed technician."
"Good, Then don't look at the recording of the speeds travelled in last few minutes of that last trip."
The meeting broke up purposefully, and after striding back to his office, Craig paused with his hand over the phone. But he made his call.
"Surgery, can I help you."
"Melinda, it's Craig here again. Can I ask you about Dr Bedrosian's car?"
"I don't know much."
"Has he had any trouble with it?"
"No, none that I know of. I'd know if it had been breaking down."
"Has he had any other accidents?"
"Not since I've been here. And it always looks clean - he has someone come to the car park and clean it every week. They were here a couple of days ago, and I always have to go down and check they've done a good job before I pay them."
"So no damage to the car then?"
"No, it looked great. As usual."
"Does he play golf?"
"No, he hates it! Never goes to golf days or anything like that."
Craig had more curiosity to satisfy, but thought he'd better not spend too much time on the phone with Melinda and wanted to close the conversation down before she had the chance to ask him why he was asking.
"OK, thanks. Talk to you soon."
Half an hour later Pavel stuck his head in the door.
"Wonder why the good doctor was travelling at 30 kilometres per hour in reverse this morning. And the transmission is on it's last legs."
"OK. Anything going out today?"
"Nup. That Toyota and a couple of others will be ready tomorrow."
Craig got up from his desk. "Is it still raining?"
"Stopped a while ago."
"Have we got the Doctor's home address?"
"Sure I'll get it for you."
While Pavel was away, Craig got out his mobile phone.
"Good afternoon, Monahan Automotive services." Craig rolled his eyes.
"Hi, Kendrick old chum, Where did you pick up that BMW this morning? A couple of bits have fallen off, and we want to see if we can find them - quicker than ordering them in."
"I never leave debris on the road!"
"It was pouring with rain, mate, don't fret about it."
Armed with both addresses, Craig summonsed Boris, and they headed off into the cloudy afternoon.
