Hit and Run

'Okay, Mr. Scott, but there's just one thing. You'll have to report the damage to the police. It's this hit-and-run case. I've had instructions not to take in any damaged car without a clearance certificate. I expect you've read about the business the papers. Can you get a certificate?'

'I've already got it. As soon as I had the pile-up I reported to the police and they fixed it.'

'That's fine, Mr. Scott, then you bring her in and I'll get my boys working on her.'

I thanked him and hung up.

There was a slight chance he would spot the changed number plates, but I decided I would have to take that risk. He had dozens of cars through his hands during a working week, and it wasn't likely he would spot I had changed the plates. By going to him rather than a garage that didn't know me, I was much less likely to run into a barrage of awkward questions.

I locked up the bungalow, then walked the three-quarters of a mile to Seaborne's house. I found the Pontiac parked outside as I had left it. I was feeling pretty bad, my head aching as I; walked up the drive to the garage.

Everything was as I had left it when giving chase to Ross. I shut myself in and completed fixing the front number plate. Then I went around to the rear of the car and took a look at the dried blood on the fender and the tyre. I had to get rid of it. I couldn't risk Sam seeing it. I had a feeling that I was destroying evidence that might react in my favour if ever I came up for trial, but I just couldn't leave the bloodstains there. I fetched a bucket of water and washed the bloodstains off. Then I drove the Cadillac out on to the road and put the Pontiac into the garage. When the job was done I locked the garage and drove the Cadillac fast along the beach road to the highway.

I had no alternative but to drive with one light. It so happened the highway was practically deserted. The few cars that passed me appeared to take no notice of the single headlight, and I arrived at Sam's garage without meeting a patrol officer.

As I drove into the big, dimly lit shed, I saw Sam in his office, talking to two of his mechanics.

He came out and shook hands with me: a big, powerfully built man with a fleshy sunburned face and humorous eyes.

'Evening, Mr. Scott,' he said and looked at the Cadillac.

'Phew! You've certainly given her a knock.'

'Yeah. I guess that comes of having an arm around a girl and driving too fast,' I said, sure this sort of explanation would be right for him.

He grinned.

'I know. You don't have to tell me. I've done it myself. Women can be hell at times. Well, this isn't anything that can't be fixed, but I don't think I can get it done before the end of the week.'

The mechanics came over and stared gloomily at the car.

'These two scratches have gone deep,' Sam went on, examining the side panel. 'You boys had getter get busy. Get the door off and fix that first.' He turned to me. 'Got the police certificate, Mr. Scott?'

As I put my hand in my pocket to get out my wallet, I heard the sound of an approaching motorcycle, and looking around, I saw a patrol cop pull up outside the garage.

My heart stood still for a second and then began to race. Somehow I managed to keep my face expressionless as the cop stalked into the garage.

'Just a second,' Sam said to me and went across to meet the cop whom he appeared to know. 'Hey, Tim. What do you want?' he asked the cop.

'Got a damaged car here?' the cop growled.

'Why, sure. Mr. Scott has just brought in his Caddy. He's had a pile-up against a tree.'

The cop shot me a hard stare, then stalked over to the Cadillac. He looked at the smashed headlamp.

By now I had pulled myself together and had got the certificate out of my wallet.

I walked over to him.

'I have a certificate for the damage, officer,' I said. 'Lieutenant West gave it to me.'

The cop turned slowly and deliberately and held out his hand, while his small, hard eyes moved over my face. It needed an effort of will to meet those probing eyes, but I did it.

He studied the certificate.

If he checked the licence tag with the number plates I was sunk. There was nothing I could do but stand there and wait, and the next few minutes were about the worst I have lived through.

He looked at the number plates, then again at the certificate, then he pushed his cap to the back of his head and blew out his cheeks.

'When did you see the Lieutenant?' he demanded.

'He was out at Mr. Aitken's place. I work for Mr. Aitken,' I said. 'The Lieutenant cleared Mr. Aitken's cars and mine.' I was aware my voice didn't sound too steady. 'Sam knows me. He's handled my car often enough.'

'How did you do this?'

'I rammed it into a tree.'

Sam joined us.

'Mr. Scott was cuddling a girl,' he said, his face one vast expansive grin. 'Done it myself when I was his age, but I went clean through a shop window.'

The cop didn't seem amused. He shoved the certificate at me.

'I have a mind to take you in,' he growled, glaring at me.

'You might have killed someone.'