Chapter three

The first period of the day was algebra. When Leon came into the classroom, the teacher Miss. Turner was already chalking up a complicated equation on the board. It was hot in the room, the sun streaming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, put in by architects who should have known better.

He studied at Bravestone academy. Mark could have chosen any of the exclusive private schools around but he chose this one saying it would be more of a challenge.

As Leon took his seat near the back, he wondered how he was going to get through the lesson. How could he possibly think about algebra when there were so many other questions churning through his mind?

The gun at the funeral. The way Ian had looked at him. The van with CLEVER MOVERS written on the side. The empty office. And the biggest mystery of all, the one detail that refused to go away. The seat belt. Mark Hunter hadn't been wearing a seat belt.

But of course, he had. Mark Hunter had never been one to give lectures. He had always said Leon should make up his own mind about things. But he'd this thing about seat belts. The more Leon thought about it, the less he believed the accident story. A collision in the middle of the city. Suddenly he wished he could see the car. At least the wreckage would tell him that an accident had happened, that Mark Hunter had really died that way.

"Leon?"

Leon looked up and realized that everyone was staring at him. Miss. Turner had just asked him something. He quickly scanned the blackboard, taking in the figures.

"Yes, ma'am," he said. "X equals seven and Y is twelve."

The math teacher sighed, "Yes, Leon. You're absolutely right but actually, I was just asking you to open the window..."

Somehow he managed to get through the rest of the day, but by the time the final bell rang, his mind was made up. While everyone streamed out, he made his way to the secretary's office and borrowed a copy of the town's map.

What are you looking for the secretary asked. Miss Harper had always had a soft spot for Leon.

"Auto Junkyards…" he flickered through the map. "If a car got smashed up near old street, they would take it somewhere near wouldn't they?"

"I suppose so. Is this for a school project?" the secretary asked. She knew Leon had lost a relative, but not how.

Sort of…Leon was reading through the map but was seeing nothing.

"This one's quite near Old street," Miss Harper pointed at the corner of the map.

That's not far from William street about ten minutes from here." he tugged the map and noticed the name CLEVER. AUTO WRECKERS. The same name that was on the van when they had returned from the funeral. Of course, it might just be a coincidence, but it had to start somewhere. He closed the map, "I'll see you. Miss Harper."

Be careful. The secretary watched Leon leave, wondering why she had said that. Maybe it was the feeling something dangerous was there. Then her phone rang and she forgot him as she went back to work.

The Clever auto wreckers was a wasteland behind the railway tracks running out of town. The area was enclosed by a high brick wall topped with broken glass and razor wire. Two metallic gates hung open, from the other side of the road, Leon could see a shed with a security window and beyond it the tottering pile of dead and broken cars.

There was a guard sitting in the shed reading a newspaper. In the distance, a bulldozer coughed into life, then roared down a battered Toyota pickup truck. Its metal claw smashing through the window to scoop up the vehicle and carry it away. a telephone rang from somewhere and the guard stood up to answer. That was enough time for Leon. He sprinted through the gate holding his bike as he wheeled it along beside him.

He found himself surrounded by dirt and debris. Leaving his bike propped against the wall, Leon ran further into the yard, crouching down behind the wrecks. With the din from machines, there was no chance anyone could hear him, but he was still afraid of being seen. He stopped to catch his breath, drawing a grimy hand across his face. His eyes were watering from the diesel fumes. The air was filthy as the ground below him.

He was beginning to regret coming but he saw it. His father's Lexus was parked a few yards away, separated from the other cars. At first glance, it looked absolutely fine, the metallic silver bodywork not even scratched. Certainly, there was no way that this car could have been involved in a fatal collision with a truck or anything else. but it was definitely his father's car. He recognized the license plate. He hurried closer and it was now that he saw that the car was damaged after all. The windshield had been smashed, along with the windows on the driver's side. Leon made his way around and to the other side. And froze.

Mark Hunter didn't die in an accident. What had killed to see even to someone who had never seen such a thing before? A spray of bullets had caught the car full on the driver's side, shattering the front tire, smashing the windshield and side windows, and punching into the side panels. Leon ran his fingers over the holes the metal felt cold against his flesh. He opened the door and looked inside. The front seats were pale gray leather, were strewn with pieces of broken glass, and stained with dark brown patches. He didn't need to ask what hat stain it was. He could see everything the flash of the machine gun, the bullets ripping into the car Mark Hunter jerking in the driver's seat.

But why? Why kill a banker? And why was that murder covered up? It was the police that delivered the news that night do they must be part of it. Had they lied deliberately? none of it made sense.