‘Still worth a hundred grand paid for,’ said JB, ever the pragmatist. I told you she knew about these kind of things.
We found Roy’s car parked out back in a resident’s bay so that meant he’d been jacked from home or else he’d used another, more anonymous motor on business. It was an old, but not ancient black Range Rover. It looked immaculate from outside. Roy loved cars and looked after them. I gave JB the keys. ‘You take it home,’ I said.
She grinned, opened it up on the fob and climbed inside. It started on the first try, and rumbled sweetly. ‘Don’t bend it,’ I said, and watched as she reversed out of the bay, then took off with just a small screech from its wide tyres.
I went back to the Ford and followed her, but she lost me at the first set of lights.
The Rover was neatly parked
