Dead Man's Time

the doors were unlocked then locked again behind them as they made their way further through into the gloomy, windowless interior with its cold stone floors,
drab walls decorated with the occasional Health and Safety poster, fire buckets and large, strong doors.
    Alan Setterington made him a coffee, then went off to fetch the informant who was prepared to talk to Grace. For favours, of course.
    Donny Loncrane came into the room in his green prison work tunic. Aged fifty-five, he looked as most long-term prisoners did: a decade older than his years, from the lifestyle and badly cut
drugs. Roy Grace was shocked at his appearance. Last time he had encountered the serial car thief – and police informant – had been a good ten years ago. Setterington tactfully left
them to it, closing the door behind him.
    Loncrane, tall, with bad posture, his short, grey hair brushed forward over his forehead, gave him a sheepish grin, shook Grace’s hand with his own damp one, as if he had just washed it in
deference, and sat down opposite him. ‘Hello, sir,’ he said. He exuded a sharp, earthy smell of clothes that were in need of a wash.
    Grace shook his head. ‘What are you doing still inside? You told me you were going straight last time I saw you.’
    Loncrane shrugged. ‘Yeah, well, I was. Problem is, you see, I love motors.’
    ‘You always did.’
    ‘The thing is, they’re harder to nick these days. The high-end jobs, right? The Audis, Beemers, Mercs, Ferraris, Bentleys? I used to be able to hotwire one in thirty seconds. You
know how long it takes now?’
    ‘How long?’
    ‘Well, with all their security systems it takes about four hours. So the only way is either to get one on the road, taser the driver, pull him or her out – or else break into the
owner’s house and nick the keys.’
    ‘Last time we talked you told me you were doing a degree in fitness and nutrition. That you had plans to start a gym when you came out, Donny.’
    Loncrane shrugged again. ‘Yeah, that was the plan.’
    ‘So what went wrong?’
    ‘It’s not so easy out there. Not so many people want to help an old con like me. You need references, bank loans, stuff like that. I don’t exactly have the world’s best
CV.’ He grinned wistfully.
    Grace smiled back. Donny Loncrane wasn’t a fool. But he’d never had a chance in life. His father had been busted for drugs when his mother was pregnant with him – her fourth
child. She’d been on drugs too. He’d always been obsessed with fast cars and had his first conviction, for joyriding, at fourteen. At seventeen he was making good money, and having fun,
stealing exotic cars to order for an organized crime gang in London. ‘You know, it’s never too late, Donny.’
    The old lag nodded. ‘Yeah. I have my dreams, sir,’ he said with a sad expression.
    ‘What are they?’
    ‘I’d like to be married again. Live in a nice house. Have kids. Have a nice car. But it ain’t going to happen.’
    ‘Why not? You’re only fifty-five. I’m sure you could start over.’
    He shrugged yet again, a forlorn look on his face. ‘I’m fifty-five, with one hundred and seventy previous. No one wants to know me outside of here, except other crims. And you know
what, sir? I don’t mind it inside. I’ve got me telly; the electricity’s paid for; the grub’s all right; I’ve got me mates here.’
    ‘Can’t I help you?’ Grace asked.
    ‘Yeah, you could give me the keys to a Ferrari 458. Not driven one of them yet.’ He grinned. ‘So what do you want from me?’
    ‘You’re not doing this stretch just for nicking cars – it’s for nicking antiques also, right?’
    Loncrane nodded. ‘Yeah, well, the thing is, like I said, the easiest way to nick a fancy motor these days to break into the house where it’s parked. And if you’re inside, you
might as well take some stuff while you’re there.’
    ‘Of course.’ Grace couldn’t help grinning at the man’s warped logic.
    Loncrane looked at him hard for some moments. ‘If you don’t mind me saying so, if you hadn’t chosen to be a copper, I think you’d have made a good burglar,
sir.’
    ‘I’m flattered.’
    ‘No, I’m serious. You’re a good detail man. Burglary’s all about planning and detail. Anyhow, you ain’t come here for career counselling. How can I help
you?’
    ‘There was a nasty tie-up robbery, just under a fortnight ago, in Withdean Road, Brighton. Ten million quid’s worth of antiques taken and