‘I’ve never met them and only used the place twice. Each time I made an appointment over the phone. I dropped the car keys off with the receptionist, Tina, and went back later to get the car.’

‘Do you mind if I keep the Cortina MOT?’

The Colonel handed Braun the documents folder.

Braun shrugged. ‘Feel free.’

‘Is Bruce Grove near the garage?’ Bax asked.

‘Yes, it’s just down the road. You think someone from the garage might have nicked our car for the robbery?’

‘I can’t say. And I’d ask that you keep this conversation between the three of us.’

‘No problem. And should you need me as a witness, I’m happy to make a full statement and attend court.’

Bax showed him the artist’s impression made from Fiona Simpson’s description of the man driving the Cortina.

‘Do you recognise this man?’

Braun squinted at the drawing. ‘No, can’t say I do.’

‘Fair enough. Can I use your phone to call our office?’ the Colonel asked.

‘Help yourself. I’ll put these back in the drawer,’ he said, leaving the room.

‘Looks like this wasn’t a dead end after all,’ Bax said.

The Colonel kissed the MOT.

‘You little beauty. This bit of paper is a bloody gold mine, Bax.’

Chapter Twenty-Two

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Dabs and Stanley entered the Bruce Grove Snooker Hall just after 11.30 a.m. It was already busy, with seven of the twelve snooker tables being used, and two of the six pool tables. At the far end there was a bar, behind which an attractive olive-skinned woman in her early thirties, with hazel eyes and long dark hair, was filling up the small refrigerators with bottles of beer and mixers.

‘How can I help you, gentlemen?’ she asked in a noticeable Spanish accent as they approached.

‘We’re thinking of becoming members,’ Stanley said.

‘You don’t have to be a member to use the tables, but it works out cheaper if you play a lot. The first hour is on the house, so you can have a game, see what you think of the tables, then decide if you want to join.’

‘Which table can we use?’ Dabs asked.

‘Help yourself to one. Would you like a drink?’

Stanley ordered a pint of lager and Dabs asked for a bitter shandy. As the barmaid was serving them a tall muscular man in his early thirties, with short dark brown hair and rugged features, came over and spoke to her. He was dressed in a black suit and white shirt and Stanley assumed he was the club bouncer.

‘Maria, Tommy wants a word wit ya in his office,’ he said in a distinct Irish accent.

‘Will you mind the bar for me while I go see him?’

‘Sure.’

‘These two gentlemen are interested in becoming members and are going to have a game before deciding.’