The Granada Scorpio Mystery.

I have no idea what happened to him. I told the Police exactly that. One day he was there and the next day he was gone.

There were lots of theories. But nothing conclusive. The police searched the whole of the estate and the surrounding area. House to house calls. But nothing. In 1998 the case was closed.

Jason Roberts was gone. God knows where and to be honest no one really cared. Especially the Police. They actually had a party at their local pub to celebrate.

He was a nasty piece of work was Jason. Mind like a switch. Say something wrong and he would turn...nasty. I once saw him cut an old man just because he commented on his new haircut.

Jason came in to the pub one day straight from the barbers. His hair was cut shorter than usual, and he looked like a convict. An old regular asked, in jest, if the council had done it. Jason turned and in a split second pulled a Stanley knife from his pocket and slashed the old man’s face from his cheek to his mouth.  No one said a word, they were too scared. So was I. I was just a kid.

Within a few years he ran the estate. Anything dodgy going down had to be run past him. He always wanted a cut of the proceeds of course, but if he gave the green light then you could do what you wanted.

Something came up. A big job. People were needed. People Jason knew and could trust. I was one of those young men.

I was promised £2000 for two hours work. It seemed like easy money to me. But then again the money was never really important.

I had to sit in a car and wait. Four men would arrive at exactly 3pm. From where I never knew. They would get in the car and I was to drive quickly, but within the law, all the way up to Birmingham. They would give my £2000 and then I’d leave the car somewhere and get a train home.

The timing was perfect. I got the car at 2.30 from a stranger. A nice big, jet black, Granada Scorpio. At 3pm they arrived looking pleased with themselves. Jason was one of them.

“Drive” was all he said.

I took the A1 through London and then the M1 up to the M6 and then straight to Birmingham. I dropped one of the men off at Walsall and the other two at Solihull.  That just left me and Jason.

“Right, Change of plan, let’s go home. Drop me at Woodford. There’s a club there where the owner will swear I was there all day. Then take the car somewhere and torch it.”

He laughed as he said it and passed me a Marks and Spencer carrier bag.

“There’s two grand in there. Don’t spunk it all at once.”

He leaned back in his chair and fell asleep.

The car was never found and neither was Jason. The only person that turned up at the Woodford club that night was me. With a lot more than £2000.

I now run the estate. Oh and did I mention...that old boy that Jason cut? He was my dad.