Chapter 5

It was nine-thirty in the evening when the train pulled into Birmingham New Street Station. I made my way to the station’s upper level, searching for the exit to the car park or drop-off zone. Once upstairs, I froze. I was speechless, lost for words. I dropped my bags to my side as I gazed around at the interior of the station. The architecture of the building was overwhelming. It took me a few minutes to absorb the station’s beautiful architecture before I began to search for the exit. I walked around, finding the exit door for the bus station, another entrance to the taxi office, a row of taxi’s waiting for potential customers. Once the drivers detected me, they called out if I needed a cab. I walked back into the station with a quick turn, wondering where the stations’ pick-up or car park was. As I approached the ticket office, I asked one of the station attendants if the station had a pick-up point.

With a smile, the young lady attendant directed me to the drop-off area. “That’s the drop-off. I guess you can use it to pick someone up as well,” she said with a welcoming smile.

There was a loud crashing sound which made both of us jump. We both turned, focused towards the direction of the noise. A middle-aged man was cursing and bashing the palm of his hand on one of the ticket machines. “Sir, sir, let me help you with that!” the attendant yelled, rushing off towards him. I shook my head as I watched her trying to explain to the man how to use the machine.

I made my way to the drop-off area, which was a two-lane, one-way road. The traffic flowed on the road’s outer side, while cars stopped to pick up passengers on the inner side. It was busy, and it made me wonder how Sargent Wright’s brother would recognise me. During the day, they would probably drop off the same passengers to go to work, then pick them up in the evening. Spotting an empty bench, I dropped my duffel bag and rucksack on it, releasing some of the weight from my shoulders. I watched the vehicles drive past, hoping to see Sargent Wright’s resemblance on any of the drivers’ faces.

Suddenly, the cars stopped moving on the outer lane. I heard a male voice shout, “Michael!” It was a bald man in a red Ford transit van. It didn’t take long for the other drivers to start beeping him.

“Over here!” I yelled.

I grabbed my bags and rushed to the nearest empty parking area ahead. The red transit van pulled into the free space in front of me. Within seconds the bald driver jumped out of it and came around to the passenger side, sliding the side door open. He was a short man, much smaller than Sargent Wright.

“Hi, Michael. I’m Tim Wright,” he said with a smile. He stretched out his hand for a handshake, taking my hand in a firm grip.

“I’m Michael Porter, Mr Wright.” I went to grab my bags to put them in the van, but he clutched them. With a swing of his arm, he tossed the bags in the back of the vehicle.

He drew his eyebrows together, wrinkling the skin on his forehead. “Michael, I don’t want you calling me Mr Wright. Call me Tim. He smiled, patting me on the back. “Come on, let’s go before I get a parking ticket.”

It was a ten-minute drive to Tim’s house. He lived in the South-West of Birmingham, In Edgbaston. Once we reached our destination, he flicked the indicator to turn right. He was gesturing his index finger, pointing at a shop on the right. The sign on the shop said, ‘Hagley Cafe’. “We live above the cafe,” he said. Turning right, he did another sudden right turn, driving through a narrow lane into an open dark yard. Once we were near the parking lot where he would stop, the area automatically lit up by two huge floodlights, making the night into day. “Our security lights, they work on movement sensors. Anything that moves in a radius of 10 yards, the floodlights come on,” he smiled.

It was an immense open space. One side of the yard was the back entrance of the shops that Tim showed me before we turned off the main road. There were cars parked around the yard in numbered parking lots. Tim parked near the back entrance of Hagley Café. Next to the door was a large green wheelie bin. The lid on the container was up in the air from the over-flowing black garbage bags.

He saw me staring at the wheelie bin. He said, “The dustmen come twice a week. They should be collecting the rubbish tomorrow morning.”

“To take out that much rubbish in a few days, you must get very busy?” I said.

“Too busy,” He replied.

I slid the van door open, grabbing my two bags. I threw the duffel bag over my left shoulder and the rucksack in my hand. I followed Tim. We walked towards the exit of the yard, onto the side road, and then left onto the main street. Tim stopped next to the main entrance of Hagley Café. Which had two doors? One had the number 151 and the other 151A.