Crash Course by Derek Fee (pdf to ebook reader .txt) 📕

speedboat we suspect was carrying a very sizeable quantity of drugs, probably cocaine. The speedboat was being pursued by a French coastal patrol vessel which gave up the chase to save Miss Bell. The perpetrators of the crime were never found. We suspect that they were part of a major drug smuggling ring which has been operating in Europe over the past two years. The first picture in the dossier shows the condition of Miss Bell when she was taken from the water.”

Bingo, Kane thought as he looked at the picture. His assessment of Bell had been right on the button. His daughter might once have been a pretty girl but there was no way to tell from the likeness staring back at him. The top of her head had been completely stoved in by the impact. What had been captured by the photographer was not a pretty sight. Kane shot a glance at Bell whose face registered nothing. You had to lose a child to know the extreme pain felt by the parent. He assumed that Bell had seen the photo of his daughter’s body many times. The only saving grace was that she would have died instantly. Whoever was responsible for this was a miserable piece of shit and no mistake. Kane’s brain went into overdrive and a series of images flashed into his mind. Other black-and-white photos whose images impacted on him the way the glossies he held in his hands must impact on Bell. He tore his eyes away from the photos and looked around the room.

“The French police followed whatever leads they could develop,” Strofeld continued. “But the investigation petered out. I make no criticism of our French colleagues. They made every effort to apprehend the culprits but the trail had been covered expertly. Mr Bell then hired a private detective, Henri Lamont, who managed to penetrate the gang, or so we believe. Lamont’s final message to Mr Bell was that the man who had killed his daughter was a driver on the international powerboat racing circuit. If you turn to the second page of your dossier, you will see what happened to Monsieur Lamont.”

Kane looked at the photograph. Lamont’s body had been cut to ribbons. He had been tortured before his throat had been slit from ear to ear. Whoever had wielded the knife knew his trade. Lamont had died the hard way. The detective obviously hadn’t played it too smart. It was a bad ploy to get too close to violent men. That was Kane’s game and he knew the risks that Lamont had run. The smallest slip of the tongue could cost you your life. There was also the issue that nobody would ever know what Lamont had spilt in his last moments on earth but it was a safe bet that he told his tormentors everything they wanted to know. Kane was becoming more interested in the story but he couldn’t see where he or Davenport fitted in.

“It’s called a Columbian necktie,” Strofeld continued. “The cutting of the throat I mean. Apparently, it is the trademark of the cocaine cartel. I am afraid that we have no idea whether Lamont had discovered the identity of the man who murdered Miss Bell. In any case, he didn’t live long enough to contact his employer a second time. We came across Mr Bell during our investigation of the smugglers. It was difficult to miss him. He has been a thorn in the side of the French Examining Magistrate ever since the poor man was appointed. Mr Bell has been rather single-minded in his pursuit of his daughter’s murderers. However, as far as we can ascertain, it appears that they have moved their base of operations. For the moment, we have no idea where they might have moved to.”

“This is all very interesting,” Kane said. “But where exactly is it leading us?”

Strofeld shot an admonishing glance at Davenport.

“I want the bastard that killed my daughter,” Bell cut in. “And I’m willing to pay every penny I have to get him.” A tear crept out of the corner of his eye. “I’ve spent forty years building up a business and now I ask myself why did I bother? My wife is dead and my daughter was taken away from me by some evil killer. I’d give everything I own to nail the bastard or bastards that killed her.”

The five men in the room watched Bell in silence.

“I totally understand your feelings,” Davenport said after a pause. “But quite honestly revenge is a very sour dish. If these men are found, the wheels of justice will have to deal with them. The result may not be exactly what you have in mind. Expensive lawyers have a habit of turning retribution on its head.”

“You don’t know me.” Bell’s eyes were tear-free and staring. “I didn’t get where I am today by giving up and turning the other cheek. If I say that I’ll get the bastards, then you can rest assured that I won’t stop until I succeed. I have pots of money and I’m ready to spend every penny. Nobody can kill a member of my family and then simply walk away. The bastards will pay, mark my words.”

“Your question, Detective Sergeant,” Strofeld spoke again. “Was where do we go from here. I think that I should let Mr Bell explain what he has in mind.”

“Like I said.” Bell leaned forward over the table and stared directly at Kane. His colour had returned to its original red. “I have plenty of money and nothing to do with it except get these bastards. We know that the driver of the boat that killed my Monica is on the professional powerboat racing circuit. I intend to sponsor a powerboat racing team for this year’s events. I’ve already located a boatbuilder who needs the money and we’ve come to an arrangement. All we need now is a man on the inside who can ferret the bastards out. I’ve discussed