The Inspector Walter Darriteau Murder Mysteries - Books 1-4 by David Carter (best finance books of all time .txt) 📕

and about half a mile before the Freeport, Man One pulled the vehicle to a stop beneath the orange sodium light.

‘Cover her face,’ ordered Man One.

Man Two stretched behind but couldn’t quite reach, had to get out on the pavement, did so in an irritated manner, opened the side door, pulled the blanket up over her face, shook it and ruffled it up and down, disguising the outline of a sleeping human figure beneath. It could have been anything. A piece of machinery, an old carpet or linoleum, flat pack furniture, even a large gun, but no, it was a living, breathing, piece of human flesh, and a famous slab of flesh at that, and yet that all meant nothing to them.

Man Two closed up and jumped back into the cab and slammed the door.

Man One glanced behind, everything appeared in order, started the engine, glanced in the mirrors, over his right shoulder, nothing coming, pulled gently out, for it wouldn’t do to attract unnecessary attention at that hour. Everyone knew the rozzers would show an interest in suspicious characters bussing weird equipment around the city late at night, potential burglars shifting gear, but there were no cops about, and minutes later they were queuing to gain entry to the Freeport, second in line, acting like good hardworking boys, slaving late into the night to please their bosses, and fatten their wage packet.

The guy on security glanced at their papers, grinned to himself; let the banknotes fall into his lap, leant over, tried to see through the blackened windows, tried to see what was so important that brought him such a beefy payday. Couldn’t see a thing, muffled shapes in the darkness, it could have been anything.

Man One glared at the guy and said, ‘Okay?’

‘Yep! Same on the way out,’ and the red and white striped bar lifted into the sky as if in welcome, and the vehicle purred through.

‘I don’t like him,’ said Man One.

‘Me neither,’ said Man Two. ‘Wanted to shoot him in the face.’

‘Possibly not today,’ said Man One, and they both laughed at the thought, and swung the vehicle around until it was parked adjacent to the State of Divine Providence, an exact replica of the Heavenly Peace, as if they were twins.

They peered at the gangplank and up at the side of the ship, and were pleased to see they were clearly expected, for two wiry guys hurried down the gangplank and approached the people carrier. Man One opened the door and got out. Man Two followed. Glanced around the quayside. Nothing, and no one up close. That was good. A few mismatched marked transport vehicles on the jetty, going about their lawful business, no obvious police around, no dock police either, though those marked transport vehicles could have been dummies housing observation teams, now busy on their radios and phones, keeping their superiors updated, but how were they to know that? Sometimes in life you had to take a risk. It was trying to rain, just a few spits in the wind, and Man One wanted to get out of there as soon as possible.

One of the Chinamen said: ‘Delivery for China?’

One short sentence; came out almost as one word.

‘Deliveryforchina?’

Man One said, ‘Yep.’

Man Two nodded and went to the rear of the vehicle, and opened up and pulled off the blanket. The other three followed and stared and squinted into the dark interior. Man Two began pulling the gurney from the vehicle, the others still watching.

‘Give me a hand, for fuck’s sake!’ he said, and the others joined in, and lifted the gurney clear of the van. Man One stared down at the girl. She was sleeping peacefully still, blissfully unaware of where she was and what was happening. He could hear her slow and solid breathing in the still night air, they all could.

‘You help lift on ship,’ said the speaking Chinaman.

That wasn’t part of the deal, thought Man One, but what was the alternative? Leave her on the quayside until a dock Bobby came along and asked what the hell was going on? Maybe not. Men One and Two grabbed the head end, the China guys on the feet. Carried her hastily up the gangplank. Reached the top, went through the first open doorway, carefully standing over the raised sill, into the ship. Strange smells, engine oil and cooking oil and disinfectant, and aromas of working men that are pretty much the same the world over, and God knows what else besides. They set the gurney on the floor.

It would have to go down several decks, almost vertically, back to a matching ten by ten tin tomb where people rarely ventured, yet the Chinamen didn’t want the Brits anywhere deeper into the ship, didn’t want capitalist foreigners knowing all their precious secrets. They would deal with that. They had the highly prized goods, and now wanted the messenger boys off the ship. One of the Chinese guys pulled a docket from his pocket.

‘You sign!’ he said.

Another pointless piece of bureaucracy, thought Man Two, and he grabbed the document and scribbled Fat Twat Matt at the foot of the page, and the guy seemed happy enough with that, and rammed it back in his jeans.

‘You go!’ said one of the Chinamen, pointing away toward the gangplank, and Man Two was happy enough to turn away. Man One glanced down one last time at the girl. It was tough on her, he thought, God alone knows what lay in store for her, but shit, life was tough for everyone sometimes, and at least she was still alive. He went outside and was happy to gulp fresh air, and by the time he reached the gangplank, Man Two was already jumping off the bottom end, and back onto the jetty.

Back in the van, Man One’s mobile rang.

‘Yeah?’

‘Well?’ said Pryce.

‘Delivered the goods.’

‘Any probs?’

‘No, none at all, just on our way out now.’

‘Good! See you in the morning.’

Seventy

First thing in the morning, and all the