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

been sold abroad so he lost his rag and shot Pryce dead. Brinton came back and murdered Barton, and the other two guys took the two bodies away for burial later tonight.’

‘Where?’

‘He hasn’t told me yet, but he will.’

‘Get him back to Chester and question him further. Oh, and give Jan and Jen a call and give them an update. And find out everything the young bloke knows, and well done. We’re going up to the Freeport to see if we can find Jessica Stone. Keep me informed!’ and Walter nodded and limped fast, back to the Volvo that was already idling and humming, and ready for the off. Jun Woo in the back seat, sitting up, with her arms on the back of Karen’s headrest.

‘Pryce is dead,’ said Walter.

‘What! When? Where?’ said Karen

‘Can’t say as I’m upset about it,’ said Jun.

‘Ricky Barton turned up...’ but his sentence was cut short as Walter’s mobile began bumbling and mumbling away in his pocket.

‘Shit!’ he said, and then, ‘Sorry,’ and he delved in his pants for the blessed thing, as Karen was swerving onto the M53 at Junction 9, heading northbound for Liverpool.

It was Mrs West. ‘What’s happening, Walter?’

‘Loads!’ and Walter began telling her everything. Almost everything. He left out the bits about Karen firing and missing, big bad mark for that, and about him breaking Brinton’s jaw, another very bad mark, and him losing his gun, unforgivable that one, too.

There would be plenty of time for recriminations and investigations, and all that political stuff, when pious righteousness could all be bathed in, and regurgitated, once the real policing and criminal catching, and wrongdoings had been completed and rectified. When they came his way, those scoldings and verbal bashings and tongue-lashings and superior advice, he would nod his head sagely, and simply ignore them. He was at the stage of his career when he could afford to do that, and he knew it, and so did Mrs West.

‘I need your help on a couple of things, ma’am. Gibbons, Hector, Jan, and Jen are all busy, and frankly, it needs someone with a bit of rank and clout.’

‘Fire away.’

‘We’re on our way to the Liverpool Freeport. I believe Jessica Stone is on a Chinese ship called the State of Divine Providence. I need you to get on to the port authority, Peel Ports, Mersey Docks and Harbour Company; I think they’re called these days. Try and get them to delay the ship sailing. It’s due out at three fifteen, and can you ring Dan at the Chinese Consulate in Liverpool? Get him to speak to the captain, ask for his assistance, put some pressure on, and oh, another thing, can you speak to the Port of Liverpool Police as well, and ask if someone could meet us when we get there. Should be there in...’ and he glanced at his overlarge silver watch, ‘About half an hour.’

‘Got that, Walter, leave it with me.’

‘Thanks, ma’am.’

Jun glanced through the windows at the green countryside hurtling by. They were passing another motorway junction, Clatterbridge Hospital, white on blue signage, and Jun said, ‘Can I use your cellphone, Karen,’ and K glanced at Walter, and he nodded and Karen slipped it out of her pocket and gave it to Walter, and he passed it over the back seat.

14.28. ‘THOUGHT I’D ring Hong Kong,’ she said. ‘If that’s okay? Ask them to try and get the sailing delayed.’

‘Great idea! Be my guest! Anything that helps,’ said Walter, as Karen eased her foot on the neck of the accelerator, and the Volvo whipped past a trio of gravel trucks, two coaches, and several saloons and hatchbacks, that all scuttled out of the way.

Karen said, ‘Can you ring the Mersey Tunnel guys, Guv? I don’t plan on stopping.’

‘Good idea,’ and Walter pulled out his mobile and set to work.

Jun was chattering away in Chinese, speaking to Uncle in Hong Kong. He said he’d speak to his superiors and he was sure they would speak to China proper, regarding delaying the ship, though he admitted that it could take some time, committees and meetings and red tape, you know how it is, and he wasn’t sure of a favourable outcome.

14.32. THE MOTORWAY was running on stilts, past the Bidston Moss junction. There was a good view from there. Jun could see DIY and carpet warehouses speeding by on the right-hand side, and the hint of the sea away in the distance to the left, above sand dunes and marram grass and the road bent to the right, fell down in height, and big docks came into view on the right side, large rectangular basins, not much shipping about, some new warehouses going up, tipper lorries busy adding weight to brown rusty jagged piles of scrap metal on the quayside, and the car bounced along into a concrete cutting, and the two lanes of traffic slowed to 40mph, as Walter glanced at the dash clock. They’d be in time okay, just so long as the tunnel wasn’t snarled up.

14.36. THE TOLLBOOTHS ahead were set right across the wide approach to the tunnel. Cars were queuing, waiting, drivers throwing coins into plastic baskets, buzzing up the windows, jerking away acceleration, and the next in the queue eased forward, and the whole snake stumbled on a pace, and repeated the dance. To the left of the tollbooths was a wide space, maybe twenty yards across, and to the left of that were two or three police cars, standing parked up, some manned, some empty, and a police bike-rider too, cocking his leg over the bike, a big powerful Yamaha, jumping on, firing up, the guy looking about, glancing back over his right shoulder expecting to see a silver Volvo coming on fast, three officers up, and there it was, right on cue.

THE TUNNEL CONSISTED of two separate tubes, one going downhill eastbound, heading for Liverpool, one coming uphill, westbound, into the autumnal Wirral sunshine. Both tubes,