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

two lanes, and plenty of signs staying: STAY IN LANE – MAX 40MPH - STAY IN LINE – NO LANE SWITCHING. There was lots of traffic in both lanes of the eastbound tube, but it was still moving, around 30mph, not fast enough, but moving. Karen took the right lane, out of habit, for that was always considered the quicker lane, though that was debateable. It made no difference, she was pootling along behind a mini-bus full of pensioners, been over to Hoylake for a day out and a breath of seaside fresh air, and a soft ice-cream, and a laugh and a joke, and a brief reminder that they were all still alive and kicking, and they were now heading back toward some dismal Aintree care home.

In the Volvo, they could hear the bike-rider accelerating up behind, the big throaty engine echoing in the confines of the tube, and it squeezed past the left side of the Volvo and the right side of a big old Mercedes saloon. The bike surged ahead beyond the mini-bus, and in the next second the police rider was glaring at the mini-bus driver and waving frantically and telling him to get into the left lane. Didn’t matter what the STAY IN LANE signs said, when an angry yellow and black gauntlet waved you in, it was wise to shift, and he did so, jerkily, in a bit of a hurry, and it looked panicky, thought Walter, swaying the grinning punters in their seats, but no matter, they were having fun, and Karen spurted through the vacant space, as Walter nodded his thanks through the glass at the fit looking guy on the bike, as he surged forward and did the same thing twice more, to other sleepy drivers as they were hitting the incline on the Liverpool side, and Karen snapped on the blinker for a left turn.

She knew they wanted the first exit that swept away to the left, and the north, and the biker held the traffic in that lane back a second, and Karen glanced back over her left shoulder, saw it clear, accelerated again, and moved over, and swept up the exit lane and back out into the sunshine, and the moment they saw the sun Walter’s phone rang, and it was Mrs West again.

‘Been trying to get you,’ she said.

‘Been in the tunnel.’

‘Fair ’nuff. Spoke to everyone, and they’ve all been very helpful, though the departure may not be delayed.’

‘It’s a huge ship, ma’am, and we may not have time to find Jessica.’

‘I know that, Walter, but the ship is not technically British territory, and we have precious little evidence to say that Jessica is aboard at all. If the ship misses the high tide there could be big cost issues involved. We’ve done everything we can, but...’

And she let that thought float in the air, as if she didn’t have much else to say on the subject, and no authority to do any more.

‘Okay, ma’am, we’re just joining the dock road now, heading north, fairly busy traffic. Should be there in about ten, maybe fifteen minutes.’

‘One bit of news from this end,’ she said.

‘Oh?’

‘The Manchester boys have just recovered Fenfang Dong.’

‘Is she okay?’

‘Bit battered, but she’ll live.’

‘Good to know. I’ll tell Jun.’

‘You do that. Keep me posted.’

‘Will do.’

14.48. WALTER TOLD JUN about Fenfang and asked, ‘Have you been on this ship?’

‘No. But I have on the sister ship, I think it was, and I’m hoping they are the same layout.’

‘Where did they keep you?’ asked Karen.

Jun thought back to her introduction to the Heavenly Peace. Recalled the details she had committed to memory.

They took her below deck, one man leading, one following, no talking, down and down, six decks down, along a clean corridor, smell of oil, lots of thick coloured pipes, red and orange and blue, running along the ceiling and walls and tucked into the side of the floor, vibrating engines, making ready to put to sea. They stopped half way down the corridor and one of the men opened a small windowless room, pushed her inside, and locked the door.

Yeah, that was about right, and she told Karen and Walter of the descent, six decks down, to that ten by ten tin tomb, and she hoped that this would be the same, but it couldn’t possibly be the same, not completely, because they were not about to board the Heavenly Peace at all, but the Divine Providence. Just how different would it be? Or how similar?

14.58. THE LIVERPOOL Freeport, and the Volvo made to join the small queue, but a guy, a smart uniformed peak-capped sergeant from the Port of Liverpool police, came out of the office, nodded at them urgently through the glass, pointed away to the right side, and he went around behind the double gates and pulled them open, extra access for emergency vehicles, fire engines and the like, imagined Walter, and he came to the car, as Walter buzzed down the glass, and the guy said, ‘Got room for a little ’un?’

Walter said, ‘Sure, jump in the back.’

Little ’un, he wasn’t, six foot eight, grey hair just showing under his cap, but still mighty fit and pretty impressive, and to Jun he appeared a giant, as he folded himself into the car and squeezed beside her, and said, ‘Sergeant Gill,’ and Walter did the intros, and Gill pointed the way ahead, and Karen cruised the car into the Freeport, and Gill waved them round to the left, swerved past a mountain of multi-coloured containers, all neatly laid out in rows, a hundred yard straight run, and another left turn heading for the State of Divine Providence.

‘That’s her!’ said Gill, pointing.

‘She is massive!’ said Karen, slowing and cruising to a gentle halt, close to the vast ship.

WHITE STAR LINE’S ROYAL Mail Ship Titanic, built in Belfast, weighed in at 46,329 gross tonnes, give or take. It ran with a crew of nearly 900, 700 of