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

‘Nice joke,’ repeated Walter.

Gibbons grinned and continued. ‘So we call up one of the jockey’s trainers and ask him if he can come down to the morgue and identify his man, and he turns up and looks at the first set of charred remains and says, “No, that’s not him,” and he looks at the second set of ashes and says, “No, that’s not him either,” and he looks at the third lot and says “Nope, that’s definitely not him,” and then he looks at the fourth and last set and says, “Yep, that’s the bastard!” - and the mortician looks at the guy and says: “That’s amazing! These bodies are burnt to a crisp and you’ve identified your jockey just like that, how can you be so sure?” and the trainer grins and sniffs says: “He’s been my jockey for four years and he’s never been in the first three yet!” ’ and Gibbons laughed heartily at his own joke, and Karen clicked her tongue and glanced at the roof of the car, and Walter said, ‘Wonderful, Gibbons, wonderful... now can we get back to the matter in hand?’

‘Sorry, Guv, sure, over to you.’

Jun broke the silence by giggling so infectiously; he’s never been in the first three yet! and they all laughed at Jun laughing in that dainty convent girl Hong Konger way of hers, and Jun thought of her dad back at the Happy Valley Racetrack in Hong Kong, and for a moment she was there with him, and she wondered how he was getting on, and she thought of her mother too, and a second later the radio crackled into life, breaking the spell, and one of the spotters back on the by-pass said in an urgent voice, ‘People carrier! Dark colour. Possibly grey. Two IC1’s up. Travelling fast. Do you want us to come and join you?’

‘Yes!’ said Mrs West.

Karen and Gibbons felt for their weapons, and Karen started the car and let the engine idle, and said, ‘Here we go,’ and they all looked at one another, and Walter said, ‘Be decisive, and be careful. Don’t take any unnecessary risks,’ and they all nodded, and waited, and breathed heavy, and waited some more. It wouldn’t be long. Minutes at most.

Eighty-Two

23.40. The big uniformed muscled guy, Richard Spence, not in uniform anymore, and his mate, jumped out of Mrs West’s car, opened the boot, took out the stinger, nodded to ma’am in the car, and headed back the twenty-five yards toward the junction. Hector started the car and moved forward a length.

Spence stared up the coast road back toward the by-pass. Headlights coming, full beam, not a saloon, not a hatch, not a truck, but a van, or a people carrier, coming on fact, past the LOOK OUT – TRACTORS TURNING sign, past the 50MPH sign, probably breaking the speed limit, but not by much, going about urgent business, at coming up midnight.

Still coming on, not far away, and Spence stepped on to the pavement, stinger in hand, picked out by the powerful headlights. Nothing he could do about that. He detected the van slowing a tad, back within the legal limit, maybe the driver caught a view of the big guy in the near distance, maybe a policeman with something in his hands, maybe a hand held radar device, checking speeds.

Hector switched on the car lights and eased forward and paused at the junction like any legal late night driver, and across the road, Karen brought the Volvo to the jagged junction on the far side, and they all watched in silence and saw Spence, lit up in the streaming wavering beams of light, step forward, and like some ancient gladiator in the Coliseum, he swung the spiked weapon in his powerful hands, and tossed it across the road as if it were nothing more than a skipping rope, or a net, and Mrs West visualised him doing that shirtless, picked out in the beam of light, muscles rippling, as he let it go with a flourish, his hands finishing above his head, as if he were at some ancient and violent games, and he’d snagged his opponent.

It was the eighth time that Spence had deployed the stinger and a vehicle had never escaped him yet.

The people carrier slowed further. Debateable as to how much the driver saw or understood, but slowing and stopping are different animals. The laws of physics come into play. The heavier the vehicle, the longer the stopping distance. On a dry road like the coastal road, for a people carrier, the stopping distance was more than 145 feet, and especially a loaded up people carrier with heavy tarpaulins in the back, and that’s more than 48 yards and the vehicle was a lot closer than 48 yards. A lot closer.

The driver saw something jagged in the road, something threatening, something hostile, something spiked, guessed what it was, tried to slow further, tried to drive round it, but Spence had deployed it well, all down to the muscles, and the narrow road was a good place for a sting, and there was no escape, and in the next moment the people carrier zipped across the stinger at an angle toward the far side where Walter and Co were sitting and watching and waiting, and the tyres popped, and the vehicle kept on going a while, momentum taking over as opposed to traction, black acrid smoke from heavy braking filled the air, and the sound of steady and controlled hissing of pierced rubber from wounded tyres.

‘Go go go!’ Yelled Mrs West, which seemed kind of unnecessary, but Karen accelerated out of the far side and overtook the carrier and swerved in front of it, blocking any possible escape, as Hector pulled in hard behind, blocking any reversing manoeuvres, and Spence and his mate came running hard and were almost there, and in the far distance of the coast road the spotter guys were