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

with two bodies in the van all that time. I reckon they would want to get the job over and done with, get rid, get done. I think they have already been through here, either finished already... or are busy at work as we speak.’

‘You think? You could be right. What do you suggest?’

‘You wait on here for thirty minutes in case they still come. Get the shopfitters sorted and on their way. Do what you must to placate them. We’ll head down to the dunes and take a quick snoop round, see if there are any likely looking vehicles parked up. We’ll ring you as soon as we’re done.’

Mrs West nodded and said, ‘And the spotter guys?’

‘Maybe you should send them home in half an hour or so. We don’t want to exacerbate things by stinging another member of the public.’

‘Yeah!’ she said, and she hustled back toward the stung people carrier, and a bunch of people who were all standing around waiting for orders and apologies and direction and leadership, and Mrs West was good at that, leadership and direction, most of the time.

Walter glanced at his watch. 23.51. It had been a very long day and it wasn’t over yet. He limped back to the action and grabbed Jun, and nodded Gibbons back toward the Volvo, and Karen was already there, half expecting some kind of movement, and the car doors opened and banged closed, and Karen started up, and Walter waved at Mrs West through the window. She pursed her lips and nodded the tiniest of nods, and the Volvo headed away and down toward the dunes, Karen glancing in the driver’s mirror, at the skewed people carrier with the headlights still on, and shadowy figures moving this way and that, receding into the distance, as they waited for the vehicle repair team to arrive and fit new tyres.

She glanced back to the front, no traffic coming, nothing behind, almost midnight on the windy Formby coast, and still nothing to show for it, other than a big repair bill and a grovelling apology.

Eighty-Three

23.53. They went up and over the railway bridge, crossed the Liverpool-Southport commuter line, but there were no trains at that hour of the night, and on into wild country, with what looked like dark trees on the left, gorse bushes on the sides of the road, one car coming on ahead, single man up, late night dater going home, maybe happy, maybe sad, as the car flashed by and disappeared.

No other traffic, then a blue road sign, PARKING, straight ahead, so it said, still no streetlights, scrubby vegetation both sides, powerful headlights on full beam, then a LOOK OUT for unusual wildlife sign, but being England it didn’t mean zebra and wildebeest and lions and tigers, but butterflies and moths and toads and maybe a red squirrel.

A heavy gust of wind blew in from the west and slammed sand across their path, and they could all see it billowing, and hear it, as if it were sandpapering the car, as they cruised between hilly rough grass-covered dunes, all the while the road turning right and north to run parallel to the flat coast, and out of nowhere small trees appeared on either side, and another road sign indicating a roundabout ahead, and there it was, a big roundabout with a chunky and prosperous looking pub set on the far side, and signs to the left for the coast and car parks.

Karen went that way, and headed down past old red-bricked buildings, maybe flats, maybe offices, and on between what looked like a picnic site, and a public convenience on the left, and a first aid hut on the right, and on down between high sand dunes on both sides of the narrow road, toward a gentle slip-way down to the water, and another small car park with an empty attendant’s booth, bearing lots of rules and regulations that drivers must obey to park their car right on the coast, and there was nothing there at all, other than wind and sand, and the tide slowly edging in across a vast expanse of flat beach. No cars and no trucks and no vans and no bikes, but for one vehicle that was parked there, tucked hard into the left hand side, looking lonely, looking abandoned.

A dark people carrier. No lights showing. No one in the cabin, but it sure as hell looked familiar to Jun Woo.

23.59. THE LONG DAY was finally about to end.

‘Check the registration,’ said Walter.

Karen pressed the orange dash display and accessed ANPR. Automatic Number Plate Recognition, technology designed to help detect, deter, and disrupt criminality at local, force, regional and national level, including tackling travelling criminals, organised crime groups and terrorists, remembered Walter. Didn’t say anything about slave drivers and dealers, but they were surely included too. Fed in the number. Not known. False plates. What a surprise!

‘It’s them!’ whispered Karen.

Walter’s tumble down mobile interrupted their thoughts.

‘Well?’ said Mrs West.

‘Found a dark people carrier, ma’am. False plates. Looks like no one on board.’

‘I’m coming down!’ she said, and rang off.

Which was not what any of them wanted to hear, and yet there was strength in numbers, and these men were believed to be armed and dangerous, but she hadn’t specifically said: Wait for me!

‘Do we wait?’ asked Karen.

‘No,’ said Walter. ‘We go and take them by surprise,’ and they all stood out of the car and felt the wind on their faces, and the rasping sand carried in the air, cleansing their skin, annoying the eyes, and though it was damp and blowy and chilly, it wasn’t unbearably so. They peered inside the people carrier, pointed the torches through the tinted glass, nothing there to speak of, no tarpaulins, and no bodies, and no blood splashes on the sills of the doors.

Jun said, ‘I think it’s Minstrel’s vehicle.’

‘So do I,’ said Walter, and he clasped Jun’s arm and said, ‘Do you want to wait in the