Chapter 65
On 1st April 1974, on the whim of the politicians, disaster befell the little hamlet of Dunsop Bridge. Historically part of the West Riding of Yorkshire, on this day it was handed over to arch-enemy Lancashire, without an invasion or even a battle.
With the advent of GPS disaster struck again. Long considered the geographical centre of Great Britain it was suddenly declared that the centre was in fact seven kilometres further north in the middle of the desperate moorland. History was taking a bashing but the inhabitants soldiered on anyway and the placing of a BT call box gave them the right to, at least, lay legitimate claim to having the nearest such payphone.
All this was totally missed by the Police surveillance team.
“Three three. She’s in the car park at the back of the cafe.”
“Seven four. The pay and display?”
“Three three. No, the one right next to the bridge.”
“Mike Charlie one, we’ll take that.”
“Three three. She’s out and going in.”
“Mike Charlie one. Roger.”
Fifteen seconds later, the motorcycle slowly turned in and purred its way to the far end, passing Sharon Fenton’s car on the way. The rider and his pillion passenger dismounted, removed their helmets and walked into the cafe.
Outside, several of the surveillance vehicles dispersed themselves in the pay and display, another on the forecourt of the derelict garage. The rest plotted off further afield.
Inside, the motorcyclists took their teas over to a table. Behind them, Sharon Fenton sat in discussion with another woman.
Margie, her back to Fenton, whispered, “Mike Charlie one. They’re going to be here a while. They’ve just ordered something to eat.” Her colleague moved around the table to join her, raised his mobile in the air and put his arm around her shoulder. “Cheese!”
Gandalph and the Foetus drove into the cafe car park, got out, then shared a cup from a thermos whilst the Foetus casually read off all the registration numbers to Gandalph, who tapped them into his mobile. Finished, they dropped the cup and flask on the back seat and left.
Many miles away, Thurstan was taking his chicken curry and rice off the tray and placing it next to his naan bread and latte in HQ canteen when his text notification went off. Sammy sat opposite. They slid the trays to the end of the table.
It was a photo. Two women holding hands at a table. At first, he thought it was someone taking the piss, then he realised what he was looking at.