Chapter 89
Yellow coated, white-capped figures moved around a scene sterilised by road closures; blue lights intermittently decorated the buildings. A body, covered with a weighted plastic sheet, lay in the road. Witnesses spoke in quiet tones as several officers took their details and accounts.
A sergeant stood up and examined the documents he’d removed from the body: German EU passport for Franz Messer, train tickets to London, hotel reservation, flight tickets to Paris and more train tickets, this time to Munich.
The constable next to him spoke into his mobile. “Yeah, a German national. Old fella. Looks like it’s down to a drunk driver. Put us out some observations for a small red car, it’ll have a damaged bonnet and windscreen. I’ll get you more details when I’ve got them.”
Several miles away, a uniformed patrol watched firemen dousing the remains of a Mini with a fine spray. It would be another hour before the two incidents were matched up. Eventually, the road traffic collision file would be marked ‘suspect not traced’.
No connections to the house fire would be made, though an unresolved case of arson, quietly filed away, sought an elderly suspect who no longer existed. The Chief Constable was keen there should be no talk of vigilantes or shadowy Government Agencies. What purpose would it serve? He'd give Thurstan a commendation for ‘attempting to rescue persons believed on’, which should be enough to explain his presence there.
Normally, there would’ve been an award from the Liverpool Shipwreck and Humane Society but the last thing the Chief needed now was some independent eager fucker asking awkward questions.