Chapter 6 - The Tilbury Manifest
The cruiser pulled away, gravel spitting from under the tires, leaving Arthur’s final shout hanging in the crisp autumn air.
Inspector Vance didn’t look after the departing vehicle. His jaw set hard, a muscle twitching beneath his scarred cheek. He opened the passenger door of his sedan for Clara and Lily. “Get in. Both of you.”
Clara didn’t move. Her hand remained firm on Lily’s shoulder. “What was he talking about, Vance? What shipping manifest?”
Vance avoided her eyes for three long seconds. He checked his rearview mirror, scanning the quiet cul-de-sac as curtains in neighboring mansions twitched and closed. “Not here, Clara. The car. Now.”
Something in his tone—a sudden, sharp urgency that had nothing to do with routine police procedure—made Clara’s instincts fire. Seven years in hiding had turned her into an animal that scented danger before the trap even clicked.
She pushed Lily into the back seat and slid in beside her, pulling the door shut. Vance climbed behind the wheel, started the engine, and swung the car out of the driveway at twice the residential speed limit.
“Talk to me,” Clara demanded, leaning forward between the front bucket seats. “You told me this was about the insurance fraud and the attempted murder. You said the mechanic’s testimony was all we needed.”
“It was,” Vance said, keeping his eyes glued to the mirrors. “Until forty-eight hours ago. When the National Crime Agency flagged the shipping company Arthur set up with Julianna’s father’s money.”
“What’s in the containers in Tilbury, Vance?”
“Not what,” Vance replied grimly, turning sharply onto the bypass. “Who.”
Lily shrank back into the leather seat, sensing the rising terror between the adults. Clara wrapped an arm around the girl, pulling her tight against her trench coat. The scent of rain and damp wool surrounded them.
“Arthur wasn’t laundering money to run away,” Vance continued, his voice tight. “He was paying off a debt. To the Moran syndicate in Dublin. Seven years ago, when your car went off the road, Arthur didn't just want the insurance money, Clara. He took a loan from people who don't accept bankruptcy.”
“And now?”
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“And now,” Vance said, checking his mirror again, “Arthur’s arrested. Which means the Morans know their collateral just evaporated. And their people were watching that house.”
Behind them, two hundred yards back on the dual carriageway, a black Range Rover with tinted windows merged from the slip road, maintaining exact speed.
