Irish Secrets Read Free Page B

again for Monday morning, so I parked further along the street where I could see the office in my rear view mirror. Got there about seven-thirty, and bingo – eight o'clock, a white transit van pulls up outside the office, and a man gets out from the passenger side." He checked his notebook again. "About five foot seven or eight, stocky build, receding mid-brown hair, wearing light blue jeans and a denim jacket. He unloaded a large cardboard box from the van, put it on the back seat of Tom's car, got in the front with Tom, and off they went. I thought about following them, but decided not to, since Tom would recognise my car. The van had already driven off in the direction of Market Street, but by the time I got to the top of the street, there was no sign of it."
    "Any name on the van, or did you get the number?"
    "Plain white. Took a couple of photos with my phone, but I think I was too far away to get a clear image of the number plate. I sent the photos to Declan in the hope he can enlarge them."
    "Do we have anything on Tom Wild?"
    Enya clicked some keys on her laptop, but he shook his head. "I checked. We don't have anything on him, or anyone called Patrick Walsh either. Of course, those might not be their real names." He chuckled. "Which makes three of us working under false names."
    "Tom Wild's the owner of the taxi firm, isn't he?"
    "Yes, he bought the business when the previous owner retired at the end of last year. He's efficient and organised, and normally quite friendly."
    "Any family?"
    "Never talks about a wife or kids. He once mentioned he lived in a flat near the harbour, but I've never seen him in any of the pubs in Clifden."
    "Perhaps he doesn't drink."
    "Could be, but gut instinct is telling me this weekly trip to Roscommon with a large cardboard box is worth investigating. We know whoever is running the racket has used taxis before to take stolen goods up to Belfast, although I admit that doesn't necessarily mean Tom Wild is involved. The Belfast taxi driver who was picked up with a stash of stuff last December said he had no idea what was in the boxes."
    Enya gave a cynical laugh. "Claimed his boss sent him to a taxi firm over the border in Monaghan to collect them from another driver. The Belfast and Monaghan police kept close surveillance on both taxi firms without being able to pin anything on either, especially when the one in Monaghan closed down less than a week later."
    "Which suggests that whoever's running this racket switches the route once a taxi firm is compromised."
    "And now they're going through Roscommon instead of Monaghan? It's possible. Do we need to haul this Tom Wild in for questioning?"
    Ryan hesitated. "If he is involved, he's probably small fry. On the other hand, he might not even know what's in the boxes Patrick Walsh is taking up to Roscommon. I'm more interested in where Walsh picks up his load. That could be what leads us to Mister Big."
    "You may be right, because it's not a small operation. They're going for the expensive stuff, and somehow they're getting it across to England or Scotland. The latest info we've had is that last week the Manchester police recovered five of the twenty laptops stolen from the school in Skelleen at a shop in one of the suburbs. The week before, the Glasgow police raided an industrial unit and found some of the silverware from the Ballinstone burglary."
    Ryan nodded. "At least they found the stuff before it was sold, but it only represents about five percent of what's gone missing from shops, schools, hotels, cars, etcetera, etcetera, since January, when we saw the upsurge of thefts and burglaries in this area."
    "I'll lay bets the other ninety-five percent has also found its way to the UK or even further afield, and we still don't know who the local fence or fences are, or where the goods are being stored, or how the hell the stuff is getting from here to there."
    "I'll see what I can find out about Patrick Walsh, and about the white transit van