His Rover started first time. It was old but he had it regularly serviced by a Gaunts Garage not too far from where he lived. He got a 'good customer' cheap rate and generally looked the other way when Winston, who ran the garage, smelled distinctly of class C restricted substances. He wondered briefly if Winston knew Sergeant Peters's dealer nephew. It seemed unlikely.
There was, much to his surprise, a traffic queue on Markham Road. Three-thirty in the morning was usually quiet but when White switched on his blues to get to the front of the line he saw the problem. Someone had run the red light on Park Street and collided with a milk float. He pulled up and spoke to one of the uniformed officers dealing with the scene. No-one had been badly injured, though an ambulance had been called. It would have been worse, but the switch from glass bottles to plastic meant the accident had left less broken glass than it could have done.
White drove on, yawning as the incandescent lights of the police station came into view. Dead men reappearing after twenty years? This should prove informative, though what it had to do with the case of two missing lads he had no idea.