The Inspector Walter Darriteau Murder Mysteries - Books 1-4 by David Carter (best finance books of all time .txt) 📕

One of the units stirred and yawned and gazed out of the window at the free light show. It reminded her of home.

They entered a sprawling modern industrial estate and at the very far end the vehicle pulled through an open pair of substantial grey metal gates, and turned in a semi circle and stopped with a squeak outside the main entrance.

Man One yawned. It was a quarter to three and he’d been up since the previous 8am. He wanted home, he wanted his bed; he wanted his woman. Not long now. Man Two jumped out and slid back the doors.

‘Out ladies, out!’

Whether they understood English or not, they obeyed and staggered from the vehicle. The middle girl, perhaps the prettiest, though all things are relative, stared up at the large silver sign set above the entrance. Minstrel Electronics PLC, though whether she could read English, Man One and Two neither knew nor cared. They had completed their task and that was all that mattered.

Man Two grabbed the leading rope and tugged them inside. There was an old guy sitting on a stool behind the reception desk, night porter maybe, night security, though it was debateable as to whether he could or would deter robbers. He looked up from his well-used red-topped newspaper and sniffed. What a motley bunch.

Man Two nodded at him and the old guy nodded back.

The old man spoke. ‘Mr Pryce said to lock them in the stationery room. It’s through there,’ and he nodded along the corridor. ‘Marked Stationery.’

It was a long corridor. It was a big building. Very big.

‘I think they might need the bathroom,’ said Man One, who was now loitering just inside the main doorway.

‘There’s one in the room,’ said the old guy.

‘I think they might need feeding too,’ said Man Two.

‘You’re fussy buggers, aren’t you? Worry ye not!’ and he stooped down and grabbed a large cardboard box. Inside were five small bottles of water and five packets of salt and vinegar crisps. ‘Mr Pryce thinks of everything, very keen to ensure the units are well cared for,’ and he laughed at his own little joke and said, ‘come on, I’ll show you.’

He eased himself off the stool and led the way down the corridor and opened up the stationery room. Inside, were steel shelving racks on both side walls, piled high with pads and files and packs of paper and office detritus, and a door opposite that led to a small cloakroom. In the centre of the main room was a large modern office table and that was about it. There were no windows in either the main room or the cloakroom. The old guy set the box down on the table and pointed at the cloakroom, as if inviting the guests to inspect the facilities. Man Two dragged the human crocodile inside and let go of the rope.

‘Have fun, ladies,’ he said, and backed away toward the door.

The Oriental women all looked at him, didn’t say a word, glanced at each other, heard the door lock, and then began yakking as they set about untying the rope. Soon as done it was feeding time, and five minutes later the cardboard box was empty, and the queue for the loo had begun.

Back in reception, Man Two said, ‘Five units successfully delivered.’

‘All right, clever dick! It wasn’t that difficult.’

‘When do we get paid?’ asked Man One.

‘Mr Pryce will be in at 9.30am. He’ll expect to see you here ready and waiting... now bugger off!’

Man One and Man Two shared a sour look. Not much time to get home and get some kip. ‘Come on,’ said Man One, ‘Let’s get out of here.’

EARLIER THAT EVENING Walter had decided to take a bath. The water was running, the steam was rising, as he wafted it away and emptied a generous amount of herbal relaxant oil into the churning water. He slowly removed his clothes. He’d just finished that and was about to step in the bath when the mobile in his trouser pocket began ringing.

‘Bugger!’

He thought of leaving it, but Walter wasn’t a leave it till later kind of guy. Went to the trousers, retrieved the phone, yelled ‘What!’ in the vague direction of the device.

‘So how’s the TwelfthApostle doing?’

‘DCS Wortley.’

‘That’s me.’

‘Have you spoken to Mrs West?’

‘I have had that pleasure.’

Walter sat down on the closed toilet lid and exhaled.

‘Are you all right? You sound a bit knackered?’ said Wortley.

‘I’m fine, I was just doing my workout.’

Somehow Wortley couldn’t imagine Walter working out, but he hadn’t seen him in years. For all he knew Walter could have transformed into some kind of lithe and energetic figure, though he doubted it.

‘What did she say?’ asked Walter.

‘She wasn’t happy.’

‘I’m not surprised.’

‘I haven’t rung to discuss the delectable Mrs West.’

‘So why have you rung?’

‘I wanna know what progress you are making.’

‘Give me a chance.’

‘Have you any idea where the Protected might be?’

“The Protected”, thought Walter. It was a ridiculous phrase, and it certainly hadn’t done Jessica any favours.

‘No, is the short answer to that.’

‘We need to get a move on.’

‘We’re working hard on it – I’ll contact you as soon as I have something to say.’

‘Do you want me to send up a couple of additional officers, beef up the team, kind of thing?’

‘Rather you didn’t.’

‘Okay, Darriteau. I’ll give you a week!’ and with that Wortley was gone.

‘I’ll give you a week,’ Walter parroted, as he set the phone down and stepped into the bath. A week to sort out someone else’s pile of excrement – but that was nothing new. Walter had been a shit shifter and shit sorter all his working life, and that wasn’t going to stop now.

He lay back in the bath and closed his eyes. Turned the tap on and filled the bath to breaking point with water as hot as he could handle. Where was Jessica Stone, and who was holding her? And he thought of her in his house, in his bath, the very same avocado pear bath