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

that he was now languishing in, it seemed hard to believe. Come to think of it, she was the last person to avail themselves of this fine facility, and he wondered how she found it, the bath, for it was only just long enough for him to stretch out, so the six foot she thing must have found it a little cramped. People above six feet tall must spend their entire lives with their knees stuck up in the air in baths that didn’t quite fit. Maybe being six foot plus wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

And he thought of her killing a man. It didn’t seem to have damaged her. She had spoken of it briefly, but she’d simply shrugged her shoulders as if it was something that had to be done. Maybe she was right, but it never surprised Walter at people who turned out to be killers because he knew well enough that in certain circumstances every single human being walking the planet was a potential killer. That was all too obvious, and the stats bear it out.

No one knows precisely how many murders occur on earth every single day, but the best guess figure is around 27,500... per day! That’s in excess of ten million murders every year. A huge number of murderers, and a great deal of work for policemen and policewomen... like him and Karen. Fact is, the human being is a killing machine. No other warm blooded mammal kills their own kind in such quantity, and certainly no other mammals kill in such numbers, unless it was for food. How many human killings were carried out to provide food? A tiny percentage, that’s for sure.

Walter pondered on a world where humans only ate human flesh, like say, pandas being addicted to bamboo. Geez! How would that work? There would have to be farms to produce human beings just to be culled for dinner. A nightmarish scenario if ever there was one. Human beings were supposed to be the civilised ones, but when you looked at it, that fact didn’t stack up. Truth was, human beings were the most ruthless and consistent killers the world had ever known, they always had been and they still were, and it was up to the likes of him to bring some of those perpetrators to book.

And he thought of the six foot she thing again, lying in his bath, and he wondered who was holding her, and where, and he wondered if they knew that she had killed before, and therefore was quite capable of killing again. Maybe they should watch their backs, maybe they, whoever they were, were in for a very big surprise, and as he was thinking of that, and thinking of her, and thinking of the Oriental girl too, dumped at the swimming baths, providing yet again more ample proof, if proof be needed, that all human beings harboured, however deep down, however long dormant, however well hidden, however much denied, a proclivity to kill, and kill their own kind. Fact! Truth, and as his aunt always used to say: The truth always hurts.

‘Shit!’ he whispered.

The water had gone cold.

He stepped out of the bath and grabbed a towel. Was it just him or had it turned a wee bit colder? Goose bumps on the ample arms, a harbinger of winter to come. Maybe he should think of turning on the heating. Just as well he was well padded and ready for anything. The heating would stay off a wee while yet.

Thirty

Mr Pryce’s silver Jaguar entered the gates of Minstrel Electronics at 9.15am. He walked rapidly through reception, nodding at the guy on the counter, a younger guy this time, he’d known for years. Walked straight down the corridor and entered his office, fifth door on the right. Threw his briefcase on the desk, slipped off his jacket and hung it up, and a second later his partner, Mr Brinton, entered the room.

‘The units arrived okay, I’m told,’ said Pryce.

‘Sure did,’ said Brinton. ‘Ready when you are.’

‘Okay. Bring them on.’

Brinton retreated to the stationery office. Opened up. The units were all sitting on the far floor, backs to the wall. They all stood up and stared at Brinton. Didn’t say a word. He retrieved the discarded cord and rapidly slipped it around their wrists until the crocodile of units was lined up, fresh and ready to go.

‘Come on, Ladies,’ he said, ‘it’s meet ’n’ greet,’ and he tugged the line away and down the corridor and into Mr Pryce’s office.

Mr Pryce stared up from his chair.

‘Motley bunch,’ he said.

‘Don’t seem to get any better, do they?’ said Brinton.

The units stared back, didn’t say a word.

‘The two fatter ones are no good, production line for them.’

‘The taller one’s passable, nice teeth too,’ said Brinton.

‘Yeah, and the petite one, I could see some mileage in her, a good wash, a proper haircut, and some decent clothes. The middle one’s just plain pig ugly, so that’s done and dusted. The tall one and the petite one go to Manchester, and you can have the rest.’

‘Okey-doke.’

‘Have they been fed?’

‘Not today.’

‘Make sure they have something, and then get them moving, they have a lot of money to pay back.’

‘Will do.’

‘And have a word with Sammy Tang. Tell him they have got to be better than this. We’re paying $10,000 a unit and this lot are fucking shite.’

Brinton nodded and muttered, ‘Sure boss.’

Mr Pryce bobbed his head and scratched his chin.

‘Are the couriers in yet?’

‘Not yet, due in any minute.’

‘Send them to me as soon as they arrive.’

‘Will do. Come on ladies. It’s feeding time,’ and Brinton tugged the crocodile outside and back to the stationery room.

Man One and Man Two arrived soon afterwards, bleary eyed, and waiting at the end of the corridor.

‘Mr Pryce will see you now,’ yelled Brinton, and he nodded them back toward the boss’s office.

Man One paused outside and knocked on the open door.

‘Come!’

Man One and Two sauntered in and