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

Brinton, nodded at Monica and rushed passed him, carrying plans, and skipped down the stairs without a backward glance, happy to be away and out of there.

Monica stood up and walked toward Brinton.

‘What’s up now?’

She was wearing a grubby navy blue overall with one large pocket right across the front of her midriff, and some kind of jeans or work clothes beneath. She was a dumpy woman, about the same age as Brinton, with a full head of black hair that was hidden beneath a white cap.

‘How long will it be before the Cambridge order is complete?’

‘Week, ten days, max.’

‘Too long!’

‘Whatever I say, you say, too long.’

Brinton suppressed a smirk. Maybe she had a point.

‘It must be delivered to Cambridge within a week.’

‘Not possible!’

‘I say what’s possible, not you! A week, and no more.’

‘You are working the girls too hard.’

‘I am telling you what needs doing.’

Monica sighed and glanced down at the production floor. No one was talking, no one was walking about, no one was eating or drinking or scratching themselves, no one slacking or reading or writing, or doing anything, so far as she could see, but working hard for the company cause.

‘It will be difficult.’

‘Life’s difficult,’ said Brinton. ‘Be grateful you’ve got a job, and an employer who looks after you.’

Monica glanced into Brinton’s eyes, but didn’t say a word.

He went to the metal handrail that ran all the way around the mezzanine floor and leant on it and stared down. It was a great view from there. It was meant to be that way.

He could see everything.

‘How are the new units getting on?’

‘They take time to learn skills. You can’t expect them to be expert straight away.’

‘We don’t have time. Keep on their case. Get them up to speed.’

‘I am trying.’

‘Yeah, but you are not trying hard enough.’

He glanced down and to his right and below to the kitchen and dining areas. Meals were being prepared. The shift change would happen soon and those going off shift would need to be fed. Beyond that, lay the toilet block, showers, and bathrooms, and beyond that were two distinct huge dormitories complete with sitting areas, and one giant sized heavy old-fashioned television set in each one. One was on; one was off, showing some kids programme. In the far dormitory area, the one where the TV was on, people were stirring, yawning, brushing their hair, getting ready to go on shift. It was good to see, thought Brinton, everything working away just as it should be.

In the opposite corner of the building was the small shop that opened twice a week where the units could buy things. The shutters were down. Not open that day, no one hanging around looking to buy any tat.

All the rooms and corridors inside the assembly plant were divided with eight feet high walls made of breeze blocks, internal windows only, lightweight blue doors, and no ceilings on top of the walls. Nothing at all.

Brinton could see everything from where he was, literally.

One hundred and fifty units; give or take, hard at work, or getting ready to go on shift, all without exception, women, all Oriental; for they were the best employees you could have for fiddly circuit board assembly work, everyone knew that. Neat little hands, super dexterity, good concentration levels, inbuilt work ethic, happy to be away from the Far East, grateful for small mercies, and warm and safe and fed, up to a point.

Brinton stood up and walked towards Monica. He took two chunky chocolate bars from his trousers and slipped them into her overall pocket without saying a word.

‘Thanks,’ she said softly.

Brinton ignored her.

‘I’ll be back at 9pm to check on the day’s figures.’

‘Okay.’

‘Make sure they’re good!’

‘I do my best.’

Brinton bobbed his head and turned and jogged down the stairs. Debs ran towards him and past him, without looking him in the eye, and ran up the stairs to report back to Monica. Debs didn’t like Brinton, never had. She was frightened of him, and of Pryce too, and she had good reason to be. Monica and Debs were not their real names. For some reason, Oriental names presented a problem for western men. In Minstrel Electronics the management would decide who was called what. You’re Monica, you’re Debs, and that was that, and little plastic nameplates were knocked up and pinned on their chests, in case they forgot their new names, and woe betide anyone caught not wearing their badge.

Monica and Debs had both worked there for two years and had grown used to their new names. They were supervisors for four reasons. One: they could speak English. Two: they were slightly older than the rest. Three: The units did as Monica and Debs told them to, most of the time, and Four: They got results. Good enough reasons. The system worked, and working systems were hard to find.

Monica and Debs would keep their positions with their little privileges attached, just so long as they produced results, and for so long as Pryce and Brinton decided.

Brinton went back to the double doors. The walls there went right up the flat roof thirty feet above. He unlocked the doors, stepped into the inner hall, locked the doors behind him, opened the next set, went through and locked up again and strode past Pryce’s office on the left. The door was open and Pryce was sitting at his desk, talking on the phone.

Brinton hurried past and went into his own office next door. Sat down at the desk and stared at the computer program that would tell him how the work was progressing. The computer updated in real-time and it wasn’t updating fast enough. Brinton cursed. They had better improve on that! They weren’t going to make the deadline. Pryce would want a final printout before he left for home at 7pm. It had better be good, for all their sakes.

Forty

Jun Woo, now known as Lily Sang, stepped into the passenger side of the old Toyota saloon. Beside