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

terrestrial TV that night, and cricket was a passion of his, and he didn’t want to miss it.

Found the right station, stared out at the pitch, beaming in from the other side of the planet. It was coming from one of the hottest and driest places on earth, and he saw the rain tumbling down, and watched the strapline strolling nonchalantly across the foot of the screen: RAIN STOPPED PLAY – PLAY HAS BEEN ABANDONED FOR THE DAY – repeating itself again and again and again.

‘Damn!’ He said, ‘the one time I get to watch some cricket and the bloody game is cancelled.’

The mobile in his pocket began rumbling and tumbling.

‘Darriteau?’

‘DCS Wortley.’

‘How’s it going?’

‘Slowly. You?’

‘It’s confirmed.’

‘What’s confirmed?’

‘Jessica Stone is still on your patch.’

‘How do you know?’

‘I just know.’

‘Call me old fashioned, Sir, but I’d still like to see a little bit of evidence.’

‘It’s a fact.’

‘What do you want me to do about it?’

‘Thought that was obvious. I want you to find her.’

‘And where do you expect me to start?’

‘Your patch. Your problem. You must know it better than anyone else.’

That was true, but it didn’t help much.

‘Do you want me to do your job for you?’

‘No! Course not.’

‘Do you want some help parachuting in?’

‘No!’

‘That’s what I thought. I’ll leave it with you, for now, Walter, but we have to make some progress,’ and Wortley said, as if the thought had just come into his mind, ‘You are concentrating on this, aren’t you?’

Walter thought about that for a second. Yes, he was concentrating on it well enough, after looking for Donald Rushnell and the missing cash, and after trying to identify Sadie and track down her killers. Yes, he was concentrating on Jessica Stone too; it was true, though maybe not quite as much as he should.

‘I am.’

‘Good! Results, Darriteau, that’s what I am looking for, we are all in the results business, stand or fall by them, as you well know.’

Walter didn’t know what to say to that, so didn’t say anything, and Wortley thought the silence indicated Walter had gone. He disconnected.

Walter cursed and turned off the TV and went to bed.

Forty-Three

Brinton glanced again at the day’s printout, as if by doing so the figures might improve. They did not, and the stats were not great. Brinton sighed and stood up and went next door into Pryce’s room. He was studying a different spreadsheet on his screen. It made pretty good reading:

MINSTREL ELECTRONICS.

COMPANY OVERHEADS

STAFF WAGES:

150 units earning £15,000 each per annum.

Total annual wage bill:  £2,250,000

AND THAT WAS BEFORE national insurance and pension entitlement and tax and God alone knows what else. A huge commitment.

150 UNITS EARNING £10 per month each = £1500 per month.

Total actual annual wage bill:  £  18,000

Total annual saving on wage bill:  £2,232,000

PRYCE GRINNED.

They had to be doing something right.

No wonder he could undercut his competitors.

BRINTON WALKED IN AND sat down. Blew out heavily, not a good sign. Leant forward and set the figures on Pryce’s desk.

‘I guess from your demeanour the figs are shite?’

‘They are not as good as they should be.’

Pryce glanced at the numbers. ‘You can say that again!’

‘They are all working hard.’

‘Not fucking hard enough! I told you to kick ass!’

‘I did... and I am!’

‘Well not fucking hard enough! You’re not getting soft are you, Brinton?’

‘Certainly not! What made you say that?’

‘Just a thought I had, an idea that is telling me you have suddenly found a conscience.’

‘Not at all! Not a chance. Don’t be absurd! That’s crazy!’

‘Is it? I bloody well hope not. You know how it is? There is no such fucking thing as an afterlife – therefore you do everything you can to enjoy the small number of days you have – right here, right now, to make the best of things for yourself, and fuck everyone else – it doesn’t matter one fucking thing who you hurt, who you injure, who you upset, or who you kill – not one fucking jot!’

‘I know that!’

‘Well remember it! And act like it! There’s no such thing as a final reckoning, no super-being going to judge you, tell you how you’ve been a very naughty boy, it’s dog eat dog out there, and you either eat the fuckers, or you get eaten. Comprendez?’

Brinton nodded and wondered where this was leading and said, ‘I hear you.’

Pryce glanced at the figs again and threw the paper back at Brinton. ‘This won’t fucking do!’

‘I know that.’

‘If we miss the deadline on the Cambridge order heads will roll.’

Brinton knew that would be the case and nodded accordingly.

‘That fucking Monica - is she up to the job?’

‘She’s doing a good job. There’s no one better.’

‘And that sulky bitch, Debs, I never get the impression she’s pulling in the same direction.’

‘You might be right there.’

‘Give them a good slap, for Chrissake, do what you have to, I thought the penny might have dropped after we got rid of that last bitch.’

‘Everyone is working hard,’ Brinton repeated.

‘So you keep saying, but I’m telling you now, Brinton, someone will pay my price if this order is fucked up! My price! You get me?’

He stood up and went to the coat stand in the corner. Hoiked his new blue overcoat off the stand and slipped it on.

‘Was there something else you wanted to talk about?’ asked Brinton.

‘There is! But not now, not until you have sorted out this bloody mess. One thing at a time.’

Brinton nodded and looked as hopeful as he could.

‘You need to come down on them hard!’

‘I’ll be doing that.’

Pryce fixed Brinton with a stare.

‘Hard... and then harder still. Make myself clear?’

Brinton pulled a face and bobbed his head. Pryce picked up his briefcase and went to the office door. ‘Leave it with you,’ he said. ‘Don’t be lenient! Leniency is for losers!’ and with that, Pryce headed down the corridor, said a curt goodnight to the old guy on reception, and a moment later he was out in the car