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

‘I’ve just about had enough of this! I’m going to bed,’ said Colin and he stomped out of the kitchen and went upstairs, still in his pig-muck muddy boots.

If Chrissie noticed she didn’t say anything, just saw the officers out, pausing on the doorstep to say, ‘I am sorry, Inspector.’

‘I know,’ he said. ‘But if anything else turns up you must tell us.’

Chrissie nodded and said, ‘I will, you can be sure of that.’

ON THE DRIVE BACK TO the station Walter’s mobile burst into action. It was WPC Jenny Thompson.

‘Hi Guv, just thought you’d like to know the cockle picking season is open. We’re going down there now.’

‘Okey-doke.’

‘I had no idea this is such big business, Guv. There’s been over a hundred cockle fishing licences granted this year. Anyone who doesn’t have a licence is looking at a five grand fine.’

‘How much money is in this?’

‘No idea, Guv, but we are going down there to find out.’

‘Think Oriental labour, Jen, Oriental gangmasters, get the pic?’

‘Sure Guv, we’re all rigged out with photos and flyers and stuff.’

‘Good! Just don’t get caught on the estuary by the incoming tide, it always comes in quicker than you think, I know that much. And look out for quicksand!’

Karen sniggered. The thought of part of the team slowly disappearing inch by inch was an image she wouldn’t forget in a hurry.

‘How did you get on?’ asked Jenny.

‘We’ve recovered ten thousand pounds.’

‘That’s a start. Things are beginning to happen.’

‘Let’s hope so, just be careful!’

‘Will do, Guv, see you later.’

A moment later Walter muttered, ‘Was the dead Chinese girl a cockler? Can you see that?’

‘Maybe.’

‘So what did she do to warrant her murder?’

Karen shrugged her shoulders.

‘Didn’t pick enough? Tried to escape? Annoyed the gangmaster?’

‘Could be any of those,’ said Walter. ‘Or none of them.’

Forty-Eight

Pryce opened the door to the pep talk room. Jessica was sitting in the chair. He entered the room, carrying the bottle of acid. ‘Good,’ he said, though he was still wary, half expected her to fly out of the chair and attack him, but she didn’t. Maybe she realised her best hope was to be fully compliant, and in that way she’d get out of there safe and sound with her face intact, and in that line of thinking she was right. He set the bottle carefully on the desk and went around behind her and re-fixed the cable ties.

‘Can you leave off the tape?’ she asked.

‘Sorry, no can do.’

‘Well at least leave the light on.’

‘Sorry, no can do. It would look odd, with light filtering from round the door from an empty room. Save energy!’ he said parroting TV announcements. ‘Better to sleep in the dark, anyhow.’

He went in the drawer, took out the tape, slipped a knife from his pocket and sliced off an appropriate piece and set it over her mouth, ear-to-ear, fixed like a dream.

‘Say something.’

She did her best, but it all sounded like err uhh err, and pretty quiet muttering at that. He picked up the acid, went to the door, turned off the light, let himself out without saying another word, locked the door, and returned to his office.

Brinton came out of the assembly plant an hour later. It was shop opening day, and there was always chaos in there on shop opening days. Those off shift besieged the little shop, having recently been paid; they were keen to spend their hard earned cash. Sweets and chocolates, no wonder there was so much toothache about, soap, shampoo, tiny things that made life slightly more bearable, ladies’ things, extra rice, tinned fish, and deodorant, especially in the summer, though some didn’t waste precious money on that, plus ice cream of course, while in the winter, cheap woolly gloves and scarves would be in great demand because it could get really cold in there, garments probably made in the sweatshops of China where some of the units had once plied their trade.

Brinton hated shop opening days and was keen for Pryce to close down the facility, though so far that idea hadn’t been well received.

Brinton had trotted up the mezzanine stairs. Monica and Debs were both there, hard at work. Debs muttered a warning that Brinton was on his way, and Monica stood up and came to meet him as he crossed the floor.

‘Figs better?’ she said.

‘A bit.’

‘I knew we’d do it.’

‘How did you manage that?’

‘Debs and I went downstairs and took our place on the line. We haven’t forgotten the basic work, you know.’

Brinton bobbed his head.

‘Whatever you did, it seemed to do the trick.’ He took a small pack from either pocket, slipped a nice perfume into Monica’s pouch and walked past her and set a thick bar of chocolate on the desk for Debs.

‘Thanks,’ she said.

Brinton ignored her; it was a small price to pay to get Pryce off his case. Then he said, ‘Word is, there could be a few new additions soon.’

‘How many?’ asked Monica.

‘Not sure, four max.’

‘That will help.’

‘That’s what I thought. There’ll be no excuses if you fuck up.’

‘We not fuck up, do we, Debs?’ and Debs shook her head and opened the chocolate and bit off a chunk without offering any to the others. Perks were personal, not for shares.

‘I’m going to monitor the bloody shop,’ he said, and turned away. ‘I’ll be back later.’

‘You’re the boss,’ said Monica, and by then he was already bounding down the steps.

IN THE OPPOSITE CORNER to the mezzanine floor was the dispatch bay where completed orders were assembled before being loaded onto trucks. The walls there went right up to the high roof and the same double door locking procedure was adopted as on the main way in. It was a good security system that very few people had worked out how to break. No units were ever permitted in the dispatch bay. It was a crime that carried the most severe penalties. If units didn’t learn anything else, they learnt about that.