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

for an hour, nothing too important or testing, played solitaire, and he sniffed and coughed, and stood up and headed down the corridor toward the assembly plant.

Fifty-One

Brinton unlocked the doors and stepped into the inner hallway. Locked the doors behind him. Glanced to his right at the pep talk room and visualised the supermodel sitting in the darkness in that chair, quite alone, and vulnerable.

She’d probably be dozing and he felt good in knowing that information, the famous and quirky Jessica Stone was less than five yards away from where he was standing, and there were plenty of people out there who would pay a great deal of money to know that.

He sniffed and opened the doors to the assembly plant and stepped inside. Glanced around, everything looked normal. With a bit of luck there would be some new recruits being trained up by this time tomorrow, and that should make his job easier. Away to the right, the shop was locked and bolted, straight ahead the doors to the dispatch bay were locked and bolted too, no one would be using those doors again until the courier guys returned to the shop floor the following day. Before that, those same guys had an interesting night shift ahead of them.

He glanced across to the left and the metal mezzanine floor. No one hanging lazily around, staring down from the rails, just as it should be. He hurried across to the staircase and raced up to demonstrate to anyone watching how fit he was. Reached the top without gasping for breath. Monica was there, sitting at her desk, gaping at the flatscreen, checking figures, or inputting data. Debs was absent.

Brinton moved toward her. She heard him coming, the metallic floor gave way a tiny amount under human footprints, and vibrated and released a tinny metal ping in time with the footfall, whenever anyone walked across it.

She turned round and saw him coming. What was wrong now?

‘Where’s Debs?’

‘She’s off shift.’

‘Get her back on!’

‘She’s not long gone off.’

‘Get her back on!’

Monica pulled a face bordering on the insolent, and she was on dangerous ground there. On another day she might have felt the back of Brinton’s hairy hand. She hustled past him and skipped down the stairs. Five minutes later she was back, with Debs in tow, looking distinctly miffed.

‘I not long go off shift,’ she said. ‘I work extra hours other day to help get big order out, and still you call me back for more.’

‘You need to man the desk for a couple of hours.’

‘I not happy.’

‘Just do it!’ and in the way Brinton spoke both women knew not to argue.

He nodded at Monica. ‘Go and wait for me by the door.’

Monica and Debs shared a look.

‘And you,’ continued Brinton, glaring at Debs, ‘prepare the way for three new units later tonight. Sort out some workplaces for them, and find them some accommodation.’

Debs sighed and crossed her arms across her chest and stared across at Monica who turned and skipped down the stairs.

‘Get on with it!’ ordered Brinton, and Debs went and sat down and stared at the screen.

He turned about and jogged down the stairs, and walked across the shop floor to the doors where Monica was waiting. Reached in the box on the table, pulled out a lead, fixed it to her right wrist, opened the doors and tugged her through. Locked up. Glanced at the pep talk room, thought of vulnerable supermodels inside; an interesting thought, wondered what she was thinking about, went on ahead, opened up, stepped through, locked up behind, tugged Monica down the corridor toward his office. Opened the door. Pushed her inside. Went in too. Locked the door behind him. Removed the dog lead. Said, ‘Get your clothes off!’

MAN ONE AND MAN TWO arrived back at Minstrel Electronics at five to midnight. They entered the building, nodded at the old guy on reception, and walked down the corridor toward Brinton’s office. The door was closed but the striplight was on inside, a little light filtering from around the door.

Man One knocked hard.

Brinton yelled, ‘Yeah.’

Man One opened the door and went inside. Said, ‘A delivery to collect, I believe.’

Brinton nodded and told them to sit down and they pulled up the visitors’ chairs and Brinton showed them the necessary delivery and collection dockets, and official documentation they’d need to enter the Freeport, plus the banknotes for the guys on the security buildings on the way in and out.

‘Be a doddle,’ said Man One.

‘Don’t fuck it up,’ said Brinton.

‘You worry too much,’ said Man Two.

‘That’s what I’m paid for.’

‘What time are we setting off?’ asked Man One.

Brinton glanced at his watch. ‘Ten minutes. Is the vehicle ready?’

‘New grey coat, new number, shiny and waiting,’ said Man Two.

Brinton pulled a satisfied face and nodded again and said, ‘Plenty of fuel?’

‘Filled to the max, today.’

‘Fair enough,’ and Brinton leant back and put his feet on the desk.

Man One nodded and said, ‘Are we finished here?’

‘Just about.’

Man One said, ‘In that case, I’m going to the bathroom.’

Man Two said, ‘Will you still be here when we get back?’

‘Ready and waiting.’

Man Two nodded, picked up the papers and the cash and sauntered down the corridor to wait for his mate in reception.

TEN MINUTES LATER AND the people carrier pulled out of Minstrel Electronics car park and headed for the M53. Slipped onto it, no problem, light traffic at that time of night, headed north for the Wallasey tunnel, and Liverpool beyond.

The tunnel was quiet too, only two other vehicles heading under the river in the leftmost single one-way tube. One of those was a cop car, but Man One was driving carefully, just under the 40mph limit, and no hint of beery breath. Then they were out on the Liverpool side, turning left, heading north for the Freeport.

On arrival, there was a small queue of traffic waiting patiently at the red and white barrier. Man One glanced at his watch. Twelve minutes past