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

their shaky language skills, they probably thought, some were standing around talking in that high-pitched shrieky language he hated so.

‘Stand still, you ignorant toe-rags!’ he yelled, as he counted and noted, and counted and ticked.

9.40. THE FORKLIFT truck scooped up another pallet, Jun Woo ensconced inside. The feeling of sudden movement was a weird sensation inside that small box, inside that heavy pallet load, as it was lifted, turned, moved forward, raised again and set down, presumably on the surface of a truck.

‘At last,’ she said in her head. ‘Soon I will be free, and so will all the rest,’ and she wondered again how Fenfang was doing.

9.45. THE NEAT MIDDLE-aged man sitting in the car glanced at himself in the mirror. Brushed his hair down with his palm. Always look smart, that was what his mother used to say, and mothers are always right about everything. It was nearly time to move.

9.46. BRINTON HEADED for the assembly area. Shu saw him coming. Guessed what he was about, pen in hand, clipboard in the other. She was at one end of a very long workbench.

‘Keep working!’ yelled Brinton, as he began the count, starting with the titch. ‘There’s no reason to stop!’

Shu saw that he was past her. She slipped off her stool and bent down and scurried along the full length of the bench on the far side from where Brinton was counting. Reached the far end. Pushed a box toward the bench where Jun Woo should have been. Stood high on the box, giving her added height, no longer a titch, looked away so he couldn’t see her face.

Brinton was counting big numbers, not looking at faces, glancing at bodies, and this was a body count. You can’t have a face without a body. Finished the count of assembly worker on-shifters, totalled them up, double-checked, looked at the off-shifters, added the two together. Final answer: 152 units, Orientals to a woman, all accounted for and working, what else would it be? Minus one special unit from the last count, now sold off and paid for and absent, and probably on the high seas and heading across the world to China, and her new master who couldn’t wait to be introduced.

Shu scurried back in the opposite direction, and as Brinton came past her on his way out and back to the offices, she was there in her original place, hard at work, and her work was improving, Brinton remembered thinking that, if Monica was to be believed. Maybe little Shu might soon take the place of the departed Jessica, he pondered, as he opened up and left the assembly plant, and that was an interesting thought.

9.47. JUN WOO HEARD and felt another pallet being placed on the truck next to hers. It was pushed up tight against her to ensure they loaded as many as the wagon could take. She wanted to yell; Hurry up! But didn’t. She wanted to move. She wanted to stretch, She wanted to urinate. She wanted to rub her limbs, and she wondered if she would be able to stand at all once she was out of that confined space. Not long now, she consoled herself. Not long! Hang on.

9.50. BRINTON STUCK his head into Pryce’s office. Said, ‘152 Orientals, all present and correct, one special unit, absent, presumed otherwise occupied,’ and he smirked down at Pryce.

Pryce glanced away from his screen full of villas in Barbados, one had to check out all available options before making an important decision.

He bobbed his head and said, ‘And the wagon?’

‘Here now. Being loaded. Should be away in twenty minutes.’

‘Not before time.’

Brinton thought of moving away but Pryce said, ‘Come in, sit down, take a look at this. What do you think?’ and Brinton went inside and Pryce showed him an unbelievable property in Barbados.

9.52. THE NEAT MIDDLE-aged man stood out of the car. Opened the back door. Took out his photo ID fixed on a long plastic ribbon, carefully placed it over his head so the photo was in front of his royal blue tie, beaming out at the world. Went back in the car, took out a black rectangular leather case. Closed the car door. Bleeped it locked. Turned around and headed toward the gates, and the car park beyond, and the main entrance ahead that led into the business known as Minstrel Electronics.

9.55. DONALD RUSHNELL held his hand up. Pleaded guilty to everything. Admitted sending his parents one package jammed with cash. Suggested the whole thing had come about through stress, the stress of a dead-end job, the stress of seeing his parents getting old before his eyes, the stress of seeing them struggle financially, yet they would never admit to such a thing, and the stress of losing his girlfriend from down the road, though in truth she had never been that.

Excuses! Thought Walter, for that was what they were, and everyone always has excuses for any mistakes and wrongdoings any of us ever does. Donald still didn’t know that Kit’s solicitor had confirmed in writing that they would make good any losses incurred, and Walter wasn’t in any hurry to tell Donald about that. Still wasn’t sure it was relevant. Donald had committed serious crime and had now confessed to such a thing. He was, at that precise moment, writing a detailed statement to confirm such events, and when he had finished he would sign and date it, and once a statement is made you can never take it back.

Donald said he was setting matters straight, getting things off his chest, and Walter was still hopeful of ensnaring Kit Napoleon into a conspiracy of money theft through fraud, but hadn’t yet figured out quite where and when and how.

9.56. THE NEAT MIDDLE-aged man pulled opened the front door and stepped inside. A nondescript reception area, three uncomfortable looking armless chairs, presumably for visitors, no silly musak