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

playing in the background, no pretty dolly girls sitting behind the counter, no aquariums and multi-coloured fishes swimming round and round and looking twee, as you see in some reception areas, no hustle bustle, no people coming and going, no tea trolley looking for customers, no printers printing, no phones ringing, no public address system making health and safety announcements, no sound at all except the hum of machinery, or air conditioning or heating systems, somewhere distant.

To the right was a small counter area, and standing behind the counter was a tidy young bloke. The middle-aged man closed on the young man and smiled, and said in his soft southern accent, ‘Factory Inspection,’ and he took hold of the photo ID that dangled from his neck, and held it out in front for the young guy to see.

Health and Safety Executive. Factory Inspector. John Cowling BSc, and there was a small laminated colour photograph, headshot, of the guy standing at the counter, looking smug, and definitely him.

‘Just a minute,’ said the young guy. ‘I’ll tell Mr Pryce you are here,’ and he rang the internal phone. The factory inspector imagined he could hear a phone ringing somewhere down the corridor in an office not too far away, and the phone stopped ringing, presumably because it had been answered, and there was a short awkward silence, as if the visit was more than a little inconvenient.

Seventy-One

9.57. Pryce listened carefully and didn’t like what he was hearing. Held his hand out to Brinton and looked concerned. Brinton picked up on the mood of alarm and looked worried too. Pryce said softly, ‘Keep him there. Stall him. Say I am in a meeting, and I’ll be free in thirty minutes,’ and rang off.

Turned to Brinton. ‘The fucking factory inspector is here!’

‘What!’

‘You heard!’

‘I thought you said you paid him off?’

‘Of course I paid him off!’

Pryce stood up and went to the door and gently closed it and returned to his seat.

‘Is there anything he shouldn’t see?’ asked Brinton.

‘Oh no, nothing at all! Just a hundred and fifty Oriental women who can’t go home nights, quite a few of whom are sporting black eyes, if I know you, working twelve hour shifts round the clock for next to no money, every single one of them an illegal fucking immigrant, and at twenty grand a pop fine for employing such people! So that’s all good then! Work that out!’

‘Sorry, I wasn’t thinking, maybe the guy just wants another pay-off?’

‘Mmm. That sounds more like it, and right now he can have whatever he wants, just so long as he fucks off and leaves us alone.’

Pryce jumped up and went to the safe. Punched in the security number, yanked the door open, pulled out a grand, went to close the door, but dived back in for another grand, just in case, returned to the desk, slipped the cash in the drawer and sat down.

10.05. THE NEAT FACTORY inspector was sitting in one of the chairs that was as uncomfortable as it looked. Glanced at his watch. Shouted over at the young guy, ‘If someone doesn’t come to see me within five minutes I shall start my inspection unaccompanied, as I am entitled to do.’

The young guy nodded and jumped back on the phone.

10.07. PRYCE SAID TO Brinton, ‘Go and see the guy, check him out, bring him down to see me. Leave us to it... but stay handy.’

Brinton nodded and stood up and went outside and turned left for the reception area. Pryce cleared pictures of exotic villas from the screen and flashed up a meaningless spreadsheet.

10.08. THE LOADING OF the lorry had been completed. Men One and Two were standing about gabbing to the driver, exchanging cigarettes, muttering about the traffic on the M6, and the ultra-hot receptionist on the transport company enquiry desk back in Ely. Jun Woo could hear them talking, even managed to pick up the odd sentence here and there. Heard the word “Ely”, though that meant nothing to her, but it was filed away in her mind nonetheless.

10.09. BRINTON INTRODUCED himself to the factory inspector. Asked to see his ID. It all looked kosher, but these days with laser printers and laminating machines and God knows what else available, anyone could knock up passable ID’s and references in ten minutes flat.

‘Sorry to keep you waiting, Mr Pryce will see you now. Follow me,’ and Brinton set off down the corridor with one inquisitive factory inspector behind, bouncing along in tow.

Pryce stood as the inspector was shown into his office. Beckoned to the chair. The neat well-dressed guy tried a smile and sat down, his case on his knee. Pryce shared a look with Brinton and he left the office.

‘So what’s this all about?’ said Pryce, sitting back in his chair.

‘Factory inspection, you’re long overdue,’ and the visitor clicked open his case. Pryce strained to see inside, but could not.

‘We made a special arrangement about this.’

‘A special arrangement?’

‘Yes... you know,’ and Pryce slowly opened his drawer, an act that seemed to alarm the visitor.

‘I know nothing of any special arrangement.’

Pryce grinned. Imagined he was making progress. Slipped a grand from the drawer, new notes, twenties, fifty of them, neatly banded, set them on the desk, didn’t push them across towards the visitor, just set them to one side, tantalisingly so, Pryce thought, and his mouth went dry.

The inspector glanced at the cash. Scratched his neck. Didn’t seem that impressed. Pryce retreated to the drawer. Drew out another wad. Set that on top of the first.

‘Yes,’ he said, ‘the arrangement was that we would pay a small fine, as we are not quite ready for your visit, you know how it is, should be ready for you around Christmas. Be all shipshape and Bristol fashion by then.’

The inspector looked cool about that. Set his left elbow on the edge of the desk. His left hand clasped his chin and gently rubbed it as if