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

there, smoking gun in hand. Blood everywhere. What a fucking mess! What the hell was going on? The guy was only there to inspect the fucking factory!

Brinton slipped the gun into his trouser pocket. Closed on the young guy. Said, ‘Listen to me! Go and lock the front doors!’

The young guy looked shocked, as if he couldn’t comprehend what was being said. Brinton raised his hands and gently slapped the kid’s cheeks. Repeated himself, ‘Go and lock the front doors, and when you have done that, go and find the two guys in dispatch and bring them here. Urgent! Understand? Quick quick quick, away!’

The young guy re-focussed his eyes on Brinton and nodded.

‘Good boy,’ said Brinton, and the young guy fled the room.

10.40. THE LORRY DRIVER said, ‘See ya again,’ and jumped in the cab and started the engine. Jun Woo heard him say it, heard the engine fire, and felt the vehicle vibrate and begin to move. It really was all about to happen. The truck rumbled out of the car park and headed down to join the motorway network. It was pretty much fast motorway, traffic permitting, all the way home, and he was a quick driver, too quick sometimes. Once on the highway there would be no stopping, he couldn’t wait to get home, for he fancied his chances with the hot piece on reception. His phone rang, the new hands-free kit. Damn!

‘Yeah?’

Inside the pallet Jun Woo was already at work. Retrieved the sharpened screwdriver. Began cutting her way out. The Tautliner was moving down hill, approaching the motorway junction. Another two minutes and it would be on the network. Once there, unstoppable for four hours, minimum. No way of getting off that.

Seventy-Two 

10.50 Men One and Two entered Pryce’s office.

Didn’t believe what they saw.

‘What the fuck?’ said Man One.

‘We need to get them out of here and we need to get them out now!’ said Brinton.

‘Where to?’

‘Formby.’

‘Why Formby?’

‘Sandhills. Loads of them. Bigguns too. Easy to dig, easy to bury.’

‘Seems like a plan,’ said Man Two. ‘What’s in it for us?’

‘Big bonus,’ said Brinton. ‘I’m in charge of the purse strings now.’

Brinton looked at the young kid and said, ‘Go and get two of the smaller tarpaulins from the assembly shop,’ and Brinton handed him some keys.

The young bloke nodded and ran outside, glad to be away from the bloody carnage.

Brinton looked at Man Two and said, ‘Go and bring the people carrier round to the front door, we’ll put them in that, front door key’s at reception.’

Two nodded and left the room.

‘Who is he?’ asked Man One, glancing down at the dead guy on the floor.

‘Ricky Barton. He was looking for Jessica Stone. We need to get rid.’

‘What about the bloody carpet?’

‘That’ll have to go too. We’ll take it up as soon as the bodies are out of the way.’

Man One nodded. It was a big job. The kid came back with two small tarpaulins and laid one out on the floor. It was big enough. Gave Brinton the keys. Brinton slipped them in his trousers and took Ricky’s gun and rammed that in his other pocket, and he and Man One and the kid lifted and dumped a very dead Ricky on to the tarpaulin, rolled it up, sealed the ends with brown tape. Job done. Good to go.

Man Two came back and helped Man One carry the body out to the van. Brinton went through Pryce’s pockets, removed his wallet, phone, pen, and small change, and the kid helped him place the body onto the tarp. Man One and Two were back, ready for more, and heaved the package away. Brinton and the kid moved the furniture to one side of the room, rolled up the carpet, lifted the furniture over the roll, completed the rolling, bound it with brown tape, and it was good to go. Brinton dusted his hands.

‘What about the chair?’ said the kid, pointing to the fresh scarlet stain.

‘Have to go!’ said Brinton.

Made sense, thought the kid.

Man One and Two came back and carried out the roll of carpet. Man Two was breathing hard, have to get down the gym more, thought Brinton.

Then they were back, looking for work.

‘The chair’s got to go as well,’ said Brinton.

‘What are we going to do with that?’ asked Man Two.

‘Dump it in the sea. It’ll wash it clean.’

Man Two bobbed his head. Seemed like a plan.

Brinton gave the guys five hundred quid apiece.

‘Here’s your expenses. I’ll weigh you in properly when it’s all done and dusted.’

Man Two took the money and said, ‘Thanks boss,’ and Brinton appreciated that, for he was indeed now the boss, and determined to stay that way, enjoy it, and not before time, and no more coming and running and bowing and scraping every time that prick Pryce yelled “Brinton!” What goes around comes around.

‘Take the van now. Get it off the estate. Leave for Formby later, be there for say 1am, and make sure you take spades and shovels and bury the whole shebang, and bury them deep, and then go home and forget all about it.’

Man One sniffed and nodded. He wasn’t too upset about things, the change in the hierarchy. Now that Pryce was out of the picture, everyone moved up a place, stepping into dead man’s shoes, so the old saying goes, and only Brinton was ahead of him now, and it was amazing how many strange accidents occurred to top dogs all over the world. He’d bide his time, but things were definitely looking up. He’d do Brinton’s bidding... for now.

Five minutes later and the van headed out of the car park. Brinton went into the assembly plant and got hold of Monica, led her outside, back to Pryce’s office, except it wasn’t Pryce’s office anymore. It was now his office, and it was bigger and better and more impressive in every way, and he’d always preferred it, and he was going to fit it out and kit it