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

into a halfway house betwixt the orphanage and the great beyond. Dennis’s leaving date was already in the diary. They found him a job making soup for a huge multinational American corporation. Monday, tomato. Tuesday, vegetable. Wednesday, oxtail. Thursday, chicken. Friday, mushroom. Saturday morning, service and clean the machinery, and away. Dennis couldn’t wait to leave the orphanage, start work, and earn some money.

Armitage was confused. Whatever the world held in store, one thing was certain, he would never become a soup maker. There had to be more to life than that.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Two days after Desiree Holloway returned from Japan and Australia, she made her way by rail to Ludlow, and then by taxi the five miles into the border country to Billington Hall. It was a large and attractive redbrick house, formerly the residence of a minor aristocrat who had returned from the First World War, minus his four sons, and his mind.

The gentleman never recovered, and in exchange for his ongoing lifetime medical care, the government requisitioned the property. There was no one else who wanted it, and it had fallen into a state of disrepair. The locals were happy to see it brought back to its former glory, though some wondered where the lavish amounts of money being spent came from.

It had remained in government hands ever since. Signalling station during World War Two, interrogation centre afterwards for suspected war criminals, intelligence briefing centre during the cold war, monitoring station during the Irish troubles, and then a crammer college specialising in politically sensitive fields.

It was a rambling place, three times extended since the government took possession, and comfortable. Desiree would live there for the week.

She adored Japan.

The countryside, the warmth and vibrancy of the people, the food, and the crazy technology that was everywhere. She was impressed with Professor Takanato at Tokyo University. He was open about his work, allowing her to sit in on his experiments and classes. Took her to dinner too and gave her his telephone numbers, should she ever need his advice.

Australia was different. Professor Jim McClaine was standoffish, as if concerned she might borrow his work and pass it off as her own. The country was going through one of its periodic droughts. The sun blazed down every day, and temperatures soared. Patience frayed, and though they parted on amicable terms, she hadn’t enjoyed her trip down under.

In Britain, she returned to the classroom, staring at the same old revolving, reusable blackboards bearing traces of scrubbed former lessons. There were only four people in the class, two men and two women, all under thirty, with three tutors, all under forty. They did most of the talking. The pupils listened and noted and wrote. The days were long; starting at eight and finishing at seven, and by the time they had dined and updated their notes, it was time for bed.

Much of the one-sided discussions involved coping with the testing work that lay ahead. On the second last day, they were advised of some significant changes. The Scientific Research Organization was being wound up. The government was going through one of its budget crazy routines to cut national debt. The SRO was being sold off, but because of the sensitive nature of the work, there would be no public share offering. Five entities would take equal shares in the new PLC, disguised companies belonging to the governments of Japan, Australia, the United States, Germany, and Britain.

The Scientific Research Organisation changed its name overnight to Trencherman Research PLC, Desiree’s new employers.

On the last day, Desiree was summoned to a private office on the top floor, a room looking out over rear lawns and away to the Welsh hills. The room was Spartanly furnished, a plain table set before the window with a basic chair on either side. On the table was a recording machine, and there was no one else in the room.

Desiree glanced through the window. Two local guys were mowing the lawns. To the left, on the grass, behind a tall wire fence, was a bank of five impressive radio aerials, and two supersats, large white dishes pointing at the sky. Beyond another wire fence, fifty sheep grazed.

The door opened and Mrs Bloemfontein breezed in.

She smiled her distant smile and asked Desiree to sit.

‘How are you?’ she said.

‘I’m well, and you?’

‘I’m good.’

‘I am recording this meeting; it saves the bother of taking notes. It will go on your file. Every word uttered. Any objections?’

Desiree shook her head.

‘Please answer aloud.’

‘I have no objections,’ said Desiree.

‘This is your last opportunity to withdraw from the programme. Do you understand?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you wish to do that?’

‘No.’

‘Good. You will know we now have new masters.’

‘So I heard. Trencherman Research.’

‘Yes, they are our new paymasters, we must get used to it. I am assured nothing will change.’

‘It’s all new to me.’

‘Quite. No doubt you will want to know where you are going next.’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘Nowhere romantic, I’m afraid. You’ll be going to the Eden Leys complex.’

‘Which is where?’

‘Not so far from here, south of Whitchurch, north of Shrewsbury.’

Desiree would be lying if she hadn’t imagined an exciting posting to California or Kobe or Bavaria, but once in a laboratory it didn’t matter where one worked. All labs were the same, and she didn’t stare through windows, admiring scenery. Shropshire was cool. She could get home to her parents easy enough, though she would have to pass her driving test first.

‘Here are your accreditation documents, your security, and your tags. They must be worn at all times on site.’

Mrs Bloemfontein pulled an envelope from her bag, removed the items she had mentioned, and slipped them across the table.

‘Desiree Holloway is taking possession of her documents,’ she said to the machine. Desi picked up her security tags and admired the startled picture of her face, a colour photograph she couldn’t remember being taken.

‘Nice picture,’ she said.

‘Not bad, you should see mine.’

The women shared a nervous laugh

‘When do I start?’

‘Monday.’

‘And where do I sleep?’

‘There is accommodation booked for you on