The Inspector Walter Darriteau Murder Mysteries - Books 1-4 David Carter (autobiographies to read txt) 📖

investigating team were called together. Walter gave them a gee up, said progress was being made, though Donald Rushnell being in custody was hardly down to anything they had done.

Five minutes later, and he sent them out across the city and surrounding hinterland, checking on electronics businesses, looking for a lead that would take them to the killers of Yet Kwai Dang. Before they went, Walter reminded them of the collapsed Barton brothers trial, warned them that it was possible one or more of those charming chappies could appear on their patch, issued up-to-date photographs, and reminded them too that the Barton brothers were known to be dangerous. Walter’s last words stayed with many of them for most of the day: Stay alert, and watch your backs!

LIGHT TRAVELS AT 186,000 miles per second, so they say, and sunrays can penetrate thirty metres below the surface of the ocean. Jun Woo had been awake for several hours. She had tried to pass the time by sleeping, but the cold and pain in her joints had woken her all too soon. Yet she had made it through the night, and surely she would soon be on the move, yet still no light had penetrated into the dispatch bay, and no light had made its way into the box where she lay scrunched up like a ball of screwed-up newspaper.

PRYCE ARRIVED AT MINSTREL at five minutes to nine. Swept through reception and down the corridor, into his office, whipped off his coat, slapped it on the stand, yelled, ‘Brinton!’

Brinton arrived in the doorway thirty seconds later.

‘Yeah?’

‘Wagons? Goods? Dispatched? What?’

Brinton pulled a confused and unhappy face. Said, ‘Just spoken to them, said it would be here within the hour.’

‘Bloody well better be!’

‘Did Jessica get away okay?’ asked Brinton.

Pryce nodded. ‘Out of our lives forever. We’ll never see her again.’

Brinton sniffed. He’d miss her.

‘Do you need more units?’

Brinton perked up; he could always handle a few extra bodies.

‘Sure! Whatcha got?’

‘Nothing yet, but I’m bidding on ten more.’

Ten, thought Brinton; that was more than usual, though on past performance they’d probably keep half and sell off the prettier ones. Said, ‘Whatever, I’m off to do the roll call.’

Pryce nodded and opened his diary and booted up his computer.

9.10. DONALD RUSHNELL was brought to interview room four. Walter and Karen were there, eager to get started. Formalities over, Walter asked, ‘Did Kit Napoleon put you up to stealing the money?’

It sure took Donald aback, judging by the look on his face, and it took Karen aback too.

Donald exhaled in a rush and said, ‘Course not!’

‘Well you’d better tell us all about it, chapter and verse, or mark my words, Donald Rushnell, you will be going away to spend intimate time with nasty men for a very long time.’

Donald looked anxious, and began talking.

9.35. THE MERCEDES Tautliner truck rumbled into Minstrel Electronics car park and headed for the dispatch bay. The driver knew where to go, he’d been there several times before, and was on nodding terms with Men One and Two.

The transport company preferred curtain-sided Tautliner rigid trucks, highest strength to weight ratio on the road, though they probably didn’t know they had been invented in Cheshire, not so many miles away from Minstrel, in the early 80s.

As the truck nudged closer to the dispatch bay, the roller shutter doors began opening with a metallic bang and crunch, as they slowly made their way up toward the lintel.

Man One came out of the building and grinned at the driver. The guy jumped down and exchanged words and dockets and shoulder shrugs, that somehow explained away the day’s delay, and all seemed to be in order, and Man One jumped on the yellow forklift, and sniffed and turned on the engine, and turned about and ran inside, and slid the forks under the nearest pallet, and lifted it as if it were nothing at all, turned about, went outside, closed on the lorry, and gently set it down as close to the cab as possible.

Still in the dispatch bay, still in the box, still on the pallet, Jun Woo heard the doors opening, saw light at last, heard men talking, though she couldn’t make out what they were saying, heard the forklift approaching, imagined it lifting up a pallet, and pictured in her head the wonderful thought that she would soon be moving, and out of there and free.

9.36. BRINTON ENTERED the Assembly shop armed with his clipboard, intent on completing a quick daily roll call.

9.37. A NEAT MIDDLE-aged guy in a neat middle-aged Mercedes saloon drove past outside, and pulled the car to a standstill. Buzzed down the window. Glanced through the open glass and through the railings, and stared up at the silver sign. Minstrel Electronics. To the left of the building a lorry was backed in against the Goods Out department. A yellow forklift was busy loading completed product. Looked like a profitable business. Looked like they were having a busy day.

9.38. IN THE COPSHOP Donald couldn’t stop talking. Told them how he came across an early leaflet, one of the very first, as it turned out, for the Future Growth group. Decided he wanted in. Decided it was his route out of boredom, dissatisfaction, and drudgery. Lay awake all night figuring out how he could find the cash to invest in Future Growth, came up with a plan in the wee small hours, couldn’t sleep at all, a plan that looked all the better in the cold light of day, as he was sitting at his desk being told what to do by dullards and fools.

9.39. BRINTON HEADED for the accommodation block and the off-shifters. He would always start there when doing his daily roll call. Some were sleeping, some watching daytime TV, some programme on women’s issues. He stifled a laugh. Some were making extra food, some were reading well-read English magazines, a good way to improve