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

concerned he hadn’t shaved well, his right hand now inside the case.

Removed the hand from his chin, smiled and said, ‘Let me be honest with you...’ and he let that thought float in the air.

‘Yes?’ said Pryce.

10.20. WALTER TOOK A call from Jenny. It seemed she and Jan were at some electronics company where they were housing and employing a large number of young Oriental women. Many of them couldn’t speak English, and some of them looked distinctly unhappy. What made Jenny more suspicious was the answers the management had given had been evasive, to say the least, and Jan thought that Walter should know about it.

‘Where is this?’ asked Walter, sitting up and looking interested.

Karen was already paying attention. She could always tell when he was switched on about something.

‘Saighton,’ said Jenny. ‘A company called Cambrian Electronics,’ and she relayed the address.

‘We’ll come down and join you,’ said Walter. ‘Be with you in twenty minutes.’

‘Sure, Guv.’

‘Ask them to produce all their work permits and documentation, stall them, ask lots of questions, take your time over everything until we get there.’

‘Got you, Guv. See you soon.’

He turned to Karen. ‘Progress, methinks!’ said Walter. ‘Put up Cambrian Electronics website on the screen, let’s see what sort of a firm we are dealing with, ’ and as she did that Walter’s phone rang again.

10.30. THE FACTORY INSPECTOR ignored the fresh cash and grinned across at Pryce and said, ‘I have a small confession to make.’

‘Oh?’

‘I am not a factory inspector at all.’

‘Then who the fuck are you?’

The neat southern guy took his hand from the briefcase and pointed a shiny steel revolver at Pryce’s face.

‘What the fuck!’

‘Don’t call for help, or it will be the last words you ever utter.’

‘So who are you?’

‘All in good time.’

‘What do you want?’

‘I’m disappointed in you, Pryce, thought you might have recognised me.’

Pryce took another look at the southern guy’s face.

Recognition at last.

‘Ricky Barton?’

Ricky smiled, always liked to be noticed, always wanted to be famous.

‘The thing is, Pryce, word on the street says that you have something of mine, and I want it back. No one is going to get hurt, just so long as I retrieve what belongs to me.’

‘Ah.’

‘What do you mean, fucking “ah”?’

‘I assume we are talking about one rather strange supermodel?’

Ricky nodded. ‘Where is she, Pryce?’

‘I don’t possess her anymore, sold on.’

‘What! Where to? Who to?’

‘Gone abroad.’

‘You’d better be joking! Where abroad?’

‘China.’

‘What?!!’

10.32. WALTER WAS TRYING to do five things at once. Do up his shoes. Answer the phone. Look at Cambrian Electronics website. Grab his raincoat. Get out of the office. It was Gibbons, on the phone.

‘I’ve just been speaking to Jen. She says they might have found something.’

‘Maybe, we’re going down there now if I can get off the bloody phone.’

‘Sorry, Guv.’

‘Where are you, anyway?’

‘We’ve just done MEC Components, clean as a whistle, and then we’re on to Medial Electric, and then we’ve only one more to do,’ and he glanced back at his sheet. ‘Minstrel Electronics, and we’re finished.’

‘Okay. See you back at the office later.’

‘Good luck, Guv.’

‘Cheers.’

10.35. RICKY BARTON waggled the gun at Pryce’s face and said, ‘You’d better be joking! Is she here?’

‘Course she’s not here. I told you. I sold her. She was a weirdo anyway. You’re better off without her.’

Ricky sat back in his chair, paused awhile, muttered, ‘But I love her.’

Pryce grimaced. What a saddo, a total weakling. Said, ‘Look, I can fix you up with any number of tarts, girls you will never forget. Jessica Stone isn’t the be-all and end-all. I can even slip you a decent whack of compensation. A hundred grand, how does that sound?’

Ricky stood up. Let the briefcase fall to the floor.

Pointed the gun at Pryce’s heart.

‘Let me get this straight. You’re telling me you have sold the woman I love to some bellend in China, and you’re offering to throw me a bit of cash to get over it?’

Pryce said the last thing he’d ever say. ‘You’ll soon forget her, Ricky. Sure you will. Trust me on this.’

Ricky didn’t want to forget her. How could he? The days and nights he had spent with Jessica Stone were the happiest minutes and hours and days and weeks of his entire life, and he was desperate for more of the same. That was the whole point. That was why he was there.

Jess was the best thing that had ever happened to him, nothing had ever come close, and without her he was nothing, and this guy was telling him that he’d sold her to some jerk on the other side of the world for a few quid. Not good enough. Simply not good enough. Squeezed the trigger. What else could he do? The gun did what guns do. Made a deafening noise. Blew smoke into the office. Expelled a slug of hot metal. Zipped the eight feet across the office. Zapped into Pryce’s chest. Thwack! Spiralled around Pryce’s heart. Killed him. Stone dead. Record time. Easy as that. The gun did what guns do. Kill. Kill people. Killed Mr Pryce. In an instant. All over in a puff of smoke.

Brinton heard the shot. Jumped out of his seat. Grabbed the Glock 17, the weapon his men had brought back from a previous oppo. Ran outside, peered into Pryce’s office. Pryce was there, in his chair, inert and bloody and dead. Ricky Barton glanced back over his shoulder. Saw Brinton coming and fired. One shot, went over the angle of Brinton’s shoulder and neck, missed his earlobe by millimetres. Brinton panicked and fired back. Single shot. It only needed one. Thudded into Ricky’s neck just above the Adam’s apple. Severed the common carotid artery. Death followed quickly. Humans don’t survive a wound like that, not without urgent, immediate, and capable medical attention.

The young guy from reception also heard the shots. Came running. Glanced into the office. Pryce, the boss, was dead in his chair. The factory inspector dead on the floor. Brinton standing