Home > crime, Death, investigators > 10. Beryl O’Flies – Confidential Investigator

10. Beryl O’Flies – Confidential Investigator

I assumed Bianca’s inappropriate offer of sex for favours was because she was an illegal immigrant. She must be in this country without a visa or other documentation. I believe her when she says she was pretending to change a front tire as she was instructed by her employer, Kimberly Rashid-Monterrain. I don’t think she knew that it was a setup as Beryl and I now believe it was. Rashid-Monterrain was putting Bianca’s life in danger because it was a murder plot.

We spent a week looking for the truck as described by Bianca. Of course, it’s understandable that she would have only vague information to give us because it was night, and the truck’s headlights would have blinded her until it passed. She could only tell us it was white, the kind with the flat front and a frame on the back that would normally haul an eighteen wheeler type trailer. So we searched for a white cab-over tractor type in body shops. We assumed that the truck would require repairs after wiping out an Alpha Romeo and a man’s life.

We split up so we could cover more ground in less time. I didn’t find the rig in any of the twelve shops I checked out but Beryl spotted it parked among trees behind a rural body shop. I rushed to meet her when she called to tell me. She waited for me before going into the shop to ask questions because she feared a killer might be there. I question her wisdom. What did she think I could do about it? I have nothing but a camera. ”If I take his picture, it ain’t gonna help.”

The shop was labelled “Mighty Rite coachwork repairs” by a sign in cracked and faded red, white and blue paint. Looking at the broken stucco that covered the exterior, I thought the owner must have a sense of humour. He boasted an elegant phrase like ‘coachwork repairs’ on a dump called ‘Mighty Rite’. I gathered my guts and led Beryl through a dented metal pedestrian door beside the huge, truck-sized overhead doors.

The interior was like a gigantic, dark cavern. It was crude, with greasy work benches along a wall and the obligatory calendars presenting naked girls pinned above the benches. On the left was a crudely fashioned cubicle of unpainted, oil stained plywood. Inside the enclosure was meant to be an office of some kind. I peered over the edge of the cubicle and saw a young man in greasy coveralls, sleeping in an old office chair with his workboot-shod feet on an ancient oak desk.

“Excuse me,” I said rather loudly. His eyes popped open and his first act after taking his feet off the desk was to pop a greasy cap onto his head. Through the grease I could see the logo ‘Carruthers’ on the cap.

“What! What?” he stammered. Beryl pushed me aside.

“Who brought that white truck in?” she said.

“What white truck?” he said.

“The one hidden in the trees,” Beryl said.

“Oh, that’s the one that little lady brought in,” the kid said.

“Lady?” Beryl and I said in unison.

“Yeah,” he said.

“What’s her name?” I said.

“She didn’t leave no name. All she said was that if we can fix it, we can have it.”

“Isn’t that a little odd,” I said.

“Damn straight it’s odd, but the boss ain’t gonna sweat too much over getting’ a free rig like that.”

“Describe the lady,” Beryl said. The kid looks at the ceiling and muses.

“First off, she was a really lush piece, y’know. A bit older, but still, really hot,” said the kid. “I figure she’s rich, not just ‘cause she gave away a valuable truck, but she was wearing spotless suede pants, jacket and boots that all matched. I don’t usually notice that stuff, but this babe was really sweet.”

“Anything else?” I said.

“A Volvo was waiting out front for her when she left, and it looked like another dish was driving it.”

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