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

‘I’ve an idea,’ she said.

‘Fire away.’

‘He’s very attractive to the ladies.’

‘Really? I didn’t see that, especially.’

‘I think, Guv, I am in a far better position to judge that than you, trust me, he will have a string of girlfriends a mile long. Didn’t you see the way his personal band of groupies were still gawping at him?’

‘Can’t say as I did, but if you’re right, what are you saying?’

‘Crime of passion? Jealous girl wreaking her revenge on her former lover?’

‘Is that what girls do in modern day Britain? Have their boyfriends gunned down dead for turning their backs on them?’

‘They might, if they were wealthy enough, and angry enough; and well connected enough. It’s nothing new.’

‘It’s a thought,’ said Walter. ‘Though not a happy one. Where would such a girl locate an assassin? You can’t just look in yellow pages, not even on the Internet either, not yet, God, I hope not.’

‘Who knows? A casual word spoken in a pub or club, perhaps in jest, and some chancer says, I could do that, if the money was right, and the thing snowballs from there.’

‘The sorry thing is, Karen, that your theory is looking better the longer we examine it. This afternoon go and see Neil again and get a list of all his abandoned squeezes.’

‘It’ll be a very long list.’

‘So you said. And take Gibbons with you, just in case you can’t withstand his charm.’

Karen giggled, and said, ‘If I didn’t know better I’d say you were jealous.’

‘What have I got to be jealous about?’

‘Other than muscles, youth and looks, nothing at all, Guv,’ she said, grinning again, and before Walter could say anything else, his phone burbled into life and he snatched it up.

IT WAS HALF PAST TEN when they entered Swaythling Construction’s offices. The whole place was suitably luxurious. Deep pile blue carpet, sweeping semi circular light oak reception desk, blonde dolly girl behind the counter, large silver letters on the wall behind her announcing: Swaythling Construction, Homes for Discerning People.

Walter and Karen ambled to the desk.

Karen said, ‘We’ve come to see Mister Swaythling.’

‘Who shall I say is calling?’

Karen flashed her ID, said, ‘This is Inspector Walter Darriteau.’

The girl looked nervous. Pursed her lips and said, ‘He is very busy today. Not to be disturbed. I may be able to fit you in at twelve.’

Walter turned about and set off down the corridor, said over his shoulder, ‘This way, is it?’

Karen followed in a hurry.

The girl screamed, ‘Oh, but you can’t go in there.’

‘Oh, but we can,’ said Karen, as Walter came to the end of the corridor. Three sturdy light oak doors, one left, one right, one straight ahead.

Opened the straight-ahead and went right in.

Huge office, same thick carpet, same light oak furniture, big wide window looking out across the city, big haired man, salt and pepper style, nudging fifty, sitting behind a heavy impressive desk. Neil Swaythling in twenty-five years time, Karen couldn’t help but notice, still attractive though, heavy white shirt, perfectly knotted red silk tie, dark suit. The man stood up. He wasn’t used to being interrupted. In the centre of the room was a square table and on the table was a detailed model of the latest creation Swaythling Construction was trying to flog. Brambury Heights, it was titled, and some map location in North Wales.

On the other side of the table were two well scrubbed people, man and wife by the look of them, well turned out for a Saturday morning too, both around fifty, both slim and tanned, both greying, both light blue eyes, like two peas in a pod. House hunters, pound to a penny. They stared at the wild black man as if he were a bum.

Karen smiled down at them and the woman forced a smile back as if to say: Who he?

‘Do you mind telling me what the hell you are doing in my office?’ said Swaythling, incredulously.

Walter flashed his ID. Introduced himself and his sergeant.

‘We’ve come to talk to you about an attempted murder on your son, and the murder of one Jeffrey Player.’

‘What!’

‘You heard me.’

The palace buyers stood up and the bloke said, ‘I think we’d better be going, darling, I’ll call you in the week, Gerry.’

The woman stood too, looked uncomfortable, gathered her things together, smiled across at Gerry Swaythling, then at Karen, gave Walter another cursory glance as if he might smell, and followed her husband outside.

Gerry sighed and exhaled and stared at the strangers.

‘You’d better sit down, and you’d better tell me what the hell is going on, and it had better be good. I’m a friend of Mister and Mrs West.’

Mrs West was Walter’s boss, not that he cared one jot about that, or of who Gerry Swaythling happened to be friends with.

‘Neil hasn’t told you?’

‘No, he has not! When did this happen?’

‘Last night in The Ship.’

‘Now that you mention it I did hear something on the radio. Didn’t connect it with Neil. Is he all right?’

‘He’s fine, which is more than can be said for Jeffrey Player,’ said Walter. ‘Where were you last night? We tried to contact you.’

‘In Cardiff. Sales visit.’

‘And you can prove that?’ asked Karen.

‘Of course I can. Not that I would need to.’

‘What we want to know is, are you aware of any reason why anyone would want to kill Neil, or indeed Jeffrey Player?’

‘I have never heard of this Jeffrey Player character, as for Neil, we don’t seem to see much of him these days. He has his own flat in town, and to be honest he rubs me up the wrong way. We don’t seem to agree on anything, and he can be an irritating little turd sometimes. He seems to make enemies for fun, though I’d be surprised if anyone should treat him so seriously as to want to kill him.’

Hardly a ringing endorsement of the son and heir, thought Karen.

Walter was speaking again. ‘We’d like a word with Mrs Swaythling too.’

‘Oh, I don’t