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

‘Course. We need to have our people in there in situ before seven.’

‘Shouldn’t be a problem.’

‘Who are you thinking of using?’

‘Jenny and the new guy.’

‘Hector Browne?’ she said, sceptically. ‘Is that wise?’

‘I think so, he’s a bright kid, any reason why not?’

‘No reason at all, just so long as he isn’t a Mason.’

‘He isn’t, I’ve checked.’

‘How did you do that?’

Walter tapped his nose, and she knew he wouldn’t say anything more about that.

‘He’s young, he’s keen, and he’s capable.’

‘He’s also bumptious, big headed, unlikeable... and a moron.’

Walter grinned, didn’t say a word.

‘You were right about Wilkes by the way,’ she said.

‘Oh?’

‘He asked Jenny for a date.’

‘The fool. He must be fifty if he’s a day. What did Jenny say?’

‘Said she was engaged.’

Walter laughed. ‘Is she?’

‘First I’ve heard of it.’

‘What a pillock.’

THE FOLLOWING MORNING Walter and Karen called Jenny and Hector into the private office.

‘We have an important job for you,’ Karen explained.

‘Great,’ said Jenny.

‘What kind of job? asked Hector.

‘Reconnaissance. Observation and photography,’ said Karen.

Hector exhaled and sat back in his chair. Long boring hours doing absolutely nothing, trying to keep the eyes open, it wasn’t his idea of detection in the twenty-first century.

‘Where?’ asked Jenny.

‘Across from the Masonic Lodge,’ said Karen.

‘When?’ said Hector.

‘Tuesday night.’

‘It’s an important job that has to be done well. Are you up for it?’ said Walter.

‘Course,’ said Jenny.

Hector nodded.

‘Don’t nod, Hector, speak,’ said Walter.

‘Sure, Guv, if that’s what you want.’

‘Good. We want you to photograph everyone going in, and everyone coming out. We’ve arranged a room for you in Wilkes & Partners, solicitors, they have an office immediately opposite, Jenny has already seen the room, it’s perfect, isn’t it, Jen?’

‘Sure, Guv, great view, first floor, right across the street.’

‘We want video and stills, you’ll need to be there by half past six, and you won’t get away until the early hours, so get plenty of sleep the day before, and don’t come in till lunchtime. Understand?’

They nodded, and both said, ‘Sure, Guv.’

‘On the Wednesday morning at nine we’ll go through everything you take.’

Hector was already wondering how much kip he’d get Tuesday night.

Walter said, ‘Go and see Bob Smith, he’ll show you the equipment we want you to use, he’ll kit you out with everything you need, ask him to fill you in on anything you don’t understand, but make sure you know what you are doing, and don’t muck it up.’

‘Sure, Guv,’ said Jenny.

‘Off you go,’ said Walter, and Jenny and Hector left the room.

‘Do you think they are capable?’ asked Karen.

‘They’d better be,’ said Walter. ‘Anyway, how hard is it to take a few pictures?’

There was a knock on the door.

‘Yeah!’ shouted Walter.

Debby Wilson opened and looked around the side of the door.

‘Thought you’d like to know we’ve found an address for Munro Ford.’

‘Good girl, where?’ said Walter.

‘Marnon Heights.’

‘Number?’ said Karen.

‘Fifteen.’

‘Is he in now?’ asked Walter.

‘Don’t know, Guv.’

‘Thanks, Debby,’ said Walter, and the girl smiled and closed the door. ‘She’s a bright kid.’

‘She is,’ said Karen, and she’s easy to work with, which is more than can be said for...’

Walter interrupted her. Stood up, said, ‘Yeah, I know. Come on, let’s go and see if Mister Ford is at home.’

Sixteen

Marnon Heights was an eight-story council owned block a couple of minutes from the railway station. Not many of the occupiers had taken up the option to buy their flats, and it was easy to see why. The properties were hard to sell, the tenants were forever coming and going, and the police were regularly called to the block to sort out domestics, and cases far worse than that.

Karen pulled the car to a halt in the small car park. There were three or four tired vehicles there; one had a flat tyre, and another a broken rear window. A large dog came running toward the BMW as the car rolled to a standstill. Karen didn’t much like dogs; she’d faced more than her fair share of wild beasts, and this one looked particularly mean.

‘After you,’ she said, glancing across at her boss.

Walter looked out and smiled at the brown and black mixed up creature.

‘She’s a pussy,’ said Walter, as he opened the door and got out and faced the sniffing, growling, and nervous animal. Walter’s hand went to his pocket, pulled out a digestive biscuit, and tossed it to one side. The dog leapt on it as if it hadn’t eaten for a week.

‘Come on, Karen,’ he said, smiling back at her, and she jumped out and scuttled round behind her boss, ensuring that he was always between her and the dog.

‘I told you, it’s a pussy.’

NUMBER FIFTEEN WAS on the third floor. The lift was off. It could have been worse. Walter cursed.

Karen began sprinting up the cold stone steps, shouted back, ‘Keep you fit, Guv, come on!’

She was standing outside the door of number fifteen looking bored and relaxed by the time he arrived, panting and unhappy. She went to knock.

‘Give me a minute,’ he said, struggling for breath.

She pursed her lips and waited for him to knock.

They could hear music, though whether it was coming from number fifteen or somewhere else they couldn’t be sure.

Walter knocked; three heavy bangs.

Muffling sounds came from within; then the door opened.

White guy, maybe forty-five, looked tired and world weary, wiry build, curly hair, going grey, grubby white tee shirt, hundred times washed jeans, cheap worn out trainers.

‘Munro Ford?’ asked Karen.

‘Who wants to know?’

‘This is Inspector Darriteau.’

Munro blew out through his nose. Said, ‘Cops! Geez! What have I done now? Failed to buy a TV licence, fucked up on my council tax, forgotten to tax the car?’

‘None of those things,’ said Walter. ‘Not today.’

‘So what do you want?’

‘We want to talk to you about Gerry Swaythling.’

‘Well I don’t,’ he said, and he went to close the door.

Walter’s big boot put a stop to that.

‘We can do it here, or we can do it at the station.’

Munro scowled and said, ‘You’d better come in.’

There didn’t appear to