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

into the play machine. Turned on the big screen fixed to the wall, as Walter said, ‘I’d like to see the stills first, and then the movie.’

‘Sure, Guv,’ said Hector looking happy with himself, as Jenny came in and closed the doors and set her fat file down on the desk.

Walter glanced round at them and nodded and they all nodded back.

‘Stills first,’ he said. ‘Can we do it in chronological order?’

‘Sure,’ said Jenny, setting the first twelve by nine photo on the desk. Black and white images, good resolution, clear picture, white time and date impressed in the bottom left corner, 7.29 yesterday evening. Two middle-aged guys. The officers all stared down and then at each other.

‘Anyone know either of them?’

‘Nope.’

They all agreed on that. Strangers.

The next set of pics were of three men. Same thing. All unknown. So far, so bad.

The next one, a couple of minutes later, was Gibbons.

‘He looks so serious,’ said Karen.

‘Maybe he’s thinking about us, thinking about him,’ said Jenny.

‘Maybe he is,’ said Walter, recalling that single strumming finger.

The next shots were of three guys, two young and one old. There were numerous images of them, including one of the younger ones approaching the door, ringing the bell, the other two standing back, conversing about something or other, none of them smiling, none of them smoking.

‘Well look who we have here,’ said Walter, grinning at the others.

‘Who?’ said Hector and Jenny as one.

‘Langley Wells, isn’t it?’ said Karen.

‘The very same,’ said Walter. ‘And, if I am not mistaken, two of his fine sons as well. I can never tell them apart.’

‘Who’s Langley Wells?’ asked Hector.

‘Loan shark,’ said Karen.

‘Loan shark?’ said Jenny. ‘Could he have put up the money for Swaythling?’

‘Good question,’ said Walter.

‘I wouldn’t have thought back then they were that big,’ said Karen.

‘Wouldn’t you?’ said Walter. ‘You’d be surprised. I think we’d better pay Mister Wells and his fine family a visit.’

Then they all laughed at Hoskins and Hooper going in next, looking very serious and uppity. Walter took the opportunity to remind Hector, Jenny, and Karen that they were not to discuss the inquiry with anyone else, and especially no one was to be ribbed or teased about the pictures. They were all strictly confidential, secret, and that meant from anyone.

Two more middle-aged men, one of them known, one of them not, the known guy was none other than Gerry Swaythling.

‘Still a member then,’ said Karen.

‘Never a doubt,’ said Walter.

Then there were a couple of dozen blanks; faceless white guys that none of them knew. Then another single guy, strolling purposefully toward the door, flamboyant white scarf around his neck, tall and confident in his own skin.

‘Well, well, well,’ said Walter, grinning down.

‘Who he?’ asked Karen.

‘Don’t any of you know?’

No one did.

‘That’s Donald West.’

‘Who’s Donald West?’ asked Hector.

‘Don’t you know?’ said Walter. ‘Penny still not dropped? That, ladies and gentlemen, is Mrs West’s husband, your boss’s better half.’

‘Oh cripes,’ said Jenny, taking a closer look at the picture, for there was always something fascinating about other people’s partners.

‘Did you know he was in the Lodge?’ asked Karen.

‘I did not,’ said Walter.

‘Does she know about this surveillance op?’ persisted Karen.

‘Not yet.’

‘Oops!’

At Walter’s request Hector started the film show and they watched the same comings and goings on live video. It didn’t really show anything more than Jenny’s stills. They moved on to the departures, picture quality not quite so good after the daylight had vanished.

There were nine people on the leaving shots that hadn’t appeared on the going in pics, perhaps committee members, bar staff, and security people, but none of the nine were immediately identifiable.

Walter thanked Jenny and Hector and sent them on their way and after they’d gone Karen said, ‘When are you going to tell Mrs West?’

‘Soon. After we’ve been to see Langley Wells.’

‘When do you want to do that?’

Walter’s stomach rumbled loudly.

Karen jerked her head back and grinned.

‘I’m going to get a bite to eat, pie and a pint, fancy it?’

‘No,’ she said, ‘I’ve brought tuna on brown.’

‘OK, be back in an hour; get a car organised, and we’ll go then.’

Eighteen

Langley Wells’ home was located in the centre of the biggest housing estate in Chester. He had lived there all his life. The house looked in fine fettle, as Karen pulled the blue unmarked BMW to a standstill behind a pair of black four by fours that were parked on the road outside.  Walter stepped out, it was thinking of drizzling, he thought he saw lace curtains rustling in the downstairs front room, though he might have been mistaken. Karen joined him and they walked up the path and rang the bell.

Rose Wells came to the door. She looked tired and weary.

Karen said, ‘I’m Sergeant Greenwood and this is...’

‘I know who he is,’ she said. ‘What do you want?’

‘We’d like a quick word with Langley, Rose,’ said Walter.

‘What about?’

‘Just a little bit of business.’

‘Have you got an appointment?’ she asked, unable to keep a slight smile from her wan face.

Karen glanced up and down the road, as if surprised anyone would need to make an appointment to see anyone on the estate.

‘Come on, Rose, it would be much easier if we do it here,’ said Walter. ‘We don’t want to have to take him down the station.’

‘I’ll see if he’s in,’ she said, and she closed the door.

They weren’t kept waiting long.

Rose came back and sniffed and said, ‘You’d better come in, and wipe your flippin’ feet!’ and she beckoned at the new copra doormat.

They were shown through to a rear sitting room set in a section of one of the extensions. There was a modern desk there, nothing much on the desk surface, a pocket calculator, a tub of pens, little else. Langley Wells sat impassively behind the desk; and behind him were three younger, fitter looking copies of the man himself.

‘Hello Langley,’ said Walter. ‘Long time, no see.’

Wells bobbed his head and said, ‘Darriteau.’

‘This is Sergeant Karen Greenwood.’

Langley nodded at her. Said nothing.

She thought they