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

‘He doesn’t have any hold over me, little miss know it all!’ said Swaythling, his voice rising to a crescendo, sufficient to alert the staff outside that their boss was being given a tough time by the local police. ‘You are missing the bloody point!’

‘What is your point?’ asked Walter.

‘The point is that if I hadn’t been paying, then the Wells gang, or whoever it might be, might have had cause to give my family grief, but I have. I can show you the bloody bank transfers, if you are that interested! I have never missed a single payment, not once!’

‘Quite! But if your son was out of the way, Wells couldn’t threaten to harm him, could he?’ said Karen.

‘Don’t be so ridiculous!’

Swaythling was now on his feet, pacing up and down the office to the rear of where Walter and Karen sat.

‘So who is trying to kill your son, Mister Swaythling?’ asked Walter.

‘How the hell should I know? That’s your job! But one thing I can tell you for sure, it isn’t me, and it isn’t Wells either! Now do you mind?’ and he opened the office door and said aloud, ‘Show these gentlemen out!’

Walter and Karen shared a look, Karen smirked, and they left the room, Walter first, Karen following, and as she passed him holding the door she whispered, ‘I am not a gentleman.’

‘You could have fooled me!’

IN THE CAR OUTSIDE Karen said, ‘So where does that take us.’

Walter shuffled his thoughts into some kind of order.

‘Well, we now know it’s definitely Wells who lent the money, we have a better idea of what he is capable of, how much clout he possesses, for want of a better phrase, and, more than that, that he is still receiving illegal payments. We could prove that too if the bank records back it up.’

‘So why don’t we build a case against Wells?’

‘That will surely come, though it will be difficult to prove. Swaythling will deny it, of course; concoct some story that the payments were for something else entirely, perhaps something to do with the Wells property outfit. Wells will deny it too, and they’ll both employ the best weaselly solicitor available, probably that Herringbone gentleman, or whatever his name is.’

‘Robertson Herring-Shone,’ said Karen.

‘That’s the joker.’

‘Is Wells capable of murdering someone?’ asked Karen.

‘Course he is,’ said Walter. ‘We all are, but I don’t think he has, not in this case. As Swaythling said, why hassle someone who is paying you £3,000 a month. You don’t murder the golden goose.’

‘So if it’s not Wells, is it Gerry Swaythling?’

‘He certainly didn’t pull the trigger, we know that for sure, but if you are asking me, did he order it, then the answer is, he could have done, the question is, why would he?’

‘We know Gerry and Neil don’t get on,’ said Karen.

‘We do, but it’s a hell of a big step from arguing with your son, to ordering his murder.’

‘So, if it is Swaythling senior, there must be some terrible hidden skeleton in the cupboard we are unaware of.’

‘True, I wonder what that could be? Maybe we should have another go at Neil.’

‘And if it’s nothing to do with Gerry, the only others in the frame are Munro Ford... and Veronica Camberwell.’

‘Yes,’ said Walter. ‘Or someone else. I think it’s high time we paid a visit to Willaston, and Mrs Camberwell. I wonder what she’s like.’

‘Makes no difference,’ said Karen, starting the car, ‘You’re far too old.’

‘Cheeky!’

THEY DIDN’T GET FAR with Veronica; they didn’t see her at all. A neighbour said that she had gone to stay with her cousin in Leeds; apparently she’d taken Neil’s death very badly and couldn’t bear to live in the big house all alone. At some point Veronica Camberwell was in for a big surprise.

THEY HADN’T BEEN BACK in the office more than ten minutes when Karen took a call for her boss.

‘It’s that newspaper woman again for you, Gardenia Floem.’

‘Oh, OK,’ said Walter and he grabbed the phone.

‘Hello, Inspector.’

‘Hello, Mizz Floem.’

‘It’s a quiet day here on the news desk so I thought I’d give you a quick ring to see if there’s any news, more specifically any progress on the Player murder, and the attack on Neil Swaythling.’

‘Am I missing something?’ asked Walter.

‘How do you mean?’

‘Was Neil Swaythling not murdered too?’

‘I don’t know, Inspector, you tell me.’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Rumours are circulating.’

‘What kind of rumours?’

‘I suspect you know well enough.’

‘Come on Mizz Floem, do your duty, tell me what you have heard.’

Karen was engrossed. She couldn’t hear all the conversation, but had a good idea what Ms Floem was saying.

The interesting thing was that Walter had adopted the chatty-up soft voice he occasionally used whenever he was talking to a woman he fancied. He fancied Ms Floem, didn’t he, the dirty old dog. No wonder he had employed a new cleaner to smarten up his house. Maybe he was hoping to lure the reporter back there, Karen could imagine that, she could almost hear his words, why don’t you come round to mine and we can swap notes, you help me, I’ll help you, you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours, et cetera et cetera, and who knows where that might lead? Geez! They might even have children. Imagine that! Little Darriteaus running all round the office creating havoc. Karen smirked again.

‘Not to put too fine a point on it,’ Mizz Floem continued, ‘word on the street has it that you have Neil Swaythling holed up somewhere as you tempt to lure the killer into the open.’

‘Don’t be silly, Mizz Floem.’

‘Come on Inspector, help me out here. I am feeding you intelligence; surely you can give me something that might interest my readers. My paper can be very useful to you, we both know that, but occasionally we like a little gem in return. What have you got hidden in that office of yours that I can use?’

‘You should speak to the Press Office, Mizz Floem,