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

It featured a large gathering, perhaps fifty or sixty people, taken a few years before, not ancient, but not recent either, and there in the middle were Langley and Rose, looking pleased with themselves, while a few heads along the row was another familiar face, Gerry Swaythling, a little younger, but not much, looking mischievously happy with his arms around an attractive girl on either side, a brunette and a blonde, no surprise there, and no sign of the wife anywhere.

The men were all dressed in evening suits and bow ties, the girls in dresses to die for that must have cost a month’s wages for some people. Beneath the smiling faces was an inscription: Imperial Hotel, Valletta, Malta, and a date from ten years before.

It was a Masonic meeting, had to be, holiday bash in the sunshine, took along the girls so they didn’t feel left out, and Malta had a long history of freemasonry, Walter knew that well enough, because reading up on the subject was a passion of his, along with native American Indian chiefs, Geronimo being his particular favourite, and cricket of course. Wisden was essential reading and a must buy at Christmas, even if he had to buy the newest edition for himself. No one else would. It would be his little treat.

‘1730,’ he said aloud, recalling his history, as Rose came back into the room carrying a large glass of water, clinking ice cubes as she walked, a slice of lemon floating like a tropical fish.

‘What?’ she said, setting the glass on the coaster on the desk.

‘Oh nothing, just talking to myself.’

‘You can get done for that.’

Walter grinned. ‘Thanks for the water, Rose.’

She almost smiled, but thought better of it.

‘Langley will be with you in a minute. Sit down and take a drink. You look whacked.’

‘Yeah,’ said Walter, ‘good idea,’ and he grabbed the glass and sank most of the content, and then dropped into the chair.

‘No charge for the water, and no interest either,’ and this time she fleetingly did smile, before she disappeared.

1730 he mused again, the year the French first took freemasonry to Malta, if his memory was still to be believed. If truth be known, it had probably been there a lot longer than that, and surely there would be active branches there still, only too willing to host UK parties, especially the wealthier visitors who were going to stay in the best hotels, and spend a great deal of money. The door opened again and Langley Wells came in and shut the door behind him.

‘Sorry to keep you waiting, Darriteau, had my accountant on the phone, awful windbag, he is,’ and he hurried around the desk and sat down. Walter glanced at Langley and thought he looked more hyena-like than ever. He emptied the glass and set it on the coaster.

‘Want another?’ asked Langley.

‘No, I’m fine,’ and Walter folded his arms, an obvious invitation for Langley to begin.

‘It’s taken an awful lot for me to invite you here.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, it has. No one must ever know of this meeting. Does anyone know you are here?’

‘Only my sergeant.’

‘Ah yes, the sex bomb.’

‘You think so?’

‘Not me, the boys!’

‘Can’t say as I have noticed.’

‘Liar!’

There was a short pause, as if Langley was debating whether he should say anything further. Walter waited patiently.

‘No one else knows you are here?’ said a nervous Langley.

‘Rose does,’ said Walter.

‘Ah well, she doesn’t count, she’s my right arm, Darriteau, trust her with my life, I would, and there are very few people I could say that about.’

Walter rolled his eyebrows; he was becoming bored with small talk.

‘You’re not wired, are you?’ said Langley, rippling his nose.

‘Course not, give me some credit.’

‘Didn’t think you would be, just checking. The thing is, Darriteau, I have been thinking about our last little chat.’

‘So you said on the phone.’

‘Yes, well, this isn’t easy for me. We, the people on this estate, are brought up to be very wary of the police, and not without just cause, and the idea of grassing someone up, well it goes without saying that it just isn’t done.’

‘What are you trying to tell me, Langley?’

‘I abhor violence, Darriteau, always have.’

Walter raised his eyebrows. Didn’t say a word.

‘Don’t look like that! I really do, and that’s the God’s honest truth. Yes, I may have clipped the odd out-of-liner over the ear once or twice when they were misbehaving, just knocking them back into line, that kind of thing, the sort of thing your lot used to do before you got so paranoid about it, and damned scared of the lawyers.’

‘Things change, Langley. None of us can carry on like we did thirty, forty years ago.’

Langley picked up a pen and began fiddling with it.

‘Yes, well, what I am trying to say is that I cannot do with guns. Young men, not much more than youths, in short kecks only ten years since, running round toting weapons as if they are in the O.K. Corral. I can’t be doing with it, and neither can my family, and you have my word that we do all we can to put a stop to it, and that’s the truth, but these days sometimes, and it is most unfortunate, things can and do get out of hand. Out of control.’

‘You are referring to the Jeffrey Player killing?’

Langley nodded. Didn’t say a word.

‘Do you know who did it?’

There was another pause and then Langley said, ‘I have heard a few things, whispers, things I don’t like.’

‘If you put someone in the frame for murder for your own ends I am duty bound to warn you that you could be prosecuted for perverting the course of justice, and that offence carries a hefty sentence.’

‘God give me strength, Darriteau! Don’t threaten me! I am bloody well trying to help you here.’

Walter held up his hands; palms facing Wells and said, ‘Just so long as we understand one another. I am not anyone’s fool.’

Wells shifted uncomfortably in his seat as if the whole