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

There was a long corridor, bland cream walls, bland beige carpet, bright blue doors, as if to point out to worse-for-wear travellers where the doors actually were.

A figure came down the corridor and opened one of the rooms and went inside. It was a maid, white skin; some might consider quite pretty, early twenties, tied back dark hair, energetically going about her duties.

Everyone stared at the screen.

No one spoke.

Another minute passed.

The time and date appeared at the bottom left corner of the screen, flickering unobtrusive transparent letters and numbers. The tape had been made ten days earlier.

Wazir tried to remember what he was doing ten days ago. Trouble was, he could barely remember yesterday. Mohammed and Ahmed were pondering on the same thing. What and where and who?

Another person was coming down the corridor. A young woman, a pretty young woman, long dark hair, brushed western style, black suit, the skirt possibly a little shorter than usual, as if it had been taken up, or folded up, pretty legs, as if to attract the eye, and bright red lipstick!

The woman was unmistakeably Mohammed’s daughter, Sahira.

She had no luggage, other than her handbag, a present from her mother. All the Khans recognised that. She produced a key, looked around, nervously, guiltily perhaps, and opened up and disappeared into the room, the next room to where the maid had gone in.

The Khan men shared an anxious look.

Still no one spoke.

The film rolled on.

Nothing happened.

The door next to Sahira’s room opened and the maid came out. She was carrying a large red plastic box of cleaning things and bustled into another opposite room.

Another break, a period of nothingness, just slightly shaking film of a bland, empty, and still corridor.

The Khans shared another look as if to say, ‘Is that it?’

In their hearts, they hoped it would be.

In their heads, they knew it would not.

A man was coming down the corridor, short, young, slight, boy band good looking, a spring in his step, a clear smirk on his face. He was swinging the key around in his hand as if he didn’t have a care in the world, as if it was his birthday, and he was about to receive the best present imaginable.

He stopped and opened a door and went inside.

He had gone into Sahira’s room.

IN ANOTHER PART OF town, Luke patted Melanie’s backside and pushed her out through the door of his flat. He hadn’t been altogether honest with her. He had told her he was going away for three weeks to Australia to some computer software conference. He had attended similar such things before, but only in the UK, so far as Melanie knew.

The truth was it wouldn’t be three weeks at all, more like three months, more likely still, six months; in fact the actual truth was, he didn’t know when the hell he’d be back.

It depended on how exciting Mexico was, and how alluring the senoritas, who he just knew would adore him, and his newfound wealth.

He took a shower, then he’d soak in the bath for a brief while, and then he’d arrange another going away meeting while he still had time.

THE PRETTY GIRL IN the travel agent was incredibly helpful.

Of course she knew Luke Flowers.

He was one of their best customers.

Always going away somewhere or other, a real jetsetter, though even she had no idea he was about to leave for Mexico. No one did, because that little jaunt had been arranged by Jimmy Mitchell, under a false name.

She spoke of Luke in glowing terms, so much so that it was obvious to Darren and Jenny that she had a crush on the guy. Probably hoped he would take her away with him next time. She didn’t know how lucky she really was.

‘And you have an address?’ asked an excited Jenny.

‘Course we do. Here it is. 28 Glanford House, it’s a new building, no more than ten minutes from here, on the way up toward the station, just outside the city walls.’

Darren rang base immediately. Spoke to Walter.

‘Guv? Got an address! 28 Glanford House, new build flats, on the way up to the station.’

‘Good boy! Well done! I know the place. Make your way there. Meet you there in ten. Don’t go in till we get there. Don’t do anything stupid. Be careful!’

‘Got you, Guv, see you soon.’

IMAM HUJJAT FAST-FORWARDED the DVD. Explained that nothing much else happened, then stopped and started it again.

The door to the room opened and the man came out. His short hair slightly dishevelled, as he walked jauntily away down the corridor and disappeared.

Two more minutes and the door opened again.

Sahira came out. She paused and touched her hair.

Her father Mohammed thought she looked guilty.

He stared down at his feet.

Ahmed frowned and glanced at his father as if for support.

Wazir stared straight ahead as if he couldn’t see a thing.

They all watched her hurry away down the corridor and disappear.

They were all thinking the same thing.

How could she betray us in such a way?

Eventually, Ahmed asked: ‘How long was she in there?’

‘Two hours and twelve minutes,’ said Imam Hujjat without a moment’s hesitation.

‘There must be an innocent explanation,’ said Wazir.

‘There is no innocent explanation!’ said Imam Sabir, his patience rapidly deserting him. ‘She has been fornicating with this kaffir on a regular basis!’

‘You don’t know what she has been doing for certain,’ suggested Ahmed.

‘What do you think she was doing in there, playing marbles? Take the scales from your eyes, Mister Khan,’ said an exasperated Sabir.

‘What do you mean... a regular basis?’ asked Ahmed.

‘This is the fifth time, same man, same place!’ said Hujjat. ‘We do not know how many other times there have been, in other places, with other men.’

‘Oh no,’ said Mohammed, his hand going to his forehead. ‘You mean?’

‘We don’t know for sure,’ said Sabir. ‘It is up to you to find out. She is your daughter, and she is disgracing herself, she is disgracing the Khan family, and she is