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

disgracing this mosque. You must do something about it... and you must do something now.’

‘You can rest assured that we will be doing something today,’ said Ahmed, keen to bring the dreadfully unpleasant business to an early close.

‘How did you get this video?’ asked Wazir.

‘It is none of your business how we came by the DVD!’ said Sabir, patience finally gone.

Hujjat said, ‘We have a spy in the hotel, Wazir, it was only by God’s good fortune that we discovered the matter. If it had been anywhere else, then...’ and he wafted his hand through the air, and let that thought die on his lips.

‘You should leave us now,’ said Sabir. ‘Come again on Tuesday morning and explain what actions have been taken. Ring me if there is any news.’

The Khans stood as one; they did not need to be invited twice, Wazir taking longer to get to his feet. They bowed to the Imam, and left the room.

IN THE CAR GOING HOME Wazir said, ‘Times are changing, things are changing, try not to be too hard on her.’

Mohammed practically choked.

‘Wazir, you are becoming senile in your old age! I cannot possibly be too hard on her for the sins she has committed!’

Ahmed didn’t think his father senile, but he didn’t agree with him either. The girl had behaved abominably, beyond abominably, and he wondered how he could ever show his face at the mosque again. He would be a laughing stock. The whole family would be a laughing stock; people would stop and stare at them in the street, raise their hands to their mouths and gossip behind their backs, about the terrible Khans whose womenfolk had gone astray, shaming the entire community.

Thirty-Two

Luke dressed in a hurry. He fancied a farewell drink. He left the flat and hurried on down to the Laughing Cavalier that was set overlooking green lawns down by the river. He often went to the LC, as it was known. It was a trendy place, one of those new kind of pubs that opens at 7am and fills the void, before alcohol can be dispensed, by serving coffees and breakfasts. He might even jump on a poached egg on toast. Saying girly goodbyes was a hungry business.

Janice was there, the boss’s wife, getting on a wee bit, but still attracting the eye, her of the tight blouse and amazing chest, none of the young men could miss that, nor the old ones either.

‘How are you, Luke?’

‘I’m great, going to Australia tomorrow. Can’t wait.’

‘Lucky you. What can I get you?’

‘Just a coffee, ta, maybe have some eggs later,’ and he took a seat on a corner pew and took out his mobile and pondered on who to call next.

WALTER AND KAREN ARRIVED at the flat by car. Glanford House, three stories high, red brick, white windows, gabled roof, like a million other blocks that have shot up across the kingdom in the past ten years.

On seeing their car, Darren and Jenny came out from behind some camellia bushes. Hector Browne turned up too, panting, saying, ‘Thought you might need some extra help.’

Walter nodded at them all in turn and slipped his hand in his jacket pocket to where the Glock was reassuringly still sleeping.

‘Come along team,’ he said, ‘time to earn your corn,’ and they strode up the path.

The outside door was security locked. Inside, they could see a tall guy in full multi coloured cycling gear. He had brought his racing cycle out from the storeroom and was busy fitting his helmet. He was taller than Luke and was probably older than he looked. He came to the door; saw the five strangers hanging about outside, thought they were perhaps Jehovah’s Witnesses, or some other weird bunch. He pushed the bike to the door and opened up. Walter held the door open for him and the guy said: ‘Can I help you?’

Walter flashed his ID. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Colin Cresswell.’

‘And you live here?’

‘Yes.’

‘Which flat?’ asked Karen.

‘24. Look, what’s this all about?’

‘Do you know Luke Flowers?’ asked Walter.

‘Lukee, yeah course, he’s a neighbour of mine.’

‘Is he in the flat now?’ asked Karen, her hand caressing the weapon in her pocket.

‘No, you’ve just missed him, went out about ten minutes ago.’

‘Do you know where he went?’ asked Walter.

‘No idea, but he was all dressed up, hot date, I’d say. He’s got a fancy girlfriend; father’s a dentist, so he says.’

Walter bobbed his head. Thanked the neighbour. Told him to have a good ride, and then Walter said, ‘If you see him, tell him his mother’s looking for him.’

‘What about?’ asked Cresswell, now straddling the bike.

‘Tell him his dog’s died.’

‘Didn’t know he had a dog.’

Walter grinned, and the guy shook his head; a puzzled expression set on his face, and rode away.

Gibbons had set his boot in the outside door to stop it closing. It had a strong spring, it would have snapped shut in seconds. They all went inside and sprinted up the stairs, Walter puffing behind, knowing full well that he really should have used the vacant and standing lift.

Gathered outside the flat, Walter said breathlessly, ‘I’m getting fed up with this. Just missing things. Either we are getting slow, or criminals are getting cuter.’

No one said a word. Just glanced at the dark brown door, and the brass figure 28.

‘Kick it down!’ said Walter.

Hector and Gibbons approached the door, drew back their right feet in unison, and kicked hard in perfect symmetry like a pair of marching fascist soldiers on parade, straight legged, thrusting, decisive, and forward.

The door crumbled under the impact and immediately surrendered, shaking and collapsing in a noisy and showy heap, into the tiled hallway beyond. Walter stepped into the void and his troops followed him in.

THE KHAN MEN ARRIVED back at the State of Kerala. Hurried up the stairs, even Wazir, for ancient adrenalin had woken up his old body. They found Nadirah and Akleema in the private kitchen, baking cakes.

‘Where is Sahira?’ demanded