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

What was it that cyclist Colin Cresswell had said?

He was all dressed up, hot date, I’d say.

Yeah, that made sense. All they could do now was get some sleep and hope to pick him up in the morning. Walter closed his diary and left for home, where he intended making a big dent in those cans.

Thirty-Four

Iskra and Radka Kolarov were twenty-one year old twins. They had spent all their life in the north-eastern Bulgarian industrial town of Beloslav. They could not remember their father, he had gone into the Bulgarian army when they were nine months old, and had never returned.

Rumour had it that a large number of Bulgarian troops had been killed during one of the last live firing exercises involving Warsaw Pact troops. Locals said that the Bulgarians were all shot dead by gloating Russians, but then, they would. The official verdict was accidental death, and the Kolarovs received a modest pay-off.

The twins’ mother, Nikolina, was now ill, respiratory disease. They lived in a small rented house crammed in between the glass factory, the power station, and the busy, deep, and wide canal.

The quality of the air in Beloslav wasn’t brilliant, but it was still hugely improved from the old communist days, when production figures were everything. If occasionally, the beloved workers had to suffer poor air quality to meet the targets, then that was how it was. After all, the central politburo did not have to live anywhere near blighted Beloslav.

After the fall of communism prices on everything had risen sharply. Wages had struggled to keep pace, and though healthcare was still free for everyone in Bulgaria, even for some foreigners from within the European Union, good additional healthcare cost cold, hard money.

Nikolina Kolarov now needed ample additional healthcare.

The Kolarovs held an urgent family meeting.

It was agreed that one of the girls would go abroad to work. Once safely there, she would find a job and send money home, and Nikolina would benefit. The Kolarovs already had friends and distant family members working abroad, far away in a place called Chester in the north-west of England. The daughter who went to Chester would not be alone; she would be well looked after, and had been assured that she would soon be able to locate work.

Both of the girls desperately wanted to go for the prospect was so exciting, to see something of the world, away from industrial Beloslav, while they were still young, while they were still pretty. Both studied English hard, for who knew what might happen in a western country, and what adventures they might experience?

They quarrelled bitterly over who would go, and who should stay behind and look after mother, but still could not decide, until Nikolina stepped in and said that she was sick and tired of the bickering, and she would settle the matter once and for all, with the spin of a coin.

Iskra agreed immediately.

Radka wasn’t so sure, for she suspected collusion, because in her eyes Iskra had always been seen as the favourite, for though both girls were strikingly pretty in a squarish, Slavic, kind of way, milk white skin, jet black hair, often worn in a ponytail, it was Iskra that everyone said was the prettier of the two, and occasionally, even within Radka’s hearing.

Radka eventually agreed, providing the coin was thrown high in the air in their small kitchen, and that it was allowed to fall freely to the floor, for she was concerned that it would be caught by her mother and turned over in the hand, if necessary, to produce the desired result.

Everyone agreed.

The coin would fall to earth.

The spinning would take place at 11am on Sunday morning, tossed up by Nikolina, and allowed to bounce free to the cracked terra cotta tiles that lined the damp kitchen floor.

Sunday morning arrived and the twins eyed each other nervously. Nikolina produced the coin that would decide the fate of the family, a silver fifty Stotinki piece, one half of one Lev. Both sisters thoroughly inspected the coin. It was a brand new piece drawn from the post office especially for the event.

The twins remained suspicious, but seemed satisfied, as their mother reminded them of the rules: The winner would go abroad to work hard, and send money home. The loser would stay behind, work in the glassworks, and look after their mother, and the house.

‘I agree,’ said Iskra, keen to learn her fate.

The other two stared at Radka.

‘Yes, I agree too,’ she said eventually, ‘providing the coin falls to the floor.’

‘We have already decided that!’ said their mother, becoming irritated. ‘The coin will fall to the earth. It will be a free and fair spin. One spin, and one spin only.’

‘Who’s going to call?’ asked Nikolina.

‘I don’t mind,’ said Iskra.

‘You call!’ said Radka.

Nikolina glanced at the girls. Both twins bobbed their head, crossed their fingers, and eyed their sibling.

Nikolina flicked her thumb and tossed the coin high in the air with a fizz.

‘Heads!’ screamed Iskra, and then she said a silent prayer to Saint John of Rila, the Patron Saint of Bulgaria.

JIMMY MITCHELL SAT in his five-year-old Mercedes Benz at the Thornton Hough cricket ground and opened a packet of sandwiches. They were fish. He’d bought them in the petrol station and he was beginning to wish he’d chosen chicken. They smelt like cat food, and it promised to be another hot day. He bit into the bread. It tasted better than it smelt.

He grabbed the big Sunday newspaper from the passenger seat and shook out the supplements. Through the windscreen in front of him the groundsman was preparing the cricket square ready for action, mowing the track, painting the lines, setting up the stumps, wiping his brow.

Jimmy’s mobile burst into life.

He hoiked it from his pocket and said, ‘Yeah?’

‘Just letting you know I am in position, boss.’

‘Good man.’

‘And that action man isn’t here yet.’

Jimmy glanced at the dashboard clock. It was still early. There