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

the jabbing motion to wake it from its slumber.

‘Mmm,’ he said. ‘Fuck me!’ taking out his mobile phone and jabbing in 999.

‘Emergency, which service do you require?’

‘Police.’

A couple of seconds ticked over, no more, and then a girl said, ‘Police. Emergency.’

‘Someone has left their head down one of my lavatories,’ said Mister Heale, straight faced, then smirking at Mary McGrory.

‘Say again.’

‘There is a man’s head jammed down one of my lavatories.’

‘Is he dead?’

‘I would think so.’

‘Who’s calling, please?’

‘My name is Mister Heale; I am the manager of the Red Rose Motel.’

‘Are you being serious?’

‘Of course I’m being bloody serious!’

‘OK, no need to swear. We’ll get somebody to you.’

‘Be obliged,’ and he rang off.

MARY MCGRORY HAD GONE into the main part of the bedroom.

‘Oh hell! I’ve found the rest of him.’

He ran to see.

So much blood.

Dreadful stink.

Flies too.

It was another hot day

‘Look at the state of the carpet!’ he said.

‘Poor, poor man, what has been going on here, do you think?’

‘God alone knows!’

AT THE SAME MOMENT Jimmy was sitting in the car overlooking the cricket pitch. He shook his head and started the engine and drove home, determined to find the little weasel before nightfall, the sad little git who had failed him so miserably.

Thirty-Six 

Sunday morning and Walter was standing in his kitchen, his back propped up against the worktop, eating a weighty slice of buttered toast, smothered in a generous coating of thick cut Dundee marmalade. Galina Unpronounceable was there, busy in the sink, giving it a thorough cleaning. She’d rung to say she couldn’t make Saturday, had a big job on the go by all accounts, and would Sunday be all right with him. He was happy to see her there, and he was always more likely to be in on a Sunday.

Luke Flowers still hadn’t been located. Feeling was, he’d jetted abroad again, a theory that carried some weight, after they discovered a receipt in his bedside table for a considerable amount of travellers’ cheques, or checks, as they were spelt on the documentation.

She was wiping down the worktops; aggressive short right to left movements, and her neat jeaned bum was shaking in time to the swipes. Walter took another peek, then glanced away, and bit into his toast.

‘You catch bad man yet?’ she said, as she finished what she was doing.

‘Not yet, but we are close.’

‘I come cook you meal when you do?’

‘If you want to.’

She turned and smiled and said, ‘Yes, I do that.’

‘What food?’ he asked, slipping the last of the sticky toast into his mouth and licking his fingers.

‘You like dumplings? Meat and dumplings?’

Walter nodded, said: ‘Yeah, I like meat and dumplings,’ and rubbed his stomach with both hands at the thought of it. It sure as heck was better than bloody chicken Kiev.

‘I do meat and dumplings,’ she said, moving over to the stained cooker top. She glanced at the mess and back at him. Walter shrugged his shoulders as if someone else was responsible.

The old phone in the hallway began ringing, loud tones reverberating through the Edwardian house. Ring-ring. Ring-ring.

‘Phone rings,’ she said, unnecessarily, thought Walter, as he loped through to the hall.

‘Guv?’ it was Karen.

‘What are you doing in today?’

‘Making up lost hours, remember, I had that day off for my cousin’s wedding.’

‘Oh yeah. So, any news on Luke Flowers?’

‘Maybe.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘A man’s head has been found jammed down a lavvy in the Red Rose Motel.’

‘That’s a first, and you think it’s him?’

‘Might explain why we can’t find him. You want me to pick you up?’

‘Yeah, course, I’ll get dressed.’

‘See you in ten.’

WALTER RETURNED TO the kitchen where heavy scrubbing was going on again.

‘I’ve got to go out; we might have found the bad man.’

‘Good – I order meat!’

‘Not yet, Galina, not until we know for sure. I am going upstairs to get dressed.’

Five minutes later he was back, fiddling with his tie, setting her pay down on the draining board.

‘Thank.... you,’ she said, two distinct words. Almost two separate sentences.

‘You can let yourself out, can’t you?’

‘Course, do, easy.’

Pretty much the right words, maybe not quite in the right order, thought Walter.

‘I work here many times before when you not here. I not steal anything.’

‘I know that, Galina,’ and then they could hear Karen honking from the unmarked BMW.

‘Must go.’

‘I see you out.’

He’d rather she didn’t, but she did anyway, standing at the front door, smiling and waving a yellow duster above her head, as Walter fell into the car.

Karen smirked.

‘Friend of yours?’

‘No, just the cleaner.’

‘Funny day for a cleaner.’

‘She couldn’t come yesterday.’

‘Pretty too.’

‘You think? I hadn’t noticed.’

‘Liar!’ and already they were round the corner and heading across town for the Red Rose.

MISTER HEALE WAS TALL and skinny and languid, and acted as if the whole business was a minor irritant to his day. Didn’t act like a man who had discovered a severed head down one of his lavvies.

Heale showed them through to room fifty and a moment later Doc Grayling showed up.

Walter nodded a greeting and the short stout doc nodded back.

‘Another one called in on a Sunday?’ said Walter.

‘No problem to me, I was on call anyway. Had a run down infant, but he was OK,’ said the doc, handing out disposable latex gloves.

‘So what have we here?’ said Walter, as all four of them peered down at the vomit splashed head.

‘Well, as you can see, it’s a man,’ said Heale, ‘I thought it was a practical joke when they first told me.’

‘Who found the body?’ asked Karen, correcting herself. ‘The head.’

‘One of the maids, Bulgarian she is, nice kid, Iskra Kolarov, she’s a bit shaken up, spewed up all over the place. The rest of him is in there,’ and he nodded through toward the bedroom.

‘She would be shaken up,’ said Walter. ‘I’d be shaken up if I discovered that in my bog! Where is she now?’

‘Having a coffee in the staff room, with Mary McGrory, she’s the supervisor, she’s with her.’

Walter nodded at