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

‘Judging by the colour of that,’ and he nodded at the ruined carpet, ‘and the state of the remains, more than twelve hours ago, and possibly considerably more.’

‘How much more?’

‘Well, it wouldn’t surprise me if death occurred some time yesterday afternoon, say in the middle of the match, around half past three, how does that suit you?’

‘OK, doc, I get it.’

‘A little demo.’

The doc lifted one arm. The whole body jerked up as if it were one solid piece of timber. ‘Rigor mortis speeds up in hot weather. Not to put too fine a point on it, the stiff is as stiff as a board.’

Walter sniffed a smile, said: ‘Guessed as much.’

‘Fly activity will support the time of death. They are industrious little buggers. Reliable as ...’ and he paused as if searching for the right word.

‘Flies?’ suggested Walter.

‘Yes, precisely. We learn more from their activity than practically anything else.’

Walter took another look around the room. He was hoping to see a mobile phone, or a wallet. Couldn’t see either. Went closer to the bed. Took out his pen, poked in the back trouser pocket. There was a wallet in there for sure, black, small, foldover style, safely shut in by one closed trouser button. He undid the button and eased out the wallet. Took a quick peek inside. The usual thing. Plenty of cash, plenty of credit cards, all in Luke Flowers name, and not much else.

Went back and checked the other pockets.

Half a handy pack of paper handkerchiefs, a small throwaway lighter, and a crushed pack of cigarettes containing five fags, and some loose coins. Nothing else.  The mobile phone was missing. The killer or killers must have taken it.

A soft knock came to the door.

SOCO had arrived, earlier than expected, mob handed, two guys and a girl, already changed and ready to go, looking like operatives from the Sellafield nuclear facility.

Doc Grayling said, ‘I’ve just about finished here,’ and Walter nodded the SOCO team on, and a couple of seconds later the cameras were clicking and rolling, as everything was committed to multi million or was it billion trillion now, pixels, digital photographs instantly available on the back of the camera, or downloaded onto a laptop in a few seconds flat, sent to anywhere in the world in a millisecond.

Every angle, every viewpoint, every spec, nothing would be left to chance, before the remains would eventually be removed.

In due course his mother would be called in to ID the body, and it would again be a whole body by then. It was amazing what they could do nowadays, even when the body was in bits. Perhaps she might regret being less than helpful. Sometimes parents had to be braver and put their own children in the frame, even if they did face a long punishment, though it was easy to be wise after the event. But better that, than the ending that had befallen the young man formerly known as Luke Edward Flowers.

ACROSS TOWN IN THE first floor private quarters of the State of Kerala, another meeting was taking place.

Only one woman was present, Sahira Khan, now dressed in her hijab, ordered to stand in the centre of the room, her face fully showing, no hair on view, looking like a Christian nun.

As before, Nadirah and Akleema were outside, listening at the closed door, and as before Mohammed and Ahmed were standing, Wazir and Maaz sitting together on the sofa, all stern faced, like a jury about to deliver their verdict.

Ahmed spoke first.

‘You will leave for Pakistan tonight.’

‘Yes, grandfather.’

‘Mohammed and Maaz will take you to the airport.’

‘Yes, grandfather.’

‘You will leave at 9pm.’

‘As you wish, grandfather,’ and she glanced at her father, Mohammed, as if for comfort. He didn’t look away, but stared straight through her, as if she didn’t exist.

‘Before you go you will say goodbye to your mother and your great grandmother. Is that clear?’

‘Yes, grandfather.’

‘It will be a long time before you see them again... if ever.’

‘I understand, grandfather.’

‘Do you have any questions?’

‘None, grandfather.’

‘Maaz, have you checked the sinner’s bag?’

‘Yes, grandfather.’

‘And was it in order?’

‘It was, grandfather.’

‘And the passport?’

‘I have it safe,’ said Maaz, ‘ready, with the flight details.’

Ahmed nodded his assent and slipped his hands into his tailored jacket pocket.

‘Maaz, take her back to her room,’ said Mohammed. ‘Make sure she does not speak to the women, and that she does not leave her room.’

‘Yes, father,’ said Maaz, getting up and taking hold of Sahira’s arm.

She didn’t pull away. Didn’t resist. Allowed herself to be led away.

After the youngsters had gone, Wazir said, ‘What a dreadful business.’

‘Too terrible to imagine,’ said Ahmed, sitting down.

‘The girl is getting off lightly,’ muttered Mohammed, still fuming.

‘She’s very lucky indeed,’ said Ahmed, and at the other end of the landing, as Maaz shut her in her bedroom, he whispered, ‘You disgust me!’

‘But Maaz...’

‘Don’t speak to me! Don’t ever speak to me again! You whore!’

Back in the sitting room, Wazir pleaded: ‘When are we going to get back to normal?’

‘Tomorrow, father,’ said Ahmed. ‘Tomorrow all will be as it should be.’

EARLIER, SAHIRA HAD told her mother that under no circumstances would she allow herself to be put on a plane to Pakistan. Akleema set her straight that she must go to Pakistan, she must carry out the family’s wishes, and she must marry the warlord. The most important thing was that she should get out of the family home, and the family business, as quickly as possible, if she valued her life.

‘Surely you have heard the stories of what can happen to an adulteress?’ pleaded Akleema, grabbing her daughter’s shoulders and staring into her dark eyes, her beautiful clear eyes. Akleema could understand how they entranced men so, but Sahira had shown herself to be woefully weak, and now she must bear the consequences.

‘But he’s sixty-eight, mamma, and he’ll probably reek of goat.’

‘Of course he will smell of goat, child, and so will you after a