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

‘You can say that again!’ said Maaz.

Mohammed shot him a look, a stare that turned into a hopeful look that pleaded with his son to learn to keep silent.

‘So, just to be clear, you lured him to the hotel and murdered him?’ asked Ahmed.

Maaz grinned and bobbed his head. It was so easy to grin. He had enjoyed it, being the deliverer of vengeance. ‘Justice, it was God’s justice. A Jihad.’

‘And who else knows about this?’

‘No one,’ said Mohammed. ‘Not a soul.’

‘No one? I find that hard to believe!’ said Ahmed.

‘The girl, the one on reception, she knows,’ grinned Maaz.

‘And I suppose you paid for her silence?’ said Wazir.

‘No! We didn’t have to,’ said Mohammed. ‘That’s the great thing. She’s a good girl. She’s converting. Studying at the mosque. I’ve seen her there. She’s with us. She’ll never say a word. Turns a blind eye to everything.’

‘She’s a bit of a babe too,’ said Maaz, ‘I could get quite excited over her, know what I mean, might have a word with her father, see how the land lies.’

‘You will do no such thing!’ said Mohammed. ‘You will stay away from that girl! You know full well you are betrothed to your cousin in Calicut.’

‘What’s her father’s name?’ asked Ahmed. ‘The girl on reception.’

‘Javed, he goes to the mosque all the time, a good man,’ said Mohammed.

‘I know him,’ nodded Wazir. ‘He’s a decent man.’

‘Her Christian name is Mary,’ continued Maaz, still thinking of the babe at the Red Rose, ‘but that’s all about to go up in smoke. Her father now calls her Tanzeela, and she’ll soon be officially known as that. Her Christian whore of a mother doesn’t have a clue. She’s in for a big surprise. Another one to us, I’d say,’ and he licked his index finger and drew an imaginary figure 1 in the air.

‘You’re a complete idiot!’ muttered Wazir.

‘Don’t be crass!’ said Ahmed almost at the same time.

‘I don’t think you realise the trouble you are in,’ said Wazir. ‘The trouble we are all in. The police will never rest until they solve this case.’

‘Let ’em try,’ said Maaz.

‘Oh, they’ll try all right, and they will keep trying until they come for you, Maaz, until they come for all of us.’

Maaz shook his head contemptuously.

‘Who killed the boy?’ asked Wazir.

Maaz smirked.

His eyes leapt from left to right and right to left.

It was obvious to everyone.

‘How did you kill him?’ asked Ahmed.

‘That’s the great bit!’ gushed Maaz.

‘What does he mean?’ asked Ahmed.

Mohammed sighed deeply and stared round at his elders and said, ‘We used the sword.’

Wazir’s mouth fell open.

‘The family sword? The sacred artefact I brought from India?’

Mohammed nodded.

Maaz was hugely enjoying himself.

‘You couldn’t have done! I have never noticed it missing. Ahmed and I hold the only keys,’ said Wazir. ‘You’re lying!’

Maaz couldn’t contain himself any longer. Idiotic laughing poured from his slim and taught body.

‘I am sorry father, but I borrowed your key,’ said Mohammed to Ahmed. ‘Took it when you were bathing, slipped the key back before you had noticed it had gone.’

Ahmed and Wazir shared another look.

Had things really come to this? Had the family sunk so low? Their son and grandson betraying the family trust, reading wills, stealing keys, removing precious family artefacts without permission, an ancient and priceless sword, and had promptly demeaned it by using it to carry out murder. Yes, it was true, Sahira had behaved abominably, beyond abominably, revoltingly, most people would sympathise with that, and mere words could not describe the sin and shame and degradation she had committed and brought down on the family, but this? How could they ever deal with this?

Truth was, the family would never be the same again.

‘So we have two murders on our hands,’ said Wazir, rubbing his hands coldly together and then clapping them once. ‘The blood of a local man, and the blood of one of our own.’

‘Stop calling them murders!’ shrieked Maaz. ‘No one has been murdered! We have justice! That’s what it is. An eye for an eye. Start calling them by their correct name... justice!’

‘Is that what you call it, justice?’ asked Wazir, suddenly feeling quite ill.

‘Yes I do! It is up to the younger generation to protect our family name and maintain standards, and that is exactly what we have done. I am proud of what I did, and I’ll tell you something else: Whoever made that sword, whichever member of our family, going back deep into history, whoever held and wielded that sword, then that is a man I would dearly liked to have met, for he most surely would understand and approve, and you won’t be surprised to hear it worked so well. Better than I could ever have imagined. One blow, that’s all it took, and the kaffir’s filthy head was rolling about my feet like a culled turnip in the field, as the red rain came tumbling down, you should have seen the look of terror and surprise on his cocky little Christian face!’

‘It’s a strange way to protect the family by murdering one of our own,’ muttered Wazir.

Maaz jumped to his feet and did a child-like tantrummy jump and screamed, ‘Shut the fuck up, you stupid old man! What do you know? It’s not murder! It’s justice! I won’t tell you again!’

‘Don’t speak to my father like that,’ said Ahmed coldly. ‘Or I shall have you sectioned.’

Maaz turned and stared at Ahmed in silence as if he had been shot.

Didn’t say a word.

Didn’t want to go there.

Didn’t like Ahmed.

Didn’t like the old man either.

Didn’t like any of them.

They should all look out, for one thing was certain: The world would eventually belong to the young, it always did, and for Maaz, that day couldn’t come soon enough.

Ahmed stood up and went to the jug of coffee.

‘We need a break,’ he said. ‘Here, have a coffee everyone, and a sweet biscuit, and after that, we’ll sit down together and make our plans.’

‘Good idea,’ said Mohammed. ‘Do you want a coffee,