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

is the way it is to stay until we are good and ready. Everyone understand that?’

More knowing looks and nods and then Karen said, ‘Right! Come on! Operation Korma is under way.’

‘Couldn’t you think of anything better than that?’ teased Gibbons, grinning at his sarge.

‘Belt up, Gibbons!’

Fifty

The convoy of six cars pulled into Brook Street and parked on double yellow lines, twenty yards ahead of the State. No flashing lights, no sirens, no weapons on display, no hurry, no panic. Karen sent Hector and a uniform around the back in case anyone did a runner. Walter strode toward the doors, Jenny just to his rear, videocam in hand, Karen at his side, SOCO still in the cars waiting to be summoned.

Walter eased open the brass and glass doors, conscious that it was only a short time since he had enjoyed a good dinner in the place.

Inside, the same subdued golden light, the same aromas, the same gentle hubbub of Cestrians enjoying exotic evening meals, the same expensive copra mat, the same deep pile carpet, the same discreetly lit half moon bar. Walter glanced across the room toward the display case. The soft light glinted back from the sword, reassuringly, locked away in that expensive glass box.

The male Khans were all in the house, enjoying their evening meal by the look of things, sitting at the same table that Walter had used on Sunday night, Wazir with his back to the wall, sitting in Walter’s favourite chair, Ahmed opposite with his back to the doors.

At the next table sat Austerity Hayes and Harry Barrett deep in conversation. It seemed they had ordered meals but no food had yet arrived. She was wearing the same ridiculous bonnet, looked hungry, looked like she could eat everyone in the house, as she glanced up and spied people she knew.

‘Yoo-ee, Walter,’ she called. ‘Come and join us, and bring your friends over too.’

Walter gabbled, ‘Not tonight, Austerity,’ and turned away and approached the Khan’s table, Jenny filming the scene, Karen a pace behind.

Wazir stood up and wiped his mouth.

The other Khans turned and stared suspiciously into the camera.

‘Hello, Walter,’ said Wazir, wiping his mouth, and setting his napkin down. ‘This doesn’t look like a social call to me.’

‘It isn’t, Wazir. We are making enquiries into the whereabouts of Sahira Khan.’

Wazir said nothing; sat down.

‘She’s gone to Pakistan,’ blurted Maaz, inspecting the bitches. The blonde one in the tight fitting cord trousers, he could give her something to think about, and the more curvaceous girl-next-door type, carrying the camera, filming him. What the hell was that all about? Filming him at dinner? That was a first. He smiled for the camera and stuck out and waggled his tongue, turned his eyes back to the blonde. Fit looking bitch, for a copper, for a Christian, fit looking.

‘And when was that, exactly?’ asked Walter.

Maaz giggled. ‘Ages since, innit, man.’

‘Be quiet!’ said Mohammed.

Ahmed looked at Walter and said, ‘Would you care to explain to me what is going on?’

‘It’s you who have some explaining to do,’ said Karen. ‘You are all to accompany us to the police station, right now.’

‘Are you crazy?’ asked Mohammed.

‘Good job we’ve finished eating, innit,’ grinned Maaz, staring down at the picked clean, stainless steel serving dishes.

‘What about the restaurant?’ asked Ahmed.

‘The restaurant is now closed,’ said Walter.

‘You can’t do that!’ protested Mohammed.

‘I just have.’

‘But it’s never closed,’ said Wazir. ‘Not once since the day it opened, not even on Christmas Day, never, other than when it was being refitted.’

‘There’s a first time for everything,’ said Karen.

Maaz gave her a hard look.

‘Where are the women?’ asked Walter.

‘Where they should be!’ snarled Maaz, staring at the black bloke. ‘Not like your bloody lot.’

‘My lot?’ queried Walter.

Maaz grinned and looked round at his family, as if for support, and back at the coppers. ‘Yeah you know, one third of your women are out on the streets doing tricks for twenty-five quid, another third are off their heads on coke and ganja, and the other third are at home, single mothers bringing up their little brats to be just like them... and some of your women manage to do all three,’ and he giggled and grinned.

Karen glanced at Walter. She thought he was about to strike Maaz. Said supportively, ‘Guv,’ but Walter was already talking again.

‘My lot, as you so elegantly describe us, are too busy driving the buses and trains and keeping the capital moving, too busy becoming doctors and nurses and keeping the national health service on its feet, looking after sick little people, like you, too busy winning half the medals Britain wins in the Olympic Games, too busy making and influencing most of the music that pops out of your radio.... you halfwit!’

‘Wow!’ said Maaz, determined to come back at him. ‘Fo-yi, fo-yi, innit!’

Walter and Karen glanced at the others.

‘It’s one of his stupid made up words,’ explained Mohammed.

‘Meaning?’ snapped Karen.

‘Figment of your imagination, darling, know what I mean, figment of your freaking imagination, and mine,’ said Maaz leering at Karen, through her clothes, as if she was standing there naked.

‘Gibbons!’ she said. ‘Take him away!’

‘Love to!’ said Gibbons, seizing Maaz’s wrist.

‘Do you need anything, Maaz?’ asked Walter.

Maaz ignored the copper and began shouting, ‘I took the bitch to the airport myself. Me, Maaz Khan, took her alone. It was all down to me.’

Walter nodded at Gibbons and he slipped one end of the cuffs on Maaz’s wrist, the other on his own and led Maaz outside and back to the cars.

Walter stared around the restaurant at still, stony faces, all gazing back. He clapped his big hands like gunshots and ordered everyone outside. ‘What you have eaten is free, but there will be nothing else!’

Karen watched the weird Austerity making a big issue of getting her things together. Heard her say to her companion, ‘We’ll just have to go and eat an Indonesian,’ followed by her own raucous laughter, and as the restaurant cleared, a little queue formed at the main