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

He glanced at his watch. 9.28pm. Pulled out his mobile. Rang the office.

Gibbons answered, working the late shift, surprised to hear Walter’s voice.

‘Anything happening?’

‘Nowt, Guv, quiet as the proverbial. You have a good rest, boss, you deserve it.’

‘Could you come and pick me up?’

‘What! You want to come back to work?’

‘Might as well, I’m doing nothing here.’

‘You sure about that?’

‘Yeah, why not?’

‘OK, Guv. If that’s what you want. See you in twenty.’

‘Thanks, Gibbons.’

Fifty-Three

The party began at 4pm. Everyone was there. Free drinks and snacks in HQ was a rare event indeed, though the boots on the ground would have preferred beer to the gnats pee white wine on offer, and crisps and sausage rolls, to the fancy canapés that Mrs West’s niece had rustled up at short notice. A considerable bill would be in the post before the day was out.

Chief Superintendent Gitts swallowed any chagrin he may have possessed and attended, indeed he brought his two colleagues, the same pair Walter remembered had taken the original press conference in Manchester, smart uniforms, pristine medal ribbons, the look-a-like quiet man, and the forceful thirty something woman who drank juice and ate nothing, said very little, and listened a lot. Ambition on legs, Walter surmised, he’d seen countless similar officers in his time. Maybe Gitts should watch his back, maybe he already was, though Walter would be the last man to tell him that.

Gitts made a beeline for Walter at the first available moment, grabbing his sleeve, and tugging him into a quiet corner.

‘So come on then, Darriteau, tell me how you got onto the Khan family so quickly?’

Walter didn’t really appreciate being addressed by his surname, much preferred either Inspector or Walter, but at least he hadn’t been called “Boy”, something he’d often endured when he was a young uniformed bod, and often until he was almost forty, but he swallowed any annoyance he possessed. Truth was, he was too tired to get annoyed over such a thing, just as Mrs West would have wanted.

‘Bit of luck really,’ said Walter, sipping and grimacing. ‘I just happened to be a regular diner at the Khan’s restaurant, noticed that Sahira was missing...’

‘Thought so all along!’ said Gitts, triumphantly, sweeping round and calling his female colleague over to share the news. ‘It was pure coincidence! Pure fluke! No great detection at all.’

‘I wouldn’t have quite put it like that,’ said Walter, finishing his wine, it seemed to get better the more one drank, but the Manchester officers had already moved away to collar someone else, as Walter cast his eye across the large room that had filled almost to capacity. Gibbons was holding court, no doubt telling one of his mild, and sometimes not so mild, filthy jokes. Karen, Hector, Jenny, and a couple of others were gathered round, the women protesting that they weren’t interested in rude jokes at all, yet still desperate not to miss the punch-line, and they all suddenly burst into raucous laughter. Walter heard Karen say, while still laughing, ‘You are disgusting, Gibbons!’

The press were all there too. The Liverpool Daily Post and Echo, Manchester Evening News, Chester Observer, Crewe Observer, and all the other little Observers, and a few other local titles too, some of the hacks relaxing, enjoying a drink and a laugh, some of them working. Even some of the London papers had sent people. There was always mileage in a good murder. Murders sold newspapers. Always had, always would, ever since Crippen. Fact was the public were as fascinated and intrigued with murders and murderers as they had ever been. Funny that, thought Walter, the general public couldn’t get enough information and gossip about people who liked to go round killing other people.

TV there too. Granada, BBC Northwest Tonight, and Sky, several TV crews were hovering in the doorway, anxious to get a better view, for it had been leaked that Mrs West would be making a short speech. Great! Walter couldn’t wait. He’d had something of a sneak preview. He’d let himself into her office to find her practicing before the glass, hand movements, eye contact, a clear, if somewhat strident voice, a winning combination in her eyes. Geez, thought Walter. Thank the Lord I’m not the senior officer.

Gardenia Floem entered the packed room. Smiled at one or two people close to the door as if she knew them. Pushed her way through the thickening crowd to the drinks table. Helped herself to a drink. Bumped into Mrs West, the two of them enjoyed a good chat, though Gardenia glanced over her shoulder a couple of times, Walter noticed that, as if she were looking for someone in particular. Walter recalled the time he had first set eyes on her. How was it? She was on the wrong side of forty, but not by much, auburn wavy hair parked on her shoulders, pretty face, nice teeth, quality dark green suit. Yep, that was about right.

Walter didn’t really go in for noting women’s fashions, but his eye for detail did recall that green suit, and lo and behold there it was on display again. It suited her, so to speak, fit her like a glove, she had a great figure, that was undeniable, she was standing with her back to him, talking to Hector, the young kid probably thought he had a chance. No hope, son, Walter whispered. Go and find someone your own age, he thought, but then again, wasn’t he hoping for the same thing, coming from the opposite end of the spectrum. It would keep Mrs West happy if nothing else.

Gardenia glanced over her shoulder again. She clearly wanted to be away from Hector and that was understandable for occasionally he could be an annoying twerp, he certainly had the right name, but who was she looking for? And then she spotted Walter through the crowd, on the far side of the room, standing alone, hiding at the side of the monster; looking