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

was heard to say, ‘Oh no, Walter, not that again, not here, not today!’ but Walter was already talking again, ‘so I would just like to say that there is still work to be done, so have a drink tonight by all means, but not too much, for there is more to do tomorrow, and lastly I would just like to say to our new found friend, Gardenia Floem, loud and clear that... you are under arrest with regard to the murder of Jeffrey Player and the attempted murder of Neil Swaythling.’

Fifty-Four

Mouths popped open, yet no one said a word. There was a moment of stunned silence throughout the room, and then Mrs West said, ‘Oh Walter! Don’t spoil things. You will have your silly joke.’

‘No joke, ma’am.’

‘I know you don’t like the woman, but this is ridiculous.’

Gardenia smirked. ‘So you don’t like me, eh, Walter? I am surprised.’

‘I am only interested in facts, Mizz Floem, nothing else.’

They all stared at Gardenia’s puzzled face, including the cameras.

Then she said, ‘What are you talking about, Walter?’

‘It’s Inspector Darriteau, to you. There was always something nagging me about this case. It was only in the last couple of days that the pieces finally began falling into place.’

‘Go on!’ commanded Mrs West. ‘And it had better be good.’

‘I think the guy’s going senile,’ said Gardenia, laughing it off. ‘It’s time he was put out to grass,’ but everyone else wanted to hear what Walter had to say.

‘I’d always been puzzled as to how Mizz Floem here could have arrived at the scene of the Jeff Player murder so quickly. The answer of course is that she knew the murder was about to happen; she was probably waiting in her car around the corner. Oh, she didn’t pull the trigger, Luke Flowers did that, true enough, no one is saying she did, but she’s just as responsible, more so in my view, for she commissioned the murder, either directly, or more likely through an intermediary, and she couldn’t have foreseen that the wrong man had caught the bullet, and she couldn’t tell who had been slain, she didn’t know there had been a disastrous mistake, because by the time she arrived in the bar the doctor had ordered the body covered, and Neil, the intended target, was long gone.’

‘And motive?’ said Gardenia, glancing around, as if for support.

‘I’m coming to that.’

‘Better be good, Walter,’ said Mrs West.

Walter bobbed his head and continued.

‘When I visited Langley Wells office I saw a photograph on his wall. It was taken on a jolly holly in Valletta, Malta, and there they were, Langley and all his Masonic pals.’

The Chief Constable pursed his lips and wondered what was coming next. Mrs West pulled a big lined face.

‘Gerry Swaythling was in the pic too, Neil’s father, the builder bloke. He had his arms around two women. Of course this was a good few years ago now, and hairstyles and fashions have changed, which is why I didn’t immediately recognise that one of those women, the brunette, was none other than our Mizz Floem here, was it not?’

Everyone turned back to Gardenia. Cameramen began jostling for a better view.

‘No,’ she said, ‘well, yes, but... that means nothing and proves nothing either.’

‘There’s your motive, ma’am. Gerry Swaythling changes his women like I change my shirt. It was only a matter of time before Gardenia was out, and the newer, younger model was in. How does the phrase go? Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. Pretty apt, I’d say. Gardenia thought it would be a great idea to have Neil Swaythling blown away to get even with Gerry. That’s the sum of it. Pretty good motive, I’d say.’

‘You don’t know what you are talking about!’ yelled Gardenia.

‘I think I do. Only yesterday the pieces finally fell into place. Mrs West told me she had invited you to this soiree, and spoilsport that I am, and I’m sorry, ma’am,’ and he nodded at Mrs West, ‘but something told me that you didn’t really belong here, so I rang the Chester Observer to ask you not to come, and lo and behold what am I told? They had no idea who Gardenia Floem was, let alone employing a person of that name. Is there anyone here from that newspaper?’

Everyone stared around.

A young man in his twenties holding a tablet computer sheepishly held up his hand.

‘And your name is?’

‘Alan McCaughey.’

‘And you work for the Observer?’

‘I do.’

‘As what?’

‘Chief crime reporter.’

‘And do you know this woman?’

‘No, I don’t. I have never seen her before.’

Gardenia sighed in an exaggerated manner.

‘You’re fixing the facts to fit your case. It’s nothing really. That was just a joke, about being a crime reporter. I was just interested in police work, I’m writing a book about it, that’s all. I found it glamorous, if you must know, still do, to be honest.’

‘Yes, I’ll bet you do. But let’s move on. Last night I needed to use the computers, various things I wanted to check, so I asked Gibbons to come and pick me up. Interesting things, computers. What an amazing contraption the Internet is. Mine of information, if you know where to look. Floem isn’t your birth name, is it?’

‘Well no, what of it?’

‘And your maiden name is?’

‘Dennis.’

‘Precisely. And you married one August Floem in Munich, quite possibly on the rebound from being dumped by Gerry Swaythling.’

‘You don’t know what you are talking about.’

‘I think I do. What happened to August Floem?’

‘He fell down the stairs.’

‘Yes, that’s what Interpol told me, fell down the stairs and broke his neck and died, though whether he fell or was pushed is open to conjecture. Either way, you’ll be delighted to know that the German police, the Bundespolizei, will be looking again at the case. Married for seven months, large life insurance policy, August meets his unplanned and untimely end, and a brooding Mizz Floem arrives back in the UK, bearing funds aplenty, seeking revenge, isn’t that what happened, Gardenia?’

‘You haven’t a