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

‘Anyway, must dash, eleven more apostles to brief,’ and with that, Chief Superintendent Melvin Leslie Wortley was gone as if he had never been there, the only evidence a scrawled telephone number on Walter’s desk blotter, and scrambled thoughts racing around Walter’s creaking brain, crazy thoughts that no one would ever get to share, and probably as well.

He stood up and ambled across the quiet office and sat at the screen and signed into the main police computer and searched for DCS Melvin Wortley. There was a lot there, and a great deal of reading to catch up on.

Three

Gregory Orlando stretched his well-muscled arm around the beautiful blonde and stepped forward to meet the main man. Kit Napoleon liked the look of this couple. The guy, wide and clean cut and smiling, and the blonde, young, fit and beautiful, just the kind of people he was always keen to see at his soirees. One of Napoleon’s minions made the introductions.

‘This is Gregory Orlando,’ he said, looking down at his notes. ‘He’s been with us for ages, now a level five man.’

‘Greg!’ smiled Kit, reaching forward and shaking the proffered hand as if they were old buddies. ‘Strange we have never met before, but we have now, that’s the main thing.’

The minion glanced back at his notes.

‘I don’t seem to have a note of the young lady’s name.’

‘Oh, sorry,’ said Greg. ‘This is my girlfriend, Karen Greenwood.’

‘Hi Karen,’ said Kit, in the mid Atlantic drawl he’d almost permanently adopted. ‘So glad you could be here with us today,’ and he took her hand and pulled her closer and air kissed her twice, mwah mwah. Karen grinned, somewhat awkwardly, and glanced at Greg, and tried to return the show of mock affection they all seemed to share and perfect. Her nose was assaulted with thick and fruity man-cologne that Kit bought by the bucket load, and marketed too, that was only to be expected, never waste an opportunity to sell sell sell, and expensive-looking KN motif bottles would be on sale in the foyer afterwards at £99.95 a pop, and tiny bottles they were too. Exclusive, they liked to say, and to some extent they were, you couldn’t yet buy them in the shops. Karen recognised the aroma immediately because Greg was invariably daubed in the blessed stuff.

‘I am just in the process of signing her up,’ said Greg, trying hard but failing to think of the fat commission cheque that would come his way.

‘Good! That’s what I like to hear,’ said Kit, grinning and smirking at Karen as if they shared secrets that no one else knew.

‘Make a note of her name and address,’ said Kit to the minion. ‘See if you can get her on the Dubai party.’ It was a line that Kit used a great deal to impress would-be customers, and in due course the flattered newcomers would discover that: Unfortunately all the tickets for Dubai have gone.

Just for once Kit might make an exception in her case, for she would look good on any trip, and would certainly bring something new and vibrant to the party, even if they had to bring the incredibly dull big bloke with her too.

Greg bent forward and cupped his hand around Kit’s ear and whispered, though loud enough that the others could hear, ‘We’ll all have to be on our best behaviour today, Kit. She’s a policeman.’

Kit guffawed. ‘She doesn’t look like a policeman to me!  Does she to you?’ he asked the sidekick.

‘No, no, not at all!’ said the minion, anxiously glancing at his schedule again, for each individual meet’n’greet hoo-hah was only allocated three minutes. Someone else would have to be cut short.

‘Sorry!’ said Greg, looking sheepish, something he did quite often, ‘Policewoman I mean, course I do, you know what I meant, she’s a sergeant.’

Karen didn’t worry about that. It wasn’t the first time he’d introduced her as a “policeman”, and anyway, she was too enthralled with Kit, who winked at her through incredibly sparkly eyes, for an older man, and then he had turned away and was kissing the hands of a pair of blue rinsers who were so taken with the charm of Mr Napoleon, and his wonderful money-making plans and books, and they were in, lock stock and barrel, one hundred percent.

‘Shall we get a drink?’ said Greg.

‘Sure,’ said Karen. ‘White wine spritzer.’

And they went off toward the bar, as Karen glanced back over her shoulder and saw Kit charming his audience. She watched him glance away from them and back at her, and wink.

Four

Walter finally managed to access the information on Chief Superintendent Melvin Wortley. He, Walter, wasn’t averse to technology, and fully understood the benefits it could bring to the modern policeman. Fact was, no modern force could do without it. He just wished that some people understood that all the modern whizzbang digital go-go-go in-your-face methods should always work hand-in-hand with tried and tested old-fashioned police work and systems.

Both strands had obvious merits, and it was just so clear to him that both were equally beneficial. Technology could and would never supersede human expertise and experience, not completely. Fact!

The delay in accessing the pages he wanted and needed had nothing to do with his lack of computer knowledge, but was all to do with jumping through the various hoops and walls with passwords and codes to match that a man of his rank just about possessed.

He was there now. Chapter and verse.

The Witness Protection Programme, WPP, except it was no longer known by that name, in fact Mrs West would dress down anyone calling it by anything other than its correct title: The UK Protected Persons Service. UKPPS! Walter grunted. No one called it that, far too wordy, too pompous, but don’t tell Mrs Joan West, his superior, who wasn’t averse to a dash of pomposity.

The UKPPS had been specifically designed to combat organised crime and was run by the National Crime Agency, and no doubt