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

that was where DCS Melvin Wortley came in when he’d said he was: Attached to Scotland Yard. ‘Attached, my backside!’ muttered Walter. But sure enough, there was the guy’s name in slightly pulsing green capital letters, Chief Superintendent M L Wortley MBE, answerable only to some unnamed cabinet minister, definitely a woman too, because she was listed as a Mrs————, in that way, Mrs dash dash dash etc, because Walter’s security codes only took him so far, solid information, brick wall number one, for him, but that was cool, he didn’t need to know the name of Melvin’s fragrant boss.

There were currently 3,160 people in the United Kingdom being protected, and that was a big number, - hiding, for want of a better word, so the computer informed him, under the auspices of WPP, sorry, the UKPPS. ‘Geez!’ said Walter, ‘How much is all that costing the nation?’

Walter read a little of the official speak: Witnesses were the unsung heroes of society, yes true, thought Walter, and bloody courageous ones too!  And the appalling stats came thick and fast. 26% of collapsed prosecutions occurred last year because witnesses or victims were simply unwilling to give evidence. Shit scared, in street parlance. ‘Geez!’ muttered Walter again, ‘How much is all that costing the nation?’

The UKPPS, so it went on, had been set up to counteract the problem by giving the best possible protection to anyone whose life might be in danger wherever they may be in the UK. The programme was currently costing the taxpayer in excess of twenty million pounds a year. ‘There’s your answer,’ muttered Walter, and he added, ‘and the rest!’ for Walter firmly believed in the see a figure and double it maxim whenever budgets and costs and figures and stats were ever mentioned.

‘Did you say something, Guv,’ asked DC Gibbons, who had just come in from a meet with a street drug dealer who sidelined in intel.

‘Oh, nothing, how did you get on?’

‘Waste of time! Not for the first time. Patsy’s all mouth and no trousers.’

‘Keep him sweet,’ said Walter. ‘He still produces the occasional gem.’

‘Well, he’s long overdue! Wanna coffee?’

‘Yeah, ta.’

Back to the screen. 20% of all witnesses reported they had been intimidated, or worse, and 40% reported concerns about coming into contact with the defendant, or their associates. Nowt new there, thought Walter. Been going on for centuries. If you say a thing agin me you’ll have me and my mates to deal with! If you value your life... blah blah blah. Little wonder that so many people, vital witnesses in major cases, held their tongues, and maybe you couldn’t blame them for that either, but the UKPPS was designed to assist with that little problem. That was the theory.

Walter tried to access locations of London safe houses. ACCESS DENIED. Only to be expected. ‘Phut!’ Walter said, his in-word of the moment, for Mrs West preferred it in the confines of the office to the F thing that she certainly did not approve of.

Searched on Twelve Apostles. ACCESS DENIED.

Searched on his own property. UNKNOWN.

Well, that was something.

Searched on Sergeant Steven Cliffe, Stephen Cliffe, Stevie Cliffe, all either UNKNOWN or ACCESS DENIED, so compromised security or not, some firewalls and systems and beta-blockers were still working well enough. Nor could he find anything that related to any operation that was coming his way, to his manor, to his house, that very evening, if DCS M L Wortley was to be believed.

Walter would just have to get home early and hunker down and wait and see what came his way. He wasn’t looking forward to it, and yet again, it had intrigued him, the whole thing, for nothing like it had ever happened before.

Gibbons came back and dumped the mug of steaming coffee on his desk. It was slurping about in a Women’s Institute mug. Made a change.

‘What are you so busy on, anyway?’ asked Gibbons, trying to snatch a look at the screen, just as Walter was logging off.

‘Oh, nothing of any interest. Staff assessment reports, that kind of stodge. Boring stuff and nonsense.’

‘You don’t get involved in all that claptrap too, do you, Guv?’

‘Try not to, Gibbo, try not to.’

‘I thought that was Mrs West’s domain.’

‘Yeah, it is, usually.’

Walter picked up the coffee. Eased it to his mouth.

The fire alarm went off, very loud, new system, cost a pretty penny that was for sure; they could probably hear it down in the Wrexham station seventeen miles south, by the sound of it.

‘Fuck!’ said Gibbons. ‘And look at that!’ and he gestured towards the sheeting rain smacking on the window that had arrived at that very second.

‘Never rains but it pours,’ said Walter, sinking the drink. ‘Meet you at...’ now where was it, where did the girl, young lady say? ‘And don’t forget to take something out with you of value... just in case it’s for real.’

Five

Gregory Orlando and Karen arrived back at her flat at a quarter to six. They slumped in the sofa and stared across the sitting room. He leant across and turned her head and kissed her cold lips.

‘What do you want to do now?’ he asked, grinning.

‘Not much,’ she said. ‘Why? What do you want to do?’

He smirked and rippled his eyebrows and said, ‘Well, you know, we could... it’s your day off, and I took my day off to be with you, and I thought we could maybe cuddle up and have a lie down?’

Geez! She thought, sometimes he was such a dork. She wasn’t in the mood for a lie down, as he so romantically put it, not with Gregory Orlando or anyone else, come to that, and if that was his best idea as to how to woo a woman, well, hey, maybe he wasn’t the right guy for her after all. But she did like him, she would admit that, if only to herself, and she would miss him too if he wasn’t there, though by crikes, sometimes he could be a real dork.

She’d