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

met him at the health club on the north side of the city. She was a swimmer, did fifty lengths with barely breaking breath, which was why there wasn’t an ounce of surplus fat on her, and she would return to the pool as often as she could.

He was a lifter, iron-shifter, thought himself something of a gym monster, if truth be told, and loved to show off his massive biceps and tiny waist at every opportunity. If there was ever a chance for Greg, as he liked to be called, especially as Karen point blank refused to call him the Hunk, as his previous girlfriend always had, good for the ego, if ever there was a chance for him to walk around shirtless, Greg would be there. Thought it killingly attractive to women, and in truth it probably was, though there had to be more to it than that; didn’t there? He wasn’t great on making her laugh, and that was important to Karen, just as it was to most women, and he was pretty hopeless at... well the whole goddamned business of courtship, if truth be told.

Not like Rodney, who had been brilliant at all that, and truth was, Karen would still have been with Rodney now, but for the fact that her constant unsociable hours had finally peed him off, big time.

‘It’s me or your job!’ he’d said one Saturday morning after another frosty row. ‘You choose!’

And she had, and she loved her job more than anything, and certainly more than Rodney.

As for Greg, or Gregory Orlando, to give him his rather flash full name, he was very good looking, that was undeniable, but he was also a.... dork, sometimes, that was undeniable too. Karen had recently come to the conclusion that he wasn’t especially bright, which was all the more surprising as he was a highly qualified professional man, though for some reason, for any man, especially one with the build of a brick outhouse like Greg, to be a male nurse, well it did seem a wee bit peculiar to her, though in twenty-first century Britain there was no reason why it should.

‘So,’ he said again. ‘What do you want to do?’

‘I’m going to take a shower,’ she said. ‘And after that you can take me out for a light dinner and tell me again all about exactly what I am getting into with Mr Kit Napoleon and his Future Growth and Prosperity Program.’

‘Okay, you got it. He’s great though, isn’t he, Kit, so much KA– RIS–MA! And you won’t regret it, Miss Greenwood. That’s for sure. I love the man.’

‘That much was obvious, Greg,’ as she strode across the room and hustled off into the bathroom.

So that was why she was being a bit peculiar, a little off with him, a bit cold, the dopey bint thought that he liked Kit more than he liked her. He grinned and grunted and turned on the TV and tuned it to Cee Beebies. He’d show her, later on, by God he would.

Six

Walter sat quite still in the front room with all the lights off. It was early autumn and still daylight, but with the thick cloud and showers about, and the light beginning to fade, no one could see him hunched low in his armchair, as he stared out at the road.

Three older kids ran by, bouncing a basketball. The young woman from number 58 came out of the house opposite, all dolled up, a look of excitement and expectancy on her fair face, crossed the road and approached Walter’s house. For a moment he thought she was going to come and knock on his door, but instead she hurried on by. She was out on the town early. Maybe she had a bus ride to a hot date, or maybe she was going up to Liverpool on the train to meet someone new, or take in a concert. Oh to be young again. Walter glanced at his watch. Ten past seven. They were late.

He peered around the room. It was tidy enough. His regular cleaner, Iskra Kolarov, worked hard, and kept things from getting too untidy, though he still hadn’t got round to replacing any of his worn out furniture.

He’d hurried home at the earliest moment and made up the single bed in the small bedroom. The Protected would have that. The Protector would just have to kip on the couch that lay at the left side of the lounge. If he didn’t like it, well tough. One thing was for certain; Walter wasn’t giving up his new king-size bed that he’d bought a year or two before. Nothing would move him from that. Not a chance.

An ice cream van rolled up, a jingly bell jangling some popular kid’s tune. What the hell was that doing at this hour? harrumphed Walter, but sure enough a couple of infants appeared from nowhere, stretching up with their precious pennies to reach the small plastic counter. Walter was happy to see a dad appear too, as if supervising things, and then he gathered the kids together and herded them home, as they clasped their oversize cornets, all big eyes and happy faces and jerky movements, and it seemed only a matter of time before a dollop of ice cream lay on the street, and tears would be sure to fall.

‘Should be in bed!’ muttered Walter, ‘not slurping ice cream at this hour,’ and for some reason he laughed aloud at his own grumpiness, and sat back in the chair and closed his eyes in the gloaming.

Maybe twenty minutes later, maybe more, squeaky brakes opened his eyes.

Dark nondescript saloon, possibly navy blue, two aboard, both in front, one broad, one slight, if Walter’s watering and squinting eyes were to be believed. Yeah, that was right, two out of the car, looking about, six footers the pair of them, taller than Walter for sure. The skinny one was wearing a long coat, jeans and trainers, by the look