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

cutlery and a hot steaming plate of ready meal, sweet and sour.

‘Lovely jubbly!’ said Cliffe, making off toward the lounge with his booty.

Robyn and Walter shared a smile.

‘Would you like something to drink?’

‘Juice,’ she said, ‘I only ever drink juice.’

‘Yes, juice, quite. What else? You go on in, I’ll see what I can rustle up.’

THE HURRIEDLY PREPARED juice consisted of peach juice stolen from an old tin of the creatures, don’t look at the sell-by date, at least five years out of time, but heck, it was juice, wasn’t it? Juice never goes off... does it? What the hell? Walter had long forgotten it was there hiding at the back of the cupboard, if truth be told, and half and half with tap water, seeing as it was so thick and oil-like, and voila, a juice that she would sip all evening long until it had gone, but she resisted the temptation of a second glass, and Walter made a mental note for day two: Buy juice!

They all sat together for a couple of hours in silence and watched TV, mainly the news channels, whether by accident or design, and then she said, ‘Bath okay?’

‘Sure,’ said Walter, ‘Should be steaming hot by now.’

She stood up and walked to the door, but paused, ‘Do either of you chaps need the bathroom before I get in there. I may be some time.’

‘I do!’ said Cliffe, jumping up and pushing past her and running up the stairs, leaving the gun unattended, Walter noted that.

‘Yes, well, I think I’ll go too,’ said Walter, as Robyn smiled at him as if he were the inmate of a nursing home. The thought of being caught short in his own house, well that was too much to contemplate, and he didn’t fancy filling a bucket in the kitchen, not with company in the house.

‘Sure,’ she said, ‘take your time, Walter.’

Bit familiar, he thought, but she seemed friendly enough, if a little weird.

Both men were soon back downstairs, suitably relieved and refreshed, and Robyn smiled again without showing teeth and jogged up the stairs, as Walter sat opposite Cliffe and turned off the TV.

‘Don’t think you should have left the gun unattended.’

‘You think she might have grabbed it?’

‘Not so much that, just the thought of you being unarmed.’

Cliffe adjusted his seating position and reached in his left pocket. Pulled out another gun and set it on the table. It was a chunky, ugly thing that Walter did not immediately recognise.

‘What is it?’

‘SIG Sauer P226. Some of the guys don’t like it, but I do. Originated in Switzerland from Schweizerische Industrie Gesellschaft but Swiss law restricts the export of firearms, except in exceptional circumstances, so they are made in Germany under licence.’

Walter nodded. ‘What do they fire?’

‘Nine 19 mill Parabellums, packs a punch... you wouldn’t want to mess with it.’

Walter reached over and picked it up. Got the feel of it. Guns all felt different. Some you like, some you don’t. Bit like women, but he could see the attraction of the kit.

‘Which do you prefer?’

Cliffe grinned. ‘Both!’ and he leant over and took back the SIG and slipped it in his pocket.

‘So, do you want to tell me what this is all about?’

‘What do you want to know?’

‘Every damn thing.’

‘It’s a long story.’

‘We’ve got all night.’

‘Got any beer?’

Walter nodded and went to the kitchen.

Came back with four cans of stout and two glasses.

‘Lovely jubbly,’ said Cliffe, taking a can and squishing it open. ‘She’s famous, you know?’

‘Who? The stick insect?’

Cliffe grinned, ‘Yeah, who else?’

‘Not to me. Go on.’

‘Well, Inspector, have I got a story for you...’

Seven

Greg and Karen found a table in a smart city brasserie and ordered drinks and gawped at the menu.

‘What do you fancy to eat?’ he asked.

‘The usual.’

‘What? Poached salmon and a few assorted leaves?’

‘That’s it.’

‘Why don’t you have a proper dinner for once? Steak and chips?’

‘No!’ she said, brooking no argument. ‘Would you still like me if I was huge?’

‘Course I would.’

‘Liar! A figure like this doesn’t happen by accident, you know. It has to be worked on.’

‘You don’t need to tell me of all people that. Do you think it was just luck that I got to look like this,’ and he pulled up his loose shirt cuffs and bent his arm and flexed his massive muscles that resembled a particularly fine ham, and that attracted the attention of two dolls dining on an adjacent table. One actually smiled at him, fluttered her eyelashes too, and raised her eyebrows. Good for the ego.

‘Stop showing off!’

‘So,’ he said. ‘What do you want to know about Kit Napoleon?’

‘Pretty much everything.’

‘We’ve been through all this before.’

‘Well, we are going through it all again,’ and not for the first time her professional training was coming in useful when dealing with, and talking to, an evasive man. Always get them to tell the whole story twice, and if and when any of the important facts and figures differ, they are probably lies. Most men are liars, sooner or later they are, that went without saying. ‘Tell me how much it’s going to cost and what precisely I get for my money, and most importantly, what guarantees have I got that the whole thing’s not going to go tits up?’

Greg exhaled over-loudly, annoyingly so, as far as Karen was concerned, and then he began, just as his rare t-bone steak was placed before him.

‘Brill!’ he said, smirking at the very young waitress. ‘French mustard please.’

‘Go on,’ Karen said, hand feeding a couple of leaves into her slightly pinkened mouth. ‘Don’t get sidetracked.’

Eight

Walter leaned back in the chair and made ready for his evening bedtime story. Stevie Cliffe sniffed and began, ‘Her real name’s Jessica Stone. Wouldn’t normally reveal such information, but as you’re likely to see her face in newspapers and magazines everywhere there’s no harm in you knowing, no point in denying it.’

‘Famous for what?’

‘Geez! You are out of touch, old man.’

Walter shook his head. ‘It’s Inspector, actually.’

‘Sorry, Inspector, no offence.