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

At the day’s end Walter asked Karen, ‘Can you drop me off at the supermarket?’

‘What, again?’

‘You heard me.’

‘If I didn’t know better,’ she said, grinning, ‘I’d say you have a new woman holed up in Darriteau towers... with a big appetite.’

‘Nothing like that, just take me to Bestdas, or whatever it’s called, will ya?’

On the way she said, ‘I’ve decided to take the plunge.’

‘What? You’re getting married?’

‘No! Don’t be stupid.’

‘Don’t tell me – Kit Napoleon?’

‘Yeah, in a way.’

‘What way?’

‘Well Greg, my bloke, has guaranteed my money.’

‘How does that work?’

‘Exactly that, he says that if I lose a single penny of my three grand he will reimburse me.’

‘Mmm,’ said Walter, seeing holes in that arrangement everywhere.

‘You don’t sound too impressed.’

‘I’m not.’

‘Why?’

‘Well A: I simply don’t think it’s a good idea, and B: what happens to your guarantee if you and Greg go your own separate ways?’

‘I asked him about that, and he says he will still pay me. Though honestly, I don’t think I’ll lose anything, and anyway, the more I think about it, the more interested in the whole organisation I’ve become. I’d really like to check it out from the inside, so to speak, and to do that I need to be a member of the team.’

‘Just be careful, that’s all!’

‘I’m always careful, Guv, you know that.’

‘Can I ask you something?’

‘Sure, Guv.’

‘Do you know what Echinacea is?’

It wasn’t what she thought he was going to ask. She waggled her fair head, slowed the car to a crawl as it entered Bestdas car park and said, ‘Some kind of health pills, I think, yeah, sure I’ve seen them at the fitness club.’

‘What do they do for you?’

‘I have no idea. Are you okay, Guv?’

‘I’m fine, just a favour I am doing for a friend,’ but she knew that was a lie because she could usually tell when he was not being fully truthful with her, but she knew he would tell her if and when he wanted.

‘Have fun,’ she said, as he slid out of the car.

‘Be careful,’ he said. ‘Money is hard earned and easily lost.’

‘I’ll cut off his nadgers if he lets me down,’ she said, grinning and laughing as she drove away.

WALTER BOUGHT EVERYTHING on the list, plus four cans of stout and a huge crusty loaf, including even the Echinacea that came in a funky purple bottle. Good for boosting the immune system, so it said, use in moderation. Didn’t that apply to everything? He might try some. Almost as stupid a comment as bags of walnuts bearing statutory health warnings that said: MAY CONTAIN NUTS. Yeah right, and that applied to the good old European Union too. Freaking nuts!

Outside in the watery sunshine Walter spied the taxi rank, and the cab, and the blonde woman, and the protruding roots.

‘Hello again, Crocodile Dundee,’ she said, grinning, as Walter loaded his swag into the car. ‘You told me a porky-pie!’

‘Did I?’

‘You know you did! There are no such thing as alligators at the zoo. Fibber! So what do you do?’

‘I’m a bus conductor.’

She seemed to accept that for a second and then she said, ‘Liar, liar, pants on fire! They don’t have bus conductors any more.’

Walter clutched his shopping and guffawed.

‘So what do you really do, mister man of mystery?’

‘I’m a private investigator.’

‘Are ya? That must be so exciting.’

‘It has its moments.’

‘I’ll bet. I could have done with you.’

‘Oh yeah?’

‘Yeah. You could have followed my bastard of a husband around for a start, said he was playing golf at all hours, when all along he was f..., well you know, with that fat cow behind the bar in the Crown. It’s why I’m working the bloody cabs.’

‘Sorry to hear that.’

‘Don’t be! Got my own back. Cut the legs off all his best suits, just above the knee, you should have seen his face!’

Walter laughed heartily and said, ‘I can imagine.’

‘What’s your name, man of mystery?’

‘Walter. What’s yours?’

‘Carrie. Carrie the Cab, they call me.’

‘Nice to meet you, Carrie the Cab.’

‘And you too, Walter. Are you married?’

He was about to say no, but found himself saying, ‘Yes.’

‘Yeah, thought you would be. The funny ones always are.’

Funny ones, thought Walter, and as he was thinking of that she was gently pulling up behind the saloon. He paid the fare and gave her another big tip and she smiled and said, ‘May see you around, Walter.’

‘Yeah,’ he said, as he glanced at the open gate, and the gun that lay on the grey slabs half way up the garden path.

Seventeen

It was Cliffe’s SIG Sauer P226, the Swiss gun made in Germany to comply with Swiss law, or one just like it. Walter approached in silence and carefully set his shopping down on the small lawn to the right side of the path. He stooped and picked up the gun. By the weight it felt loaded. Sniffed the barrel. It had not been fired. He approached the front door; it was pulled to, but not closed, not locked. He eased it open.

There was no sound in the house. No TV, no radio, no happy card playing going on, no running water, no chatter, no music, no food being prepared, no nothing.

Walter crept inside, did not close the door, didn’t want to make a sound, searched the house, his house, his home. There was no one alive in the building. There was a dead body in the lounge. Flat out on the floor. Head slightly propped up against the sofa. A single hole in the centre of the white forehead. Lots of blood on the carpet. Walter’s old knackered carpet that he’d meant to replace. Oddly, he thought of his cleaner, Iskra Kolarov, the bright Bulgarian girl. She was due in on the Saturday morning. What the hell would she make of that? One thing was for sure; the crime amnesty in Chester had come to a brutal and bloody end. He needed to speak to Chief Superintendent Melvin Wortley.

LIZZY MORGAN FROM NUMBER 58 opposite had seen