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

Walter return home. She’d been waiting for him. She came out of their house, checked the light traffic, crossed the road, nodded at Sid the spider in the front gate, and went up the garden path. The recently painted maroon front door was ajar. She tapped on it and stepped into the hallway. Walter appeared from the sitting room and met her in the hall. She thought he appeared a little nervous, no not nervous exactly, alarmed, no, not quite that either, it would take a lot to alarm Walter Darriteau, everyone knew that, but something weird had been going on in that house that day.

‘I did knock,’ she said, ‘the thing is, can I come in for a sec. I need to have a word with you.’

Walter thought of the body and bloody floor.

‘Sorry, what’s your name again?’

‘Lizzy Morgan.’

‘And you live opposite, don’t you? Number 58?’

She nodded and smiled, exhibiting large immaculate whitened teeth, which stood out against the fake tan.

‘The thing is, Lizzy,’ and he tried to usher her back toward the front door, ‘I am just in the middle of something important right now. Can I come over and see you in half an hour or so?’

‘Yes, course you can,’ she said. ‘That’s fine, Mr Darriteau.’

‘Okay. I’ll see you soon.’

The young woman nodded and backed out onto the step and then she paused and said, ‘You will come, won’t you, Mr Darriteau. It’s very important. Mum and dad want to speak to you too.’

‘Oh yes, Lizzy, I’ll come.’

She nodded and grinned nervously and turned about and hustled off down the path and across the road and disappeared into number 58.

Walter closed the front door and went back into the lounge. Tried hard not to look at the body. Sat in the armchair and pulled out his mobile and rang work.

Gibbons answered straight away. ‘What are you on the phone for so soon, Guv, you’ve not long left.’

‘There’s a phone number on my blotter, forgot to put it into my mobile. Need it now.’

Gibbons jumped up and went to Walter’s desk.

‘Have you seen your blotter? It’s covered with bloody mobile numbers.’ Fact was, Gibbons wanted to say: You need to get into the twenty-first century, mate, and though he knew his boss could take a joke, maybe that wasn’t the right moment.

‘Down in the right corner somewhere.’

‘There’s three or four numbers there.’

‘It’s the one with the name Wortley by it.’

Gibbons scanned again and found the name and found the number.

‘Oh yeah. Here it comes...’

Walter fed it into his mobile.

‘Is anything going on?’ asked Gibbons.

‘Nope, nothing,’ said Walter, glancing at the body and the blood, before looking away at a print on his wall of some beach in Jamaica that always made him feel homesick, though the feeling never lasted long.

‘Anything happening with you?’

‘No. Not a thing, Guv. Unnaturally quiet, don’t you think? Hate it when it’s like this. What we need is a couple of good bodies.’

‘Be careful what you wish for. Make the most of it, Gibbons. It won’t last.’

‘Yeah, sure Guv. Anything else?’

‘Nothing, see you tomorrow,’ and Walter rang off.

He rang Wortley and the man answered as if he was half way through his dinner.

‘Ah, Darriteau. What’s the matter?’

‘Big problem.’

‘Go on.’

‘We have a body.’

‘Oh geez! Protected, or Protector?’

‘’Tor.’

‘Any sign of the Ted?’

‘None, she’s missing.’

‘Any sign of a struggle?’

‘Not that I can see.’

‘Oh my God! How was Cliffe killed?’

‘One shot through the forehead. Very neat, very... professional.’

‘When did this happen?’

‘I came home just before seven. Found the front door ajar. Found...’

‘Okay, listen; I’ll get D7 to you before midnight. Don’t let anyone in the house, don’t report it to anyone, you got that?’

‘The people opposite want to talk to me. Think they might have seen or heard something. I’m going over there just as soon as I have finished talking to you.’

‘Okay, report back on that, but don’t tell them anything, nothing at all, tell them it was just a police exercise if you have to say something, spin any kind of waffle you like, seem to remember you were quite good at waffling.’

Walter didn’t comment on that drivel. Said, ‘He tried to ring you last night.’

‘Cliffe?’

‘Yes.’

‘It was our anniversary. Took the wife to Covent Garden, I fell asleep. She loved it. You have to keep ’em sweet.’

‘I have the SIG Sauer. It has not been fired. The Glock 17 is missing.’

‘Doesn’t get any better, does it?’

‘Just reporting the known facts.’

Wortley coughed, didn’t comment

‘Does he have any children?’

‘You mean Cliffe?’

‘Yes,’ who else? Walter wanted to add, but didn’t.

‘Yeah, two, - boy seven, girl five. Very proud of them, he was.’

‘I’ll bet. Oh dear.’

‘Okay. Get across and see the neighbours. Find out what they know and report back.’

‘Has there been any trouble with any of the other Apostles?’

‘No, nothing, nil, - so far as I know. Just with the Twelfth Apostle, that is you, Inspector.’

That’s hardly my fault; Walter wanted to put on record but knew that would be a waste of time. Instead he said, ‘So what does that tell us?’

‘It tells us that the Barton brothers have better intel and informants than most.’

‘You might want to look into that.’

‘Oh, we will, Walter, we will,’ and with that Wortley rang off and returned to his luxury steak and ale pie.

Eighteen

Walter slipped the phone back in his trouser pocket. Gathered his thoughts together, glanced down at Cliffe’s body, pondered on the whereabouts of the six-foot she thing, and what sort of state she was in, and then went to the front door and let himself out. Sid the spider scurried away into a crevice when he saw Walter approaching, or maybe he was simply hunkering down for the night, for the sky was clear and the temperature falling.

Walter crossed the road and opened the garden gate to 58 and walked up the path. They must have been watching and waiting because the door opened before he had a chance to knock, and the young woman was there with a nervous smile.

‘Thanks for coming, Mr Darriteau, go