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

Jenny and Jan. Gibbons thought Jenny looked pretty neat, he hadn’t noticed that before, while Jenny glanced at her oppo, Jan, and thought the same about him.

Jenny looked back at Walter, somewhat reluctantly, and said, ‘Everyone examined the pictures and were very interested and concerned, but no one identified her, or even suggested they might have known her.’

Jan nodded and added, ‘I don’t think she was known to any of the people we saw. I think we would have got some kind of reaction.’

‘In that case,’ said Walter, ‘if she was working in catering it figures that she must have been working out of town somewhere, places we haven’t checked, maybe Liverpool or Manchester or Stoke-on-Trent, and was brought here and dumped outside the swimming pool, perhaps to confuse us, or maybe, as I suspect, she was active in a different line of business, a different industry.’

‘Like what?’ asked Gibbons.

‘You tell me,’ said Walter.

There was a short silence and puzzled faces and frowns aplenty, and one or two glanced at the ceiling and Karen said, ‘What about clothing manufacture? Every time I see a programme about China on TV I see vast factories with hundreds of young workers, people like the deceased, it has to be said, working flat out all hours at sewing machines.’

Walter nodded. ‘Yep. Good. Could be. Ask the monster to produce a list of clothing manufacturers within twenty miles. Any more suggestions?’

‘Hotel work?’ said Hector. ‘Maids and that.’

Again Walter nodded. ‘Yep, possible, though I don’t recall seeing many Orientals working in hotels. Could be worth checking though. Any more?’

‘Cleaning businesses,’ said Jenny. ‘My aunty, she had a cleaner and both of the last two were Oriental girls, Filipina, I think, but definitely Oriental.’

Walter nodded again. ‘Good, Jenny, I like that one because I too have seen cleaners all over town who are clearly of an Oriental background. List please, monster,’ and Karen was already there, putting requests in, grabbing the paper pumping out.

‘Jan and Jenny, cleaning companies. Hector and Gibbons, clothing factories, Karen and I will look into hotel work,’ when in truth, Walter didn’t really warm to the idea. He clapped his hands. ‘Get on with it! Go and see these people, take pics and flyers and be on your toes. Don’t miss a thing, if you let standards slip, you will miss something. Some bastard shipped this poor girl half way across the globe and when they’d finished with her, or decided she wasn’t up to scratch, they murdered her in cold blood, and threw her like so much garbage on the tarmac in the centre of town. I won’t have it! I want these people finding, not least before they do it again. That’s your job. Don’t fail me... and don’t fail her,’ and he pointed at the picture of Beautiful as a Rose, now known to them as Yet Kwai Dang, who stared down at them from the screen of the monster, on a sunny autumnal morning in the quaint English city of Chester.

‘Everyone back at 6pm for recap! Now on your way.’

Muttering and jacket collecting and paper picking and drink swigging and shared looks and grunts, and then the room emptied and the team was out on the town.

After they’d gone, Karen said, ‘So what are we doing?’

Walter glanced up at her face, she was standing there, flexing on her toes, eager and ready to go. ‘I don’t know. What would you do in my position?’

She moved her head back a couple of inches, one jerky movement, and her eyes suddenly widened, as if she’d taken a little shock.

‘Well, if I was running the team...’

‘Yeah?’

‘I’d...’ and she paused, desperately seeking inspiration.

‘Tell me in the car. Let’s go down by the canal. It’s a good place to think. Sometimes offices are the biggest thinker-blocker places imaginable.’

Karen smiled and said, ‘Sure, Guv,’ though her mind was steaming ahead on the train of thought that began with: What the hell would I be doing, and where would I be going, if Walter had retired, or was, God forbid, dead, or perhaps to be more positive, had been posted to another area? It was a good question, and one she was determined to come up with a decent answer, for she knew he would certainly ask her again.

KIT NAPOLEON HAD RISEN early too, though in truth he did not want to leave his bed, or his naked wife, but work was work, and all the riches and respect and cachet and outright celebrity he now enjoyed was down to sheer hard work and ingenuity, and after so many years in the wilderness, he was not about to surrender one iota of his enhanced lifestyle by lounging in bed.

A good early breakfast, press-ups for two in the bedroom, shared shower, always nice, allowing enough time for a good dress in decent clothes, and before they knew it, the maroon Rolls was waiting for them at reception, and the Kit Napoleon road show was on the move again, rumbling down the road, hitting the next city, and the next collection of hopeful critters, as Kit had been known to refer to them to his wife in their quieter moments. Not many days left and it would soon be over, and both of them were looking forward to that. Charming the gullible public was a tiring business.

Fifty-Five

Karen drove her boss down to Telford’s Quay and parked up in the sunshine overlooking the canal basin. It was yet another beautiful September morning, as the watery sun streamed into the car. They watched a recently painted narrowboat heading into the pound, a cheerful looking balding red-faced man busy on the stern-mounted tiller. The craft had just come down through the Northgate flight of locks and was proceeding to slow-boat right past them.

‘Have you ever been on one of those things?’ asked Walter.

‘Nope. You?’

‘Yes, I have, but take it from me, it’s all down to who you travel with.’

‘Isn’t it always?’ she said, smirking, and of course