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

Jessica remained silent.

‘I’ve been thinking about this all day, a little pinky, right? Or maybe an ear, or possibly just the lobe, or something a little more personal, say a nipple, yeah, a nipple would be good.’

19.10. WALTER SMOTHERED his toasted bacon sandwiches in brown sauce and demolished them in double quick time. Maybe he should have made more; maybe he should have taken his time. They made him belch, but no matter, there was no one there to chide him over his table manners, though he’d have to watch that, letting standards slip was always a risk for anyone living alone, and he had no desire to enter the kingdom of slobdum.

While he was thinking of whether to make seconds, the mobile in his trousers did that tumbling down ringtone.

Pulled it out. Glanced at the screen.

DCS Wortley.

‘Bugger,’ said Walter, and he took the call.

19.12. BRINTON SET THE scissors in the centre of the desk and grinned.

‘Maybe not a nipple, you’d look a bit lopsided with one nipple on, and one nipple off. Don’t suppose Johnny Chinaman would be too impressed either. So what I’m going to do is give you a little cuddle, for old time’s sake, another warm memory for you to take away, a little reminder of the fab time we have spent together,’ and he went round behind her and cupped his arms around her body and hugged her hard. Jessica didn’t move a muscle. Brinton blew on her hair, kissed her parting and said, ‘And after the cuddle, it’s cutting time.’

19.25. WALTER’S CALL with Wortley had mercifully been brief... and disturbing. It had run along the lines of: Because YOU, meaning Walter, had signally failed to locate the key witness in the Barton brothers trial, the case had collapsed, the CPS convinced that it would be a huge trial at public expense, a trial the Crown would ultimately lose. Conclusion: quit while you are ahead. Don’t go there. Don’t spend the money. There would be other, better, opportunities to nail the Barton brothers. With people like that it was only a matter of time before they’d give the police another opportunity to put them away forever. Everyone knew the Barton brothers would ultimately die in clink; that was a gimme. It was just a matter of time.

The conversation had ended with: ‘Looks like the Twelfth Apostle turned out to be nothing more than a fucking Judas.’  Probably the most ludicrous thing that anyone had ever said to Walter, he thought, though there was one other parting comment.

‘Expect to see a Barton brother or two turning up on your turf anytime soon,’ a chilling thought, for Walter was well aware of what those charmers were capable of.

‘Bugger!’ said Walter aloud, after Wortley had gone. He ambled back into the kitchen and dumped the plates in the sink, opened the cupboard and dragged out two cans of stout,  squished one open and paused and sipped, and returned to the sitting room, where he had intended on dreaming up some killer questions for Donald Rushnell, but when he sat down, sipping and swallowing and thinking and fidgeting, all he could really think about was an angry Barton brother, or two, turning up on his doorstep, and he didn’t even have a firearm in the house, and while he was considering that unsettling thought, his mind returned to Jessica Stone.

‘Where are you, Jess?’ he said aloud. ‘Where the hell are you?’

19.40. WHEN HE’D ENJOYED enough “action” Brinton reluctantly let go of his very own supermodel. Went back round the desk and picked up the scissors. Did a passable Jack Nicholson impression, said: ‘It’s cutting time!’

19.50. KAREN PICKED up Greg’s cleared plate and took it to the sink and washed and dried it and put it away. She hated anything untidy hanging around, especially dirty dishes. Made it her mission in life to obliterate such things whenever and wherever they appeared. She’d make some man a fantastic wife, and Greg Orlando wasn’t the first guy to note that. He was beginning to get ideas, and not just for that evening either.

She returned to the table with two low fat yoghurts and two tiny spoons and slid one across the table.

‘Ta,’ he said, making a real meal of ripping the foil top off.

‘You’ll never guess what,’ she said.

‘What?’

‘Mrs West has signed the papers.’

‘What! The Future Growth papers?’

Karen grinned and nodded.

‘No!’

‘Sure has, paid the money and everything.’

‘That’s fantastic, Karen, wait till I tell Kit!’

It isn’t all about Kit, she wanted to say, but for some reason she didn’t.

‘The thing is, I’m thinking of tearing up the contracts.’

‘What! Don’t be so stupid! The best person you could ever recruit, and you’re thinking of turning her down? Have you lost your marbles?’

‘She’s my boss, Greg, and if anything goes wrong...’ and she left that thought lying hard in the air.

‘Nothing is going to go wrong! You’ve seen how successful everyone is. Think positively for once! Nothing at all. Think of all the people she could introduce. I can’t believe you’ve landed her, hooked a real big fish there, my God, that is amazing, I’m so proud of you.’

Karen bobbed her head, but the anxiousness would not go away. She opened her yoghurt and took half a teaspoonful.

19.59. JUN WOO TRIED to turn over. Couldn’t manage it. Breathed out heavily, wondered what the hell she had got herself into, literally. She was cold, hungry, thirsty, and most alarmingly, pained, all over, and the worst thing was, it was forever getting worse, and she’d guessed she would be there now until at least the morning. Still, it could have been worse, she pondered, she could have been enduring what Fenfang Dong was going through, and that thought made her shiver. If nothing else, she had to get out of there for Fenfang’s sake.

20.00. IN THE WRENBURY house, Kit Napoleon was sitting down to dinner opposite