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

eleven in the morning Walter was washed, shaved, fed and refreshed, and was wearing a freshly ironed sky-blue shirt and neat red tie, expertly prepared and ironed by his very own supermodel.

‘You still want to go shopping with the girls?’

‘Sure! Shopping and hairdo,’ and she grabbed her hair and tugged it and pulled a quizzical face.

‘Yeah. I see. I’ll ring you. Fix something up.’

‘Great,’ she said, ‘I’m going back to bed, need my beauty sleep.’

‘You do that,’ and Walter went outside and ambled down the road to get the bus.

It was a quarter past eleven when he entered the Incident Room. Everyone was there, waiting - so much for coming in at noon.

‘Manage to tear yourself away from the supermodel?’ joshed Gibbons.

‘She’s in bed sleeping.’

‘I’ll bet,’ and a few of them grinned at that, and Gibbons mumbled something about, ‘Whose bed?’

THEY THREW THE BOOK at Terry Smith. His DNA had been recovered from Yet Kwai. Charged him with everything they possibly could, and that included three murders, abduction, kidnap, attempting to illegally dispose of dead bodies, false imprisonment, and much more besides. Didn’t really matter which ones he was guilty of and which ones he wasn’t. Truth was, they would never know for sure. Fact was, he was guilty of enough, and there would be no way out for Man One, Terry Smith. He would be otherwise engaged for more than twenty-five years, much more.

Mrs West called Walter to her private office.

‘Sit down, my man.’

Walter bobbed his head and slumped into the chair.

‘You’re looking surprisingly dapper, if I may say, seeing as you have been up half the night.’

Walter didn’t know how to answer that, and mumbled, ‘Ma’am.’

‘There’s something I don’t understand,’ she said.

‘Isn’t there always?’

‘Yes, true,’ she said slowly, continuing, ‘In the sandy bowl, at the showdown...’

‘What about it?’

‘Why didn’t you draw your weapon and shoot the guy?’

‘Ah.’

‘He was threatening to kill you.’

It was a question he didn’t really want to answer.

He’d earlier retrieved the gun from Jan and had booked it back in.

‘Well?’ she persisted.

‘Spur of the moment thing, I guess. It’s not every day someone points a gun in your face.’

‘No,’ she said. ‘Indeed. You simply froze?’

‘Something like that.’

‘Mmm...’ and she put that down to his fifty-eight long years. Slowing down maybe, the old goat. Came to us all, she knew that. ‘You should watch that, Walter. Could cost you dear.’

‘I will. It won’t happen again.’

‘Yes. Good. When the shot rang out, for a moment there, I thought he’d shot you.’

‘You and me both.’

‘What were you thinking, what were your last thoughts?’

That was a hard question to answer, so he lied.

‘My parents.’

‘Mmm...’ she said, nodding slowly. ‘Thought as much.’

Time to change the conversation, thought Walter.

‘I’m going to invite the whole team for dinner tonight, my treat, thought we’d go to that fancy Chinese place overlooking the canal. Kind of a thank you to everyone, but especially for Jun, she’ll be off home soon, for all she’s done. If nothing else she can decipher the menu. Always wanted to go in a Chinese and order in Mandarin, or whatever it is.’

‘Good idea, Walter, great idea.’

‘You’ll come, won’t you, ma’am?’

Mrs West smiled and removed her glasses. She looked okay too.

‘Course, Walter, wouldn’t miss it for the world.’

‘Oh, and another thing, ma’am.’

‘Yes?’

‘I’m thinking of taking a week’s holiday.’

She put her glasses back on as if to inspect him more closely.

‘That’s good,’ she said. ‘Though I have to say, I’m quite surprised.’

Walter sniffed and wished he hadn’t and said, ‘A short break, that’s all, maybe the week after next, if that’s okay.’

‘Can’t see any reason why not. Nothing to do with the freezing business, is it?’

‘Good God no! Just a quick battery recharge.’

‘Put it on the chart, Walter, before you forget.’

He smiled and muttered, bobbed his head and stood up and hustled outside, before she could ask him more questions he really did not want to answer.

OUTSIDE, THEY WERE all standing about gossiping. There was a definite feeling of last day of term about the place.

‘Anything happening?’ he said.

‘Not much,’ said Karen. ‘And probably just as well.’

‘Dinner tonight?’ he said. ‘My treat, that fancy Chinese restaurant overlooking the canal. You’re all invited.’

‘Brill!’ said Gibbons. ‘What time?’

‘Eight-thirty,’ said Walter. ‘I’ll book some tables.’

‘Great idea,’ said Karen.

‘You still going shopping?’

‘Sure!’ she said, glancing at Jun, who tugged at her rubbish clothes and nodded hard.

‘Jessica wants to join you.’

‘Great.’

‘I’ll ring her now, why don’t you get away, and you can pick her up,’ said Walter, and Karen and Jun didn’t need a second invitation.

He rang Jess. Told her Karen would call by, and it wasn’t difficult to imagine the three of them cutting a swathe through Chester’s finest department stores. No doubt the credit cards and store cards and cash would all take a bit of a hammering before the day was through, but sometimes retail therapy really does work wonders.

Later on, Walter bummed a lift down to Bestdas. There were a few things he needed to get, what with Jessica being back in the house, and he’d recently been neglecting the shopping runs. Three big bagfuls, heavy too, staggered to the taxi rank. One yellow cab waiting hopefully. One grinning blonde, dark roots prominent.

‘Well, if it’s not Sherlock Holmes,’ she said.

Walter grinned through the glass.

Heaved the shopping into the back and fell in after it.

‘And what exciting cases are you working on today? Someone’s mucky divorce, no doubt.’

‘No, not quite, no divorces for me. Actually, if you must know, I’m not a private detective, and I’m not married.’

Carrie the Cab started the car and blew out dismissively.

‘I think we’ve been here before,’ she said. ‘I’m tempted to say again: Liar liar pants on fire!’

Walter guffawed. Such a strange phrase, and one that reminded him of his childhood. His Aunt Mimosa brought him up, and she would occasionally utter that slogan when the ample framed Walter, still in short trousers, bursting out all over, told a wee fib, that, and the even more menacing: Be sure your sins will find