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

But there were some papers in there, Future Growth publicity brochures that Karen had been handing out to anyone who might be interested, slightly sticking out, and a sickly and welcoming face on the papers, partly beaming out, part hidden, like a robber with a neckerchief over his chin. Jessica leant forward, eased one of the flyers clear, looked down at the face, and read the blurb.

‘Kit Napoleon!’ she said, in a voice that betrayed disgust, a note that no one could miss, and certainly not highly trained officers who made a habit of listening for, and pouncing on, loaded comments like that.

‘You know Kit Napoleon?’ said Walter, trying hard not to appear too interested.

‘Yes! Worse luck!’

‘How?’ asked Karen.

‘It’s a very long story.’

Walter glanced at his watch. 12.40, and the train was due out in fifteen minutes.

‘What time’s the next train?’ asked Walter.

‘Twenty-five to two,’ said Jess. ‘Why?’

‘Would you do us a big favour?’

‘Seeing as you have just saved me from a fate worse than death, Walter, you don’t really need to ask.’

‘Take the next train,’ he said. ‘We need to talk to you.’

‘Okay, if that’s what you want.’

‘It is.’

KAREN PULLED THE CAR onto the forecourt of the Italianate fronted railway station, close to the cab rank, slap bang on a double yellow line.

He leant round and said, ‘We’re currently investigating Kit Napoleon.’

That was news to Karen, and she was all ears.

‘He’s a slime ball,’ murmured Jess.

‘In what way?’

‘In any way you like.’

‘Tell us how you know him.’

‘He knew Ricky Barton; in fact Ricky was one of the first backers to put up a slug of seed capital to get the whole shebang off the ground in the first place. This was ages ago, before I met Rick. Apparently, Kit brought his first wife to London for a weekend at the theatre, that kind of thing, stayed in a top hotel, and Ricky was there having dinner and a few drinks. Rick was always in and out of those kind of places looking to hang on to, and hang out with, celebrity friends, and they must have got talking, and Ricky had money to invest, and if you’ve met Kit you’ll know what he can be like, all sincerity and charm and persuasiveness, and I guess Ricky bit, hook line and sinker, and put in some cash, and we are not talking small change either.’

‘How much?’ asked Walter.

‘A lot, Walter, a lot.’

‘Give us a ball park figure.’

‘I don’t know the exact number, but it was definitely more than a quarter of a million.’

‘And that’s how he managed to portray the business as one with exploding growth?’ said Karen.

‘Course, and he was able to make prompt payouts to everyone, and they thought he was Santa Claus and whacked in even more money, much more, and so did their friends. It’s like rolling a snowball down a hill. It gets very big very quickly.’

‘That stacks up,’ said Walter.

Jessica nodded and started again. ‘The thing was, Ricky had a hell of a lot of trouble getting his cash out again, but as you can guess with Ricky, he was not a man to be messed with, so eventually Kit paid him off with a decent bonus to boot, to close the deal and get out of it. Probably as well he did. I’m sure, knowing what I know now, that Ricky would have gone round and butchered Kit, literally, if he hadn’t paid up.’

‘Did you put in money?’ asked Karen.

Jess sighed and bobbed her head and said, ‘I did, for my sins.’

‘And did you get it back?’

‘Some of it, not all, but that’s not the worst of it.’

‘Go on,’ said Walter.

‘I made a total fool of myself and promoted it to all my friends.’

That sounded familiar.

‘Your friends in fashion?’ clarified Karen.

‘Fashion, showbiz, sports, musos, even high profile politicos, you know the type, always looking to make a fast buck, the whole caboodle really.’

‘And they invested?’ said Walter.

‘Many of them did, big time.’

‘And they didn’t get their money back?’

‘Most of them didn’t.’

‘I guess that didn’t make you so popular?’ said Karen.

‘You can say that again, some of them haven’t forgiven me yet, but I can live with that. It’s the other thing I can’t live with.’

‘What other thing?’ said Karen and Walter, as one.

Jessica sighed and clearly wasn’t comfortable in continuing.

‘Do you want to go for a coffee?’ asked Walter.

‘Nah, rather not, prefer to confess my sins here.’

Walter opened his mouth to speak but before he could say a word their attention was taken by someone tapping on the windscreen. A man on a mission. Glancing at his watch. A man in a hat with an electronic device in his hand, and he moved away from the car and squinted down at the registration.

‘Deal with him!’ said Walter, and Karen stepped out of the car and went up close and personal with the figure of officialdom, flashed her ID, and Walter and Jessica heard her say: ‘Inspector Walter Darriteau!’ and she nodded back at the car, and the guy peered into the vehicle again, nodded and muttered and put his device away, perhaps disappointed that he wasn’t going to issue another ticket, shrugged his shoulders and sloped off to ambush someone else further down the rank.

‘What sins?’ said Walter, softly. ‘I take it that’s an expression of speech.’

‘Not entirely. I got my dad involved. Told him how brilliant it would be. He was short of cash as it was, but when Kit discovered my dad was a marquis, well, he couldn’t wait to be introduced, treated him as if he was the Prince of Wales himself, saw him at every opportunity, saw him behind my back, even invited dad to Dubai of all places, and dad, like so many of us, was bowled over by the guy, became totally smitten, and put in every last penny he could raise, even borrowed off his friends, which if you know how those gentlemen operate, never