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

‘Sure, Guv, I’m on it.’

Walter sat back down again and scratched his chin and said, ‘When did you last visit Berryland Avenue?’

‘Look! I don’t want to start no commenting, but I will if you persist.’

‘You were having an affair with Belinda Cooper, weren’t you?’ asked Karen.

‘No... fucking... comment.’

‘When did you first meet her?’

‘How could I have been having an affair with this woman if up until quite recently I was in prison? Answer me that!’

He had another point there, and a good one too. Maybe it was a fresh thing, recent, it had to be, otherwise it didn’t fit.

‘Did you meet her speed dating?’ asked Karen.

‘See this solicitor here,’ said Michael, pointing to an empty chair, ‘I’ll just ask him, or her, for some advice, and then I’ll get back to you.’

‘What’s your email address?’ asked Karen.

‘You’ve got my computer, look it up!’

‘We will, Michael, just thought you might like to speed things up a tad. The sooner we get to the bottom of this, the sooner we can get finished and get out of here.’

She thought back to Bel’s computer and tried to recall if she’d seen any recent messages between Bel and another man, a man like Michael, but nothing registered. They only had Bel’s word for the fact she’d only ever had five boyfriends. Maybe that figure needed updating.

‘Where’s my food? And where’s the solicitor?’

‘Maybe you could eat the solicitor,’ suggested Karen.

‘This isn’t the time or place for fucking jokes!’

He had a point there too. Walter hid his smirk well.

‘Sorry,’ she said, glancing at Walter.

Gibbons came knocking at the door and said, ‘The Duty Sol is on the way.’

Walter thanked him and Gibbons retreated.

‘And the food?’ said Flanagan.

‘All in good time.’

‘Where did you meet Belinda Cooper?’ asked Karen.

‘I have never met Belinda Cooper.’

Walter opened the manila file before him. Took out a solitary sheet bearing a large photograph of a single fingerprint. He turned it around and slid it across the table.

‘Do you know what this is?’

‘Could it possibly be a fingerprint?’

‘It is, Michael.’

‘So?’

‘It’s your fingerprint.’

‘Yeah, so what’s your point?’

‘That print was lifted this morning from Belinda Cooper’s bedroom.’

‘You’re having a laugh! That ain’t possible.’

Walter shook his head.

‘It’s no joke, Michael, that print was found in Belinda’s bedroom, the same room in which she was murdered.’

‘You’re full of shit!’

‘Do you know whereabouts in the bedroom it was found?’

‘How could I know that when I have never been in Belinda Cooper’s house, never mind her bedroom?’

‘I’ll tell you where it was, inside the drawer on her bedside table. That’s a pretty intimate place, inside the drawer of a bedside table, by a lady’s bed, not the kind of place where any old person would ever touch.’

‘But a lover might,’ said Karen.

‘Yes,’ said Walter, ‘and it’s the kind of place where one wouldn’t think to go when wiping prints. It would be so easy to miss one there, wouldn’t it, Michael?’

‘You’re talking bollocks; you’re trying to fit me up. I was at home, in bed. My tag proves it. It’s a rock solid alibi. I don’t know what your game is, but it stinks. When I first met you I thought you were a decent guy. I shouldn’t have been so naïve. I shouldn’t have been so stupid. I should have known better. You’re just like all the rest, crooked and bent to hell. I ain’t saying another word until I see a solicitor.’

Right on cue Gibbons knocked and came back in.

‘Duty Solicitor, Guv,’ said Gibbons, and he did the introductions and left the room.

She was a smart young woman, was Gayle Drake, neat and tidy too, as any man would testify. No one ever looked quite so good in a plain fitted grey suit. She nodded across the table at Walter and said, ‘May I have ten minutes with my client?’

‘Later,’ said Walter, ‘we are in the middle of something.’

‘For the benefit of the tape,’ said Karen, ‘the Duty Solicitor, Gayle Drake, has entered the room.’

Gayle sat beside Flanagan and studied the photograph on the table, and said, ‘And this is?’

‘That print was lifted this morning from inside the deceased’s bedroom. It matches your client.’

‘I have never been inside that woman’s house, ever,’ said Flanagan.

‘This says you have,’ said Walter, tapping the photo. ‘How do you explain your print being inside Belinda Cooper’s bedside table?’

‘I can’t, maybe you can. And I would remind you that my tag proves that I was at home.’

Gayle Drake butted in.

‘Am I to understand that my client is tagged, and your own records show that he was at home?’

‘At present, yes,’ said Walter. ‘But your client is also a computer expert, and we suspect he has been tampering with the tag.’

‘Have you any proof of that?’

‘Not yet,’ said Karen. ‘We’re checking through his computer as we speak.’

‘Well, until you have proof I would like my client released, pending further enquiries.’

‘That’s not going to happen,’ said Walter.

‘Where’s my food?’ moaned Flanagan. ‘I haven’t eaten in nine hours.’

‘Is that true?’ asked Gayle.

‘We don’t know when Mr Flanagan last ate,’ said Karen, ‘but we have ordered something for him. It should be here any time soon.’

‘It’s getting late,’ said Gayle. ‘Why not chase up the food, chase up the research into my client’s computer, and reconvene in the morning?’

Karen imagined Walter would reject such a suggestion out of hand, and was surprised to hear him say, ‘That’s not a bad idea, Mr Flanagan will be detained overnight, and we’ll come back to this at 9am tomorrow.’

Gayle looked pleased with herself and nodded.

Job done, so far as she was concerned.

‘Flanagan said, ‘Food?’ and back came Gibbons, knocking and entering, bearing a white cardboard box full to overflowing with fried fish and chips, and boy, did they look and smell good, and that reminded Walter that he hadn’t eaten in hours either.

IT WAS ALMOST 10PM by the time Walter and Karen arrived in their respective homes. Walter bunged a ready meal in the microwave and slammed the door. Karen settled