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

girls, with any luck, they might find the lady of their dreams. There was more chance of that than finding the killer.

Cresta Raddish was saying something about a female serial killer in Arkansas she had studied who had cut off her victims’ fingers and fed them to her dog. It didn’t go anywhere, and Walter wondered if it was to fill in time, or perhaps to demonstrate how well qualified and experienced in her field she was.

A sharp rap came to the door.

Mrs West harrumphed.

She had given strict orders they were not to be disturbed.

‘Get that, Karen,’ she snapped.

Karen opened the door.

It was Jenny Thompson, a satisfied smirk on her face; none of them could miss.

‘Sorry to interrupt, ma’am, but Walter’s had another letter, I mean Inspector Darriteau,’ and she produced another skinny manila envelope. ‘Same wacky print,’ she said, holding it up for all to see.

Walter leapt from his chair, surprising everyone, including himself, at how quickly he moved. Took the envelope between finger and thumbnails like some old-fashioned fairground machine trying to grasp a prize.

‘Thanks, Jen,’ he muttered.

Karen nodded at the WPC and closed the door in her face.

He set the envelope on the desk before them.

Mrs West handed him a metal letter opener and a pair of tweezers, and retrieved a clear plastic sleeve from her drawer.

Walter drew out the sheet of paper and set it on the desk.

All three women were standing behind him, staring down at communiqué number three.

WELL WALLY,

YOU NEED HELP MAN.

You’ll never catch us at this rate.

Lady’s Day. We’ll see you there.

We have so much to talk about.

Can’t weight.

Can you?

THE CHESTER MOLLESTERS.

PS: MAKE SURE YOUR life insurance is paid up.

THE SAME FONT, SAME inkjet production, same obvious bad spelling, same weird use of the plural, as in we’ll, not I’ll, when everyone was convinced they were looking for one person, one man or one woman. Perhaps that was where the “we” came into it, the he-she thing was so confused it believed it was two people, split personality gone crazy. We are murdering. We are a murderer. We can’t be caught. We are laughing.

‘What does he mean there?’ said Cresta, revealing that even she thought it might be a man, ‘When he says Lady’s Day.’

‘Chester races,’ said Karen.

‘Biggest day of the year,’ said Walter, recalling several carefree days spent on the tight but cute track, admiring the tiny but cute visitors, and especially on Ladies’ day, as it should have been spelt.

‘When is it?’ asked Cresta.

‘Day after tomorrow,’ said Mrs West.

‘It doesn’t give us much time,’ said Karen.

‘Time enough,’ said Walter.

‘I don’t think you should go anywhere near the track,’ said Mrs West, back in her chair, glancing at Walter.

‘I’m going, ma’am. I have to.’

‘Am I missing something, or has the killer not made a direct threat against you? Make sure your life insurance is paid up.’

‘Maybe, ma’am,’ said Karen, ‘but if he doesn’t go, the killer may walk away. Walter will have to be there, and be high profile too, so the killer can see him; and when and if the he-she thing makes its move, we strike.’

‘I agree with that,’ said Cresta. ‘Hundred percent. I mean, what’s the he-she thing going to do, gun him down in broad daylight before thousands of witnesses? Unlikely, don’t you think?’

‘Hope not,’ muttered Walter.

It may have been unlikely, but the image of it was powerful.

‘We’ll flood the place, thirty, forty, fifty, how many officers do you think you’ll need?’ Mrs West asked Walter.

‘Thirty is more than enough. We don’t want the killer frightened off by hundreds of suspicious looking police officers lumping around, not interested in racing.’

‘They’ll all have to look their best,’ said Karen. ‘They’ll stick out like sore thumbs otherwise. Best party wedding day frocks, jackets, pressed trousers, ties, neat shirts, and buttonholes for the boys.’

Great! Thought Walter, but when necessary he could dress up, when the occasion demanded, and this time it did.

Mrs West asked Karen, ‘Have you renewed your firearms licence?’

‘Yes, ma’am, recently done.’

‘Good. Go fully armed; and you too, Walter.’

Walter nodded; he always intended to do that.

‘You don’t think this could be a bluff, do you?’ said Karen.

‘How do you mean?’ asked Mrs West.

‘A diversionary tactic? While we are concentrating on the racecourse, the killer strikes somewhere else.’

‘The world is a big place,’ said Walter. ‘We can’t be in hundreds of locations at the same time. If it’s a diversion, so be it, but I don’t think it is.’

‘Neither do I,’ said Cresta in a rush.

‘Get on to the racecourse right now,’ said Mrs West to Karen. ‘We want thirty of the most expensive tickets, access all areas, we don’t want police staff flicking IDs every five minutes, and we are not paying either, and it’s to remain most secret, and don’t take no for an answer. I don’t care if they have been sold out for months. No, on second thoughts, we can do better than that. It’s only just across the road. Go down there right now, see them in person, throw your weight around if you have to, and take that Gibbons bloke with you for added muscle. He always seems to have time on his hands.’

Karen grinned and glanced at Walter.

He nodded the briefest of nods.

She frowned, flicked a smile and headed for the door.

Cresta was thinking of what to wear. She had bought a beautiful tight fitting purple frock in New York the last time she attended the International Profiler’s Conference. That should do.

‘You better call everyone together,’ said Mrs West to Walter. ‘Explain what we want. Everyone is to look as if they are attending their favourite brother’s wedding. I’ll organise the buttonholes. If anyone lets me down, they will have me to answer to. Oh, and remind the girls they will need to wear a hat. If they don’t have anything suitable, come and see me; I have a cupboard full of fancy items. I’ll want everyone dressed and ready and on parade