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

‘That blood came from animals she’d personally killed. She said she’d kept it for their memory. It kept her grounded. It kept her focused. Normally, it would be disposed of, thrown away, flushed down the drain. She said that wasn’t right. Disrespectful, she said.’

Walter nodded, tried hard to imagine the fate of those unfortunate creatures, and especially the chimpanzees.

‘So what happened then?’

‘There was an Australian guy, I forget his name. He was always creeping round her when she was working; looking for hints of what she was up to, where she was going. He knew she was brilliant. She knew he would steal her stuff, given the chance. He was all smiles and charm, he’d take her down to the social club they had going on the site, buy her a bottle of wine, and pump her for info. She grew wise to that; began feeding him duff stuff. The schmuck was so thick he took it all in and worked on it for weeks. It led nowhere, down a dead-end corridor, and you have to laugh at that. You had to admire her cunning. Not only was she pioneering her own work, she was staying up all night setting up faux avenues for pricks like him, theories that looked promising, and all the while they were nothing more than gigantic time-wasting exercises. Futile diversions. He was furious when he found out. Can you imagine? Wouldn’t speak to her for weeks. Started spreading rumours about her, telling tales behind her back, said she was a lesbian, all sorts.’

‘I can imagine.’

‘Can you, Walter? Can you?’

‘I think so. I’m on her side. What happened next?’

‘She began bringing data home. Reams and reams of the stuff. Several years’ work. I asked her if it would be missed. She said it was mainly copies she’d printed. She wanted it in case the originals ever went missing, or were stolen, or destroyed in a fire or accident of some kind Or in case she was relieved of her post.’

‘She was worried about that?’

‘Petrified. The place had a history of dumping high fliers who made life uncomfortable for the middle grounders who wielded the power. The brilliant ones put the dull ones firmly in the shade. There was an enormous amount of jealousy and backbiting. You wouldn’t believe some of the stories she told me.’

‘Did she have any trouble getting it out?’

‘Not at the beginning. Security was a joke. She’d wear a long, heavy skirt with a big hem on the inside. I modelled it for her, as she did the alterations. There was a large false pocket inside. She showed me how she’d slip a file in there like a kangaroo’s Joey and walk back to her car and drive away. If the guards stopped her, it was only to say hello, or maybe to wink at the striking dark girl, perhaps ask her for a date. At worst there was a casual glance in the boot of her car. They may have wondered what was beneath her neat skirt, but they would have been amazed to discover what was really there.’

Sam giggled in that pretty way of his.

‘And then?’

‘There was a big step up in security. They brought in new people. Everything changed. It was much harder to get anything out. That was about the time she started being followed.’

‘People were following Desi?’

‘Yes.’

‘Who?’

‘Your lot, of course.’

‘What do you mean; my lot?’

‘Government police, security police, how the hell do I know?’

Walter puffed out his cheeks, breathed out heavily.

‘I can’t see that,’ he said, ‘I certainly knew nothing about it.’

‘Course you wouldn’t. It was MI7.’

Walter zipped a sharp laugh through his nose.

‘Now I know you’re wrong, Sam. MI7 doesn’t exist, except in the minds of spy writers, and in the movies.’

‘No, no, no, you’re wrong! MI7 exists. They followed and killed Desi. I know it may be unpalatable to you, Wally, but that’s the truth. That’s what happened!’

‘MI7 existed during World War II,’ said Walter. ‘It dealt with propaganda and stuff like that, but it was disbanded, early sixties, I think it was. It doesn’t exist anymore.’

Sam did the same sharp, dismissive laugh.

‘Shows how much you know, Wally. Stop living up to your name, shows how out of touch you really are.’

Walter remained quiet for a moment, thinking things through, then said, ‘Tell me everything you know about MI7?’

‘Desiree told me it was reactivated soon after it was decommissioned. They had special responsibility for chemical warfare secrecy, weapons of mass destruction in the modern vernacular, hence their huge interest in Eden Leys. They were interested in everything that went down there. You must know that, and they weren’t happy when the plant was semi-privatised, I can tell you that. For a short while they were replaced with contracted in security. That feeble lot couldn’t detect an ant in an ant hill. Not surprisingly, they soon got pushed. Desi became tense. I couldn’t get her to open up to me. I knew something was wrong. She said the whole place was subject to new American secrecy orders, she was bound to silence. It was too dangerous for me to know anything. She had this spare bedroom full of stuff, data, samples; you name it, a huge amount of gear. She said we had to move it, and quick, so we switched it from her place by the river, down to mine at Iona House. We always kept on both properties and it was a good job we did. It took us three car rides to move everything, that’ll give you some idea how much gear was involved. We did it on the Friday night. On the Saturday night we went out to celebrate, got dressed up, kissing cousins she called us, Desiree and Samantha, took a cab down to that fancy hotel in Cheshire where they do the ballooning, enjoyed a fab meal, danced for hours, curled up in bed together, made love, got up late on the Sunday morning, fab breakfast, cab back to Chester...’

‘And?’

‘Desi’s place