The Inspector Walter Darriteau Murder Mysteries - Books 1-4 David Carter (autobiographies to read txt) 📖

agent just as soon as he had been weighed in. He was taking her to the Royal Palace Hotel in Venice, Venezia, he liked to say the name in Italiano, brought it home to him how far he had come up in the world, a five star place that Luke would once have felt most uncomfortable in, but it was amazing how soon a working class boy could become used to luxury. You only had to look at footballers to see that. One minute a bit of rough, the next, hobnobbing with royalty and celebs. It was only a tiny step... providing you had the cash.

He thought of Melanie again, and the prospect of having her all to himself for two whole weeks, no whiney parents lurking in the background, no distractions, no work, no worries, just Melanie. He planned to give her a holiday to remember. He planned to give himself the holiday of a lifetime. When she got back to England she’d need a holiday to get over it. He sniffed a laugh and heard footsteps approaching.

He turned to see Jim’ll fix it Mitchell striding toward him, that same tweed cap on his head, that same unhealthy look on his weaselly face. He wasn’t carrying any packets and that was worrying. Maybe it was inside his short suede jacket. Jimmy joined him in leaning on the railings and stared down at a gaggle of giggling short-skirted girls. Didn’t say a word.

‘Got the dough?’ asked Luke.

‘Nope.’

‘Don’t play games with me, Jimmy.’

Jim sniffed and coughed and spat down on to the road below, narrowly missing a guy carrying a red placard bearing a quote from the gospel according to the book of Saint John.

‘You whacked the wrong guy!’

‘What!’

‘You heard me. You whacked the wrong guy. The client is not happy.’

‘I whacked the guy you told me to whack. The tall white guy, the guitarist, the guy in the middle. That’s what you said.’

‘You whacked the wrong guy. The right guy was in the bog, apparently.’

‘Oh geez. So who was the guy with the holes?’

‘Some innocent local kid. But that’s not the point. The client gave you a contract and you haven’t delivered. They’re most unhappy about it.’

‘Well, they are not alone in that! You’ll have to set up another hit, Jim, and bloody quick.’

‘You’re telling me. I’m working on it now.’

‘When?’

‘Maybe tomorrow, maybe the day after.’

‘Sooner the better. I am going away on holiday.’

‘You are going nowhere! Not until this mess is sorted.’

Luke pursed his lips and slowly bobbed his head. Melanie could wait, for a little while. Sometimes it was best to make them wait. Made it all the more exciting. Made them all the more eager.

‘What kind of name for a band is All Souls? Sounds like arseholes to me,’ said Jimmy, laughing a short, sharp laugh.

‘I’ll keep the gun,’ said Luke.

‘You will if you value your neck,’ said Jim, giving Luke a hard stare.

‘You phone me, yeah? When you’ve set it up.’

‘Oh yes, Luke, I’ll be phoning you. You can be sure of that.’

‘Sooner the better.’

‘Do you need more ordnance?’

‘Need what?’

‘Ammo Luke, ammo.’

‘Nah, I’ve enough for this baby.’

‘Just make sure you use it on the right guy.’

‘Just make sure you find him... and soon!’

Jimmy touched his cap; muttered, ‘I’ll be in touch,’ and then, ‘Keep your phone on,’ and he ambled away.

Four

Walter had finally crept into bed at gone three. The completed makeup of the three photofits had been remarkably similar. A neat square headed guy, short brown hair, perfect unbroken nose in the dead centre of his pretty face. They all placed the guy at around five seven tall, slim wiry build, but fit looking, like a cyclist or rower or a racing driver or even a slightly taller jockey.

Neil remained adamant that he didn’t know the guy in the pictures, and neither could he come up with any explanation as to why he was the target for an assassin, and Walter believed him.

The last thing Walter thought of before falling asleep was the woman in green, standing before him, issuing questions; that come-on smirk on her fair face.

Do you have any leads as to who was the assassin?

Is this a drugs related case?

How the hell had she got there so quick?

She was an attractive thing; that was for sure, what was her name again? Gardenia Floem, that was it, not the kind of name you might expect, or ever forget. He wondered why he hadn’t come across her before.

WALTER DRAGGED HIMSELF into the office at ten past eight. He felt wrecked, and it still hadn’t been early enough to beat Karen. She was already there, poring over the photofit pics. She looked as if she’d had a full night’s kip. How did she manage to do that? pondered Walter, though he knew the answer well enough. It was called youth, something that Walter hadn’t visited for at least forty years.

He ambled to the coffee machine, yelled over, ‘Want one?’

‘Nope,’ said Karen, brandishing her bottle of cherry flavoured water in the air.

Walter shook his head and squeezed out the coffee and returned to his desk.

‘What do you want to do today?’ she asked.

‘I’d like to go swimming at Barmouth, forecast is good, but that looks unlikely, don’t you think?’

Karen stared at him in that way of hers, telling him to behave, didn’t say a word.

Walter grinned. ‘I want to go and see Swaythling senior.’

‘He’ll probably be at the office, that’s cool; it’s only five minutes from here.’

Walter nodded and then said, ‘And after that, I want to speak to Neil’s mother.’

‘Do you know where they live?’

‘Not yet, daddy Swaythling can tell us all about that, can’t he?’

‘Is this drugs related, do you think?’

‘Your guess is as good as mine. Neil didn’t come across to me as a liar. If he was lying he was very good at it.’

‘I agree. So if he’s not into drugs, why is someone trying to kill him?’

‘Million dollar question, Greenwood, million dollar question. Find the motive,