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

be anyone else in the flat. The place was untidy, but not dirty. The furniture and fittings were all past their best, but Walter and Karen had been in hundreds of worse places. There was a white clothes-horse set up to one side of the living room with freshly ironed clothes onboard, as if he’d had a busy morning. The radio was on and he went and turned it off.

‘Take a seat,’ the guy said. ‘How can I help?’

‘Someone shot Gerry Swaythling’s son.’

‘Neil, yeah, read about it in the paper.’

‘Did you know Neil?’ asked Karen.

‘Met him a few times when he was young, haven’t seen him for years.’

‘Why would anyone want to kill Neil?’ asked Walter.

‘How the hell would I know? Drugs probably, that’s usually the thing behind street violence these days.’

‘Neil wasn’t into drugs,’ said Karen.

‘Then I have no idea,’ he said, plopping into a small armchair in the corner.

Walter looked at the guy and raised his eyebrows. Didn’t say a thing. It was enough.

‘Wait a minute; you don’t think I had anything to do with it, do you?’

‘Did you?’ asked Karen.

‘Don’t be ridiculous!’

‘You had the motive,’ said Walter.

‘Who’s been telling tales?’

‘No one,’ said Karen. ‘It’s public knowledge that you fell out with Gerry Swaythling, he ruined you, didn’t he?’

‘Yes he did, the creep, but that doesn’t mean I’d take it out on Neil.’

‘Tell us what happened between you and Gerry?’ asked Walter.

Munro scratched his nose, obviously thinking about it. Took a big breath, decided to talk.

‘There was a recession on, we’d had two bad years, things were getting worse, most builders can’t hack it after two lean years, the bank wouldn’t extend the overdraft, worse than that, they began calling in the loans. We needed to find cash to survive, and quick.’

‘How much cash?’

‘About a hundred and fifty K.’

That stacked up, thought Walter, said ‘Go on.’

‘He was in the club, wasn’t he? And I wasn’t.’

‘You mean the Lodge?’

‘The very same.’

‘Who lent him the money?’

‘No idea, I never found out, Gerry wouldn’t tell me; perhaps he was worried that I might go to the same source to raise my half.’

‘Did you try and raise the cash?’ asked Karen.

‘Course I did; got nowhere, I was a builder, a former brickie; people didn’t take me seriously, especially in the economic climate back at the time. I think Gerry liked that, figured out it would be easier to get rid of me, him and his scheming wife, Holly, they couldn’t wait to see the back of me.’

‘She’s ill,’ said Walter.

‘Yeah, I know. Doesn’t change things.’

‘So what happened?’

‘Somehow he raised all the cash, God knows how he did it, the banks wouldn’t touch him or the company by then, but give Gerry credit, he raised it, and promptly made the most of it by firing me.’

‘Any compensation?’

‘You have to be kidding!’

‘When did you last see Gerry?’ asked Karen.

‘Bumped into him four or five years ago in town. He blanked me, him and his stuck up wife, blanked me as if I was a dead man. Can’t say as I was surprised. They are both stuck up berks, the pair of them, imagining they are far better than they actually are. They think that money makes a gentleman, but it sure as hell doesn’t.’

Walter could empathise with that, took a moment out, then said, ‘How do you make a living, Mister Ford?’

‘Drive a taxi. Do you need a lift? I’m on in an hour.’

‘We’re OK,’ said Karen.

Walter pulled the photofit from his pocket. Set it on the coffee table. ‘Ever seen this guy?’

Munro picked up the picture. Studied it a second, and said, ‘Tell you the truth; you can see dozens of kids like him any Friday and Saturday night in the pubs in the city, dozens of them.’

He had a point; the guy sure was ordinary looking, typical twenty-first century boy next door.

‘You must have had a burning desire to get even,’ suggested Walter.

‘Maybe I did, but I’ve never done anything about it; if that’s what you think. Life’s too short to go round bearing grudges like a mean pit bull. I’ve moved on, I have a new girlfriend now and we hope to get married. Gerry and Holly Swaythling can go fuck themselves for all I care. I’m sorry for Neil, but there we are, there is nothing I can do about that. It had nothing to do with me.’

Walter bobbed his head and stood up. Karen followed suit and a minute later they were back outside, staring down at the same dog. It licked its lips and looked hopeful, its docked tail doing its best. Walter glanced down and pulled another bicky from his pocket and set it before the dog. The animal barked a gentle and appreciative thank you, and the coppers jumped into the car.

‘Where did you learn that little trick?’ said Karen.

‘What, that dogs get hungry, ooh God, let me think,’ and he pulled a face and glanced at the roof.

‘Don’t be sarky.’

‘Don’t ask silly questions.’

‘What did you make of Munro Ford?’

‘Pretty grounded individual, I’d say,’ said Walter. ‘You?’

‘I believed him.’

‘So did I, doesn’t mean to say we should rule him out. He’s still got a good motive. Find out where he drinks; find out who he talks to, find out who his fiancée is, and it would be very interesting if we could connect him to the killer.’

‘Maybe he doesn’t drink.’

‘He does, for sure, didn’t you smell his breath?’

Seventeen

Hector Browne and Jenny Thompson arrived at Wilkes & Partners offices at half past six. There was an office manager there who had been expecting them. He invited them up to the room, and they began setting up the tripods and cameras that would be pointed across the road. The manager showed them the kitchen and told them to make whatever they wanted, coffee tea et cetera, bade them a good night, and left them to it, leaving last minute instructions to make sure they pulled the front door closed on their way out.

Jenny made two mugs