The Inspector Walter Darriteau Murder Mysteries - Books 1-4 David Carter (autobiographies to read txt) 📖
- Author: David Carter
Book online «The Inspector Walter Darriteau Murder Mysteries - Books 1-4 David Carter (autobiographies to read txt) 📖». Author David Carter
‘You’d better turn off the lights,’ he said, and she jumped up and switched them off as they sat in the evening light.
‘How many do you think will come?’ she asked.
‘I asked the sarge that, she said between forty and ninety depending on holidays and sickness, and how many could be bothered. I’ll look after the live video, you do the stills.’
Jenny was cool with that. The camera was ace, almost new, Japanese, superb zoom lens, and so easy to operate.
‘It won’t get dark till ten,’ she said, ‘plenty of light.’
‘The streetlights will go on long before that,’ he said, pointing at the glass globe antique-style triple lamp standard ten yards to the left.
‘Should have no problem picking them out,’ she said, glancing through the viewfinder again, before double-checking on the mini screen set on the rear of the camera.
THE PYTHAGORAS LODGE 888 had met in that same Chester building for more than a century. It was a prosperous and popular Lodge where admission was strictly reserved for men who fulfilled the Lodge’s exacting criteria.
As the Worshipful Brother Harry Quirke always said: Be very cautious who you recommend as a candidate for initiation. One false step on this point may prove fatal. If you introduce a disputatious person confusion will be produced which may end in the dissolution of the Lodge itself. Where you have a good Lodge, keep it select, great numbers are not always beneficial.
The officers of the Pythagoras Lodge 888 took great heed on those words and remained particularly strict, so much so that far more potential candidates were always blackballed than not, even in difficult times.
The first visitors arrived at 7.29pm.
‘Hey up,’ said Hector, swivelling the camera. ‘Here come the early birds.’
Two men aged about forty, evening suits, dicky bow ties, white gloves. Hector pressed the record button and the camera silently whirred. He could hear the noise of the still camera beside him, clicking and clacking, as Jenny went to work.
The officers watched the men ring the bell, the door open, two similarly dressed guys inside, younger, burly, fit looking, come to the step, smile at the early arrivals, stepped to one side, invitingly, and the visitors were ushered into the building and the door quietly closed behind them.
‘Get them?’ asked Hector excitedly. He was surprised at how much he was enjoying the evening shift.
‘Yep. You?’
‘Oh yeah, sure.’
Five minutes flew by, then two more, and another one running behind to keep up. Same set up. Evening suit, white gloves, exchange greetings, and in they went.
The next guy was by himself.
‘It’s Gibbons!’ whispered Jenny, her eyes widening. ‘Wonder what he’d say if he knew he was on camera. Smile Gibbo!’ and the cameras clicked and whirred.
After he’d gone inside Jenny asked, ‘Why do they all wear white gloves?’
‘Dunno. Think it’s something to do with keeping clean hands.’
‘Clean hands from what? Physically or metaphorically?’
‘Everything, both, I guess.’
‘Does that include giving dodgy loans?’
Hector laughed.
‘We don’t know if anyone gave any loans, and neither do we know if they were dodgy.’
Jenny didn’t answer. She was too busy. Another three guys had arrived, one in his fifties, two in their twenties, short and stocky, all looking vaguely alike. Click, click, click, and then they were gone. Then two more.
‘Look who we have here,’ said Jenny, grinning.
‘Who?’ said Hector, going to work on the movies again.
‘Hoskins and Hooper, Traffic Division, pair of tossers, the both of them.’
‘I’ll take your word for that.’
Click, click, click, click.
By eight o’clock they had counted and recorded fifty-two evening suited gentlemen into the building, all of them white, most of them aged between thirty and sixty, a sprinkling either side of the great divide. Three more came late, they’d be for the high jump; everyone knew what sticklers the Lodge was for punctuality. A big cash fine and a public rebuke heading their way. Jenny’s mobile burped. It was Walter.
‘How’s it going, Jen?’
He was sitting in front of the telly, steaming chicken Madras balanced on his lap.
‘OK, Guv. Fifty-five happy souls gone into the happy house, including Gibbons, Hoskins and Hooper.’
‘And you’ve filmed them all?’
‘Oh yes.’
‘Good girl.’
‘And you want us to stay until they come out?’
‘Yeah, ’fraid so, I want to see if any different ones come out, maybe some of the higher officers who could have been in there all along.’
‘Got you, Guv. We’ll stay till the lights go off and the place is all locked up.’
‘Well done. I’ll see you in the morning.’
‘Night, Guv.’
Hector and Jenny shared a look. Now for the long, dull, and boring part. Three, four, maybe even five hours, while those inside got up to heavens knows what, before they all started coming out again.
‘Do you want another coffee?’ he asked.
‘Please,’ said Jenny, and Hector went off to take the opportunity to have a good snoop round the offices. Solicitors were like everyone else. In a busy office someone would always leave some interesting papers lying around, and perhaps forget, under pressure of work, to lock confidential documents in the huge safe. Hector was optimistic. It wasn’t an opportunity he was going to miss.
THE NEXT MORNING WALTER arrived at the station at twenty past eight. Karen was already there, looking pleased with herself; and surprisingly, so were Jenny and Hector.
‘Get much sleep?’ asked Walter.
Jenny stopped at Walter’s desk and grinned and said, ‘About six hours, not too bad.’
‘Did you get what we wanted?’
‘Yep, spot on, Heck’s just getting the stills printed, should be ready in five.’
‘Well done, room four when you’re ready.’
Walter went and fetched a coffee and took his place in room four. Karen came in and sat down and said, ‘It’s looking good.’
Hector arrived and slipped the CD
Comments (0)