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

The dark-haired man nodded and said, ‘That’s me, and you are?’

Karen completed the intros, and Rekatic set the phone down without comment, and came out from behind his desk and closed the office door.

‘Take a seat,’ he said. ‘What can I do for you? I can give you ten minutes. Lots on the go after that, you know how it is.’

Walter sat in one of the grey and black comfortable visitors’ chairs, probably cost a fair fortune, as Karen sat down beside him.

‘It’ll take more than ten minutes,’ said Walter. ‘Much more.’

‘Maybe you should have made an appointment.’

Maybe you shouldn’t be consorting with young for-sale girls, and I’ll bet you’re a happily married man too, thought Karen, though she kept those colourful thoughts to herself.

‘It can be here and now for as long as it takes, or at the station right now, for as long as it takes, I’m not really that bothered,’ said Walter, looking across and into the back of the man’s dark eyes. What was he? Six foot, clean cut, dark hair and eyes, and a noticeable eastern European accent. What a surprise.

Rekatic sat back in his chair and sighed hard and realised he was in no position to argue.

‘Okay. Let’s get to it,’ he said.

‘Your name is Miroslav Rekatic?’ asked Karen.

‘It is.’

‘And you’re sometimes known as Miro?’

‘Yes, to my friends and acquaintances.’

‘Are you also known as Mirror?’ asked Walter.

Rekatic pulled a face and shook his head. ‘Miro yes, Mirror, no, never. Why? What can I do for you?’

‘We want to talk to you about a young woman by the name of Ellie Wright,’ said Karen, as Walter never once took his eyes from the guy.

‘Ellie? What about her?’ said Rekatic, warily.

‘You do know Ellie?’ asked Karen.

‘Yes, I know Ellie. Why? What’s this all about?’

Walter leant forward and said softly, ‘What is your relationship with Ellie Wright?’

Rekatic grimaced and shifted in his chair.

‘She’s a nice kid. She’s very good company.’

‘Good company?’ clarified Karen.

Rekatic nodded, didn’t say anything, though it was clear he was thinking of saying something further. The officers remained silent, awaiting further comment. Karen nodded, encouraging the man.

When he did speak he said, ‘It’s a little bit difficult.’

‘Yes?’ said Walter. ‘Is it? What is?’ for he was in no mood to make it any easier for the guy.

‘If you know Ellie you probably know she’s something of a good time girl.’

‘A good time girl?’ said Karen, speaking slowly, each word coming out almost as single short sentence.

‘Do I have to spell it out?’

‘You do to me,’ said Karen.

‘You mean to say, she’s a prostitute?’ said Walter.

Rekatic nodded. ‘Something like that.’

‘We might as well use terms we all understand. The thing I find difficult,’ said Walter, ‘is why a successful businessman like yourself, with a beautiful wife and family,’ and he reached across and picked up the silver plated photo frame that adorned the desk, and glanced at the picture of the attractive blonde woman, and two even more beautiful blonde haired girls, ‘why a man such as yourself should be consorting with street girls at all. Why is that exactly, Miro?’

Rekatic clicked his tongue and shook his head slowly and said, ‘You know how it is, you’re a man of the world.’

It was Walter’s turn to shake his head.

‘No!’ he said decisively. ‘If I were married to a woman like that,’ nodding at the photograph that he set back on the desk, ‘I wouldn’t look at a street girl in a million years.’

Rekatic went silent and sat back in his chair. He took a moment out, thinking hard. What the hell was this all about? And why was he even bothering to answer the English police officers’ questions? He’d humour them a little while longer.

‘It’s the old thing,’ he said, allowing a crooked smile to invade his fox-like Slavic face. ‘Sometimes when a man doesn’t get what he wants at home he has to look elsewhere.’

His eyes switched from the overweight black man to the underweight English blonde, checking to see if he’d shocked her. He hadn‘t. Not such a surprise. In her line of work she must see all sorts.

‘You mean your wife doesn’t like sex,’ said Walter, mischievously. ‘I would never have guessed that from her photograph. That does surprise me.’

‘Of course my wife likes sex!’ he said in a hurry, ‘not that it is any business of yours,’ immediately thinking he may have revealed more than he intended.

‘But not kinky sex?’ said a stone-faced Karen.

Rekatic grimaced and put out his hand, palm down over the desk, and twisted it as if to say, close, but not quite right.

‘Rough sex?’ said Walter, and Rekatic smiled a cold smile and pointed at Walter as if to say, there’s a man after my own heart, there’s a man who knows.

‘How rough?’ asked Karen, not giving him a second to think.

‘Well, you know....’

‘No, we don’t know,’ said Walter. ‘Not at all. Answer the question.’

‘I’m not sure how one would grade these things.’

‘On a scale from one to ten, how would you rate your meetings with Ellie Wright?’

‘God! I don’t know.’

‘Well I certainly don’t,’ said Karen.

‘On a scale from one to ten?’ repeated Walter, keen to not let the guy off the hook.

Rekatic sighed hard and muttered, ‘Maybe seven or eight.’

‘Seven or eight,’ said Walter thoughtfully, pondering on where that took them in the pantheon of rough sex.

‘Yeah, about that,’ Miro said, with maybe just a hint of cockiness entering his voice.

Walter spoke again: ‘And would that include heat.... and burning?’

‘What the hell are you talking about?’

‘I think you know well enough, Miro. Clamps. Hot needles? Electric shocks. Cigarette burns, stubbed out on the skin? Sound familiar?’

‘Don’t be so ridiculous!’

‘Ridiculous, is it?’ said Karen.

‘All we are trying to do is fill in the blanks,’ said Walter. ‘Get a clearer picture of what precisely you are talking about, of what exactIy Ellie Wright was expected to accept, and endure, things that your good wife was unwilling to, and I have to say, that so far, you haven’t exactly