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

as it always did, never missed a beat. 8.22pm. Give it another ten minutes, she thought, and she would slip on her favourite faux leather coat, and head down to the city centre, and meet some friends, and drink the night away.

ACROSS TOWN, KAREN was getting ready too. She’d slipped into a tight-fitting red dress. Okay, maybe it was a tad too short, but that was the idea. She wanted to excite him, engage him, and relax him, for she figured that was her best chance of teasing vital information from the man.

She’d put on her most expensive red stilettos too, the ones she’d bought the previous Christmas, and had only ever worn once. It made her instantly taller, though she would still have to look up to David when he kissed her, and that was how she liked it. The doorbell rang from down below. Karen went to the security phone.

‘It’s me,’ he said.

‘Glad to hear it,’ she replied, smirking, an intonation that transmitted itself down the line. ‘You’d better come in,’ and she pressed the button and the door below sprang open.

A minute later he was in her apartment. His eyes widened when he saw her, in that dress, in those shoes.

‘Lady in red,’ he said. ‘Ooh la la!’

‘You like?’

‘I love,’ and he grabbed her and pulled her to him and kissed her hard. He smelt good, as if he had just showered. Karen kissed him back, and it was good too, better than good, and she hadn’t kissed a man like that since she and Gregory Orlando had gone their separate ways, but she couldn’t keep a negative thought from inveigling itself deep into her brain like a burrowing worm: Was she kissing a killer? Could that really be true?

Two minutes later, and they were motoring away from her apartment block.

‘Are you sure you won’t be cold,’ he said.

‘I rarely get cold.’

‘Hot blooded, eh?’

‘Very. Where are we going?’

Maybe he was taking her into North Wales. There are lots of quiet and remote forests in North Wales, ideal places for a killer to go about his dirty business, she knew that well enough, for she had often driven rally cars through those pinewoods at breakneck speed. She comforted herself in knowing that she was as fit as she had ever been, and possessed the latest most powerful pepper spray in her black leather bag, a spray so potent it was on trial with the police, and had not yet been released to Joe Public and his sweaty chums, for it would soon find its way into the wrong hands, such as bank robbers, and muggers, and rapists, and worse.

But he, David, was fit too. She could never imagine herself being attracted to any man who wasn’t, and he was tall and powerful as well, and that fact should not be underestimated. But first, she needed to extract information from him, and that was the sole objective of the evening, for now.

‘It’s a secret,’ he said, and that wasn’t the answer she wanted to hear, for they were heading out of the city, southbound, on a quiet and poorly lit country road. She glanced across at him. He looked fab, perfect husband material, as no doubt Andrea Dennehey would have said if she had ever spied him in the gym. He appeared so relaxed and contented as he drove along, and that was just as he should look, for the lucky man was dating a beautiful blonde in her prime. It didn’t get much better than that.

‘You’re full of secrets, Mr Baker.’

‘You can talk! You didn’t tell me you were a police officer until we’d met for the third time.’

‘That’s normal,’ she said. ‘One can’t be too careful in my line of work.’

‘You’re right there,’ and still they were driving south into a black and breezy night, and try as she might she found it hard to relax completely.

WALTER SAT ALONE IN his favourite armchair. The curtains were drawn and the TV was on low, though he wasn’t watching it. He squished open a can of stout and poured and sipped.

He pondered on the case.

If he could eliminate enough suspects, then the one remaining must be the killer. Either that, or it was someone else entirely, and that was still perfectly possible. Eliminating people was the first step. He began with Flanagan. Mrs West was adamant that tags worked. In Walter’s world, that was compelling enough. He dismissed Flanagan. Next!

The solicitor, Williams. What possible motive could Gareth Williams have for murdering his former lover? The fact that she had eventually spurned him? Possible, though he didn’t seem unduly upset about it, and more than that, happy to be back with his wife, and add to that, he was, after all, a solicitor. Could solicitors commit murder? Of course they could, anyone can, but were they less likely to do so than others? Maybe. In the court of Walter’s mind he would give Gareth the benefit of the doubt, for now. He would be excused too.

On to Iain Donaldson. Another professional man, a teacher this time. Did teachers commit murder? Of course they did, but statistically they were far less likely to do so than others. When did you last hear of a teacher committing murder? It doesn’t happen often. And he had an alibi too, something that Walter would test in the morning when he interviewed Andrea Dennehey. He also seemed something of a wet week of a man. Was he capable of it? Walter couldn’t envisage Iain holding a baseball bat to Belinda’s throat, and coldly snapping her neck. That didn’t seem likely at all. He just couldn’t see it. For now, Walter would give him the benefit of the doubt. He didn’t believe it was Iain.

Maybe he was eliminating the easy ones first, but the field was slowly being whittled down to Miro, Nesbitt, Crocker, Andrea, Speight, Marty the drug dealer, and Marcus. Who next to look at again? Miro the Mirror man.