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

block for her. She told me the other guys at work were always making passes at her, and back at uni too, almost every bloody day.’

‘What happened next?’

‘We had an extra bottle of wine; shouldn’t have done, I suppose, but we did.’

‘And all inhibitions flew out the window?’

Sam smiled at the memories.

‘You could say that.’

‘And?’

‘Are you getting your rocks off on this, Walter? You dirty old bugger.’

‘I am trying to understand.’

‘Yeah, sure, I believe you, thousands wouldn’t.’

‘Well?’

‘I took her dress off.’

‘And?’

She said, ‘Put it on.’

‘I will if you will.’

‘And you did?’

‘Yeah, anything for a bit of fun. I mean not just the dress, every goddamned thing, knickers, suspenders, stockings, the whole shebang. She insisted on it. Her, standing there in my best suit and tie. She made me fix up the tie for her, she couldn’t do it herself, me in her red shoes, her in my shiny black ones, oh man, it was a weird sight, and then she started on the makeup.’

‘She made you up?’

‘Yeah, made me up good and proper. Have you ever worn red lippy, Walter?’

Walter grinned at the thought. ‘Don’t think it would suit me.’

‘No, you’re probably right.’

‘You enjoyed it?’

‘I bloody did. That was the weird thing about it, never had any cross-dressing ideas before, but with her, it just seemed to be the most natural thing in the world.’

Natural behaviour wasn’t how Walter would describe it.

Then she said: You need a wig... and tits.’

‘There’s nothing I can do about that.’

‘No, she said, but leave it with me,’ and we stood in front of the mirror, hand in hand, her in my grey suit, white shirt and tie, me in her red party frock, and lippy, drunkenly grinning at our images. ‘You make a fabulous woman,’ she said, and I have to admit, I did. I’d have fancied me if I’d seen that person in the mirror strolling through Tattersalls at the races on Ladies’ Day. You would have too, Walter, I guarantee it.’

‘Maybe I would.’

‘She didn’t make such a great guy, and I think she knew that. She didn’t look like a guy, and secretly I think she was happy about that, and I sure as hell was, and then we slowly undressed each other, and you can guess the rest.’

‘You made love?’

‘You really want to know all the freaky little details, don’t you, Walter? You naughty boy. Yes, we made love, but more than that, we made love like we had never done before, ’cept perhaps the first time, and afterwards Desi said exactly the same thing, and I believed her. She was freaky that way. Something had gone down at college. I think she had a wild time there. I never found out exactly what. But I’ll tell you one thing, Walter, if your sex life is ever in a rut, put on a red frock and some lippy. You’ll be amazed at the results, except, shame, it’s too late for you now, Walter, isn’t it? So don’t go getting any crazy ideas. But at least you’ll pass over with the benefit of my expertise.’

Walter’s sex life was infrequent at best, but that was his business, and he had no intention of discussing it with the freak.

‘I’ll take your word for it.’

‘Do you know what, Walter? I fancy a coffee. Have you got any coffee in? You don’t mind if I help myself, do you? Course you don’t,’ he said, standing and giggling and patting him on the shoulder, and heading for the door, and then he said, ‘You won’t mind if I don’t make you one, I’m not feeding you.’

‘Help yourself. It’s instant.’

‘That’ll do, and a pee while I’m at it,’ and he went into the kitchen and put on the kettle, and ran up the stairs to the bathroom.

Walter bent down and tried to bite through one of the plastic ties. His teeth were not what they once were. He didn’t make any progress, and visions of exploding teeth filtered into his head. Better to be alive with no teeth than dead with intact ones. Tried again, came off; looked at his handiwork, slight marks, nothing more. It wasn’t going to work. Tried to stand up. Quite impossible. Tried to shake the chair toward the coffee table. Didn’t go anywhere. Swung from side to side. Imagined he could turn the whole chair over, but with what intent? A picture came into his head of himself lying face down on the floor with the heavy chair on his back, like a bloated turtle, and Sam coming back and laughing and leaving him there, undignified and uncomfortable, and vulnerable to injections from the rear. No, at least sitting there, up straight, he could see what the maniac was doing.

The cistern was running. He’d flushed the bog. Then he came down the stairs, singing or humming. The guy was a head case, no doubt about that, jauntily, making himself at home, went through to the kitchen, made a mug of black coffee, and came back and carefully set it on the table, next to the blood; rat, chimpanzee, and basset hound, and instant coffee, a strange mixture, the steam curling and rising away.

‘I hope you don’t mind me saying, Walter, but your kitchen and bathroom could both do with a bloody good clean.’

Walter rolled his eyebrows. He knew that to be true. He did once have a cleaner, but she was most unreliable, and often turned up smelling of gin. One morning she went up to clean the bathroom and Walter heard nothing more for the best part of an hour. Went upstairs and found her sleeping it off on his bed. He couldn’t be doing with that, and Mrs Gretton received her notice, swore at him she did, called him a jumped up black fucking bastard! It was nothing he hadn’t heard a million times before. Walter laughed it off, but had never got round to finding a replacement. If he got out of this jam, he would.

Sam picked up the coffee,