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

blood. And cut me loose! And get me a bucket! I need a pee!’

Chapter Fifty-One

The following morning the police arrived at Iona House, earlier than planned, Karen, Gibbons and Jenny Thompson, but no Walter. He was getting fixed in the Countess hospital, having his blood changed, tests run, a lucky escape, no rat, but the chimpanzee had been removed, just in time, along with all the rest, though it had been a close call. ‘Where’s the big black chap?’ asked Mrs Hymas.

Gibbons and Karen shared a look.

‘The big black chap is unavoidably detained. He sent his apologies,’ said Karen.

‘Oh, really? That’s a shame. I’ve made him some fairies specially.’

‘Perhaps we could take him some back.’

‘Oh yes, would you?’

‘Sure,’ said Karen. ‘You don’t have a key, do you, for flat number two?’

‘No. Why? What time will Sam and Samantha be back?’

‘Sam and Samantha won’t be coming back.’

‘No! Why? They haven’t had an accident, have they?’

‘You could say that,’ said Gibbons.

‘How terrible.’

‘We have a search warrant,’ said Karen, flashing the document before Mrs Hymas’s face.

There was a momentary pause, and something clicked in her old watery eyes.

‘They have been naughty, haven’t they?’

‘What makes you say that?’ asked Jenny.

‘They used to spin me yarns. They used to think I was doodle alley, senile, and I am not.’

‘Did they?’ said Gibbons. ‘Tut tut tut.’

‘What kind of yarns?’ asked Karen.

‘Oh, crazy things. They said if I was ever naughty, they’d wrap me in Christmas paper and throw me in the river at midnight. Silly things like that. Only a joke I know, but sometimes it kept me awake at night.’

‘You don’t need to worry about anything like that any more,’ said Karen. ‘We’re going into the flat; we’ll come back and see you later.’

‘Do you want me to come with you?’

‘No, you’re all right. You stay here.’

‘Shall I put the kettle on?’

‘Great idea, you do that.’

The officers smiled and nodded and left Mrs Hymas to her fairies, crossed the hall and stared at the stripped timber door. Karen followed procedure and knocked. No sound, no reply, no surprise. Gibbons took out a small jemmy from his deep trouser pocket, placed it on the rim of the door, applied pressure, his biceps bulging beneath his shirt as he began levering; Karen and Jenny both noticed that. Three seconds and the timber split with a loud crack. One more jerk, and the door flew open, two chunky and rusty wood screws tumbling to the hall floor, as if in protest at being disturbed.

The officers slipped on latex gloves and went inside, with Walter’s parting words ringing in Karen’s ears.

‘Find me that diary; and any details of any documents deposited with a solicitor.’

They’d entered a large sitting room with views out over the front lawn and the driveway. Karen wasn’t alone in wondering what had gone on in that room. It was pretty ordinary. A little old-fashioned, too. A leather settee, modern TV, nothing of any great interest, clean and tidy, well cared for, but no obvious diary. They went through to the kitchen. A large solid fuel stove, long since gone out, ideal for disposing of bloody clothing, Karen imagined. No evidence of any kind in there, and no body parts. Who knows what had gone through that furnace?

Into the bedroom, nice double bed, everything clean and neat and tidy. Opened the floor to ceiling wardrobe, fine clothes, and lots of them, expensive too, men and women’s, dozens of shoes on the floor, all neatly stored side by side, again, men and women’s, similar sizes, very expensive, Karen noted that, top ticket designer gear, better than she could afford, and sitting on the shelving to the right-hand side, were four white heads, polystyrene models, topped with trendy styled wigs, four different colours, black, blonde, red, brown, and very smart.

Gibbons thought he recognised the black one.

‘Look at these,’ said Jenny.

She’d opened a bedside table. Five contact lens containers, five different coloured lenses.

‘Explains a lot,’ said Karen.

‘And these!’ said Gibbons, brandishing a pair of touchy feely breasts in front of his chest. ‘They’re fab, just like the real thing!’

‘Put them down!’ said Karen, grinning.

‘What’s he like?’ said Jenny.

But still no diary. Karen thought it might have been in the bedside table, last chore of the day, maybe, before a peaceful night’s rest, update the terror records; update the murder diaries. She returned to the inner hallway, opened the door to the second bedroom.

‘Oh...my...God!’

The other two hurried to join her, peering over her shoulder at the noticeboard she was gawping at. Seeing her picture staring back, a blown up black-and-white photo culled from one of the news conferences. Through the middle of her face in scrawled red ink was a splashed handwritten cross.

Next to her image was one of Walter, a large red question mark next to his likeness, and an unmarked one of Cresta Raddish.

‘Proof if proof be needed,’ said Gibbons.

‘Look at this lot!’ said Jenny.

Karen and Gibbons swivelled round and saw the bottles of what looked like blood, and specimens of what appeared to be living tissue stored in formaldehyde, animal or human, it was hard to tell. The blood and samples were sitting on a tall teak shelving unit that housed clear glass bottles, containing God knows what substances, some labelled, some not, and binders containing computer printouts, large red notebooks, smaller secretary sized notepads, all full of neat handwriting. No obvious diary, not that Karen could see.

‘Look at that,’ said Jenny, pointing to a steel craft knife. The blade was retracted, the tool partly hidden behind one of the larger glass jars.

‘Potential murder weapon for killing number five, I’d say,’ said Karen.

‘Remind me which one that was,’ said Gibbons.

‘Cripps, Jago Cripps,’ added Jenny, ‘the one at the flat.’

‘Ah yes, that’s the fella,’ said Gibbons.

‘Give me a bag,’ said Karen.

Gibbons pulled a plastic bag from his pocket and unfastened the top, held it open; Karen took the knife and slipped it inside, and wondered what they would find next.

Pushed against the far wall was a