The Inspector Walter Darriteau Murder Mysteries - Books 1-4 by David Carter (microsoft ebook reader TXT) 📗

possibly a Japanese hatchback, but we can’t be certain. The PM report on Maggie O’Brien confirms she died of carbon monoxide poisoning. The usual location for such deaths is of course in cars, most notably suicide, but Maggie did not commit suicide. The car in which she died will continue to show traces of carbon monoxide, regardless of how well it has been cleaned. Find the car; find the murderer, simple as that. Look out too when searching vehicles for any suspicious piping that could have been used to introduce gas. At the crime scene in Delamere the heavy rain had washed most of the footprints away, but on the far side of the lake we found footprints in the heavier mud. The prints had been blurred and fuzzed by the rain, but were still of sufficient standard to show they were Adidas trainers, size six if they were men’s, size eight, if they were women’s. The size on the bottom of the sole is blurred beyond ID,’ Karen waved to Jenny and she flashed up the latest photos, enlarged and enhanced on the big screen fixed to the wall. Footprints in the mud, four of them, differing quality; ranging from vaguely useful to totally useless. Footprints left by a murderer? It was possible.

Everyone peered at the pics and back at Karen.

‘Of course we don’t know for certain these are the killer’s feet, but there must be a good chance. They are small feet for a man, and big feet for a woman, in either case, rarer than your average punter. The killer, if he is a man, probably has size six feet, is of slight build, possesses a pert bum, and we believe, is aged early thirties.’

Karen looked up and saw Walter nodding, and then he said, ‘We think the suspect is in full-time employment, working slightly odd hours. Perhaps seven in the evening till two in the morning, or maybe an hour either side. Anyone got anything they want to add?’

He observed a sea of puzzled faces, people pursing lips, glancing at their neighbours, hoping the spotlight wouldn’t fall on them.

‘Come on, no budding Sherlock Holmes’s amongst you? OK, but I want you to think hard about it. Are we missing something here? We probably are. It could save someone’s life. If you think of anything, no matter how tenuous, come and see me or speak to Karen.’

Cresta followed on. ‘The perpetrator is attractive, likeable, easy to talk to, the kind of person you would want to know, someone you would trust, the kind of person you could easily let your guard down against. One day that might be important.’

‘That is excellent advice,’ added Walter. ‘Right, OK, moving on, black or dark Japanese hatchbacks. Find out how many there are in the area, find out who owns them, and if need be, we’ll check them all, one by one.’

‘Great,’ muttered the young guy, and the team trudged back to work.

Chapter Sixteen

Armitage Shelbourne was a precious child in more ways than one. His mother suffered four miscarriages before Armitage struggled into the light. Kay had been warned by the family doctor this must be her last stab at motherhood. It was taking its toll. The doctor told the father, Donald, another such event could take the mother too. Don and Kay doted on Armitage.

They wrapped him in cotton wool. Even the slightest sniffle or spot would be treated as a medical emergency in the Shelbourne household. Whenever they could, they kept him away from other children, no kindergarten or Sunday school for Armitage, and they dreaded his fifth birthday when the law demanded he must attend the local primary school, and mix with other children, including that tough and dirty lot off the council estate. Kay dreaded the thought.

Don had worries of his own.

Before starting school, Armitage would play at home, spending the sunny summer days running and hiding in the big back garden, as his mother called, ‘I’m coming to get you!’ as the oldest game of all, hide and seek, got under way.

When Kay found him, she would grab his wrist and swing him in the air as Armitage screeched with delight.

‘Again, mummy, again!’

‘Come along, Army,’ she said, as she always preferred to call him. ‘It’s time for tea.’

Armitage wanted for nothing, except the company of creatures of his own age. He was treated like a prince, while his mother dressed him and bathed him as if he were a baby.

Kay need not have fretted about the oncoming business of school, because she would never live to see it. She had never fully recovered from the ordeal of bearing a child, of producing the son and heir that Donald craved.

She had always been on the frail side; it was one of the reasons Donald found her attractive, her slightness and femininity, and an overwhelming sense of vulnerability. It attracted many a man into her sphere. Donald wanted to protect her, to look after and provide for her, to marry her, and he did.

Kay lacked confidence, and when a handsome man like Donald courted her, it meant a lot. Though whether she really loved him, only Kay knew the answer to that. He asked her to marry him, and so politely too, and she did, for that very noble reason, because he had asked.

Donald had won the race because he had been the first to show an interest, the most persistent, he would not go away, wouldn’t disappear even when she had several flings with rivals. He would always be there, hanging about outside her house, waiting to pick up the pieces, and most of all, he won the race because Donald possessed an impressive car.

She couldn’t have told you what make it was, but it was so comforting, big and shiny, you couldn’t miss it. The kind of thing that people in the street would stop and stare at. Humber, Bentley, Jaguar, Rolls Royce, it was one of those big jobs for sure, old