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

things could and should be done, and how woeful little Johnny was. He was in that frame of mind when he called Armitage forward. Army stepped up, his throat dry.

The entire choir were there, hundreds of them, it seemed to him. He could never remember being so nervous. He glanced around as if for comfort, and saw Mrs Greeny on the back row of the ladies’ section. She smiled and nodded him on.

‘Well?’ Davies said, far too abruptly for a young child, thought many of the ladies gathered there. ‘Don’t waste my time, boy. Sing if you are going to.’

Armitage took one last look round, grabbed a big breath, and launched into Jesu Joy of Man’s Desiring.

His voice filled the church. Soaring into the void of the steeple. Filling people’s heads. Mr Davis closed his eyes. He had never heard a triallist sing like it, and one so young. It beggared belief.

As Army finished, the ladies’ choir burst into spontaneous applause. Even the vicar had crept closer for a better look to see who it was who had captivated everyone. The boys’ choir applauded too, though not as enthusiastically. Perhaps one or two of the soloists had already realised their one-off fees might be in danger.

Armitage Shelbourne had arrived.

Donald and Donna were invited too. They hadn’t intended to go; it wasn’t their thing, but something deep inside Donald brought him there, and he dragged along Donna for company. Perhaps it was because he knew Kay would have wanted him to attend. Donna bitched about it all the way there. She hadn’t been inside a church for fifteen years, and wasn’t looking forward to it. Eastenders was on the television, for gawd’s sake.

Like everyone else, Donald and Donna were captivated.

How could it be that from one so young, and so slight, a voice could emanate that filled that vast church, and moved people to tears?

‘Who taught the little bugga to do that?’ she whispered.

‘I have no idea,’ said Donald, feeling guilty that it had taken others to show him what a talented son he possessed.

He would never underestimate Armitage again.

Chapter Nineteen

Samantha was standing upstairs in the swimming baths, staring from the huge windows that afforded a great view of the car park and the forecourt below. Jago was down there, biting his nails, sitting in his ten-year-old family sized hatchback. At least he’d washed it and polished the silver wheels. Sam had been in far worse cars. He’d been waiting there for ten minutes. She would make him wait a little longer.

Jago saw Lena come out of the main entrance to the pool. He hadn’t expected her to come that way, but that didn’t matter, the only thing that mattered was that she was here. He reached over and flipped open the door.

‘Hi,’ she said, as she jumped in.

‘Hi,’ he responded, as she settled in the seat beside him.

He started the car and pulled out on to the inner ring road.

‘Where are we going?’ she asked.

‘A country pub, I know,’ he said. ‘On the Frodsham road.’

He had chosen it with great care. They served a decent carvery for next to nothing, for he had next to no money. Tonight, if she asked for champagne, she would be disappointed. She was wearing a black two-piece suit, skirt and jacket and slinky leather gloves, and as he drove, he stole glances at her pert knees and breasts, and neat but understated makeup. She was as he remembered, sweet, sexy, and desirable, and later on, after he’d slipped her a tab or two, she would be his.

The pub was OK, and the meal acceptable. Jago bought them each a glass of wine, saying that he had two expensive bottles in his fridge at home, and because he was driving, he didn’t want to drink too much while they were out.

‘That’s cool,’ she said, and it was cool too, for she didn’t fancy riding with Jago if he was drunk.

During a break in conversation, she asked him if he ever experimented with drugs. She’d asked it as bold as that, not even bothering to lower her voice, as if she didn’t care who heard.

‘Didn’t you read my biog?’ he said, grinning like an ape.

‘I did, but I thought you might be exaggerating.’

‘Nope!’ he said. ‘No way! I’m up for anything, me. You only live once. Bring it on, sister.’

Lena smiled wickedly and said, ‘That’s great Jago, because I’m really into all that stuff. Tell you the truth, it’s the only thing I really like, the only thing that truly excites me.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah, sure. Have you got any gear back at the flat?’

He was about to say, sure thing, when a weird thought crossed his mind. He didn’t really know this babe from Adam. She could be a copper for all he knew, a drugs’ undercover officer. He’d read about such things in the National Inquirer, police stings on unsuspecting punters.

‘You’re not a cop, are you?’

As if she would tell him if she was.

‘Me? Course not. Don’t be stupid. I told you I work in the booking office at the racetrack,’ and as if to prove the point she brought out the new Chester racetrack diary, the expensive green leather-bound edition with the gold logo on the front cover, and the slogan: England’s Oldest Racecourse. ‘You can have it if you want,’ she said, ‘I can get hundreds of them.’

‘Yeah, ta, I will,’ and he took it from her be-gloved hand and slipped it in his inside pocket. It seemed to do the trick for there were no more questions as to whether she was a copper or not. What a ridiculous suggestion.

Then he said, and he lowered his voice, ‘If you must know, I’ve just taken delivery of some wicked skunk, and I keep a selection of tabs in, for the weekend, like, or any other day come to that,’ and he laughed. He saw Lena smiling her approval across the table and said, ‘The two go well together, talk about a trip...’

She smiled