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

out the blue light and stuck it on top of the car, activated it, closed the window, and rattled around the Chester inner ring road as if there was a murderer in town, cars scattering every which way before them.

Twenty

It was a busy scene outside Belinda Cooper’s neat house. Doc Grayling’s Jaguar was there; he’d arrived quick, thought Walter. Behind that, a grey unmarked van, the trademark sign of the SOCO people, who’d just arrived by the look of it, as they were busy taking equipment out of the vehicle and lugging it round the side of the house.

In front of the van, half on the pavement and half on the road, was another unmarked car that Karen recognised, almost certainly the transport that brought Gibbons and Browne to the scene, while behind that was a marked police car. One officer inside, busy on the radio, the other on the pavement talking to a man and a woman, and getting a hard time of it, by the look of things.

Walter opened the car door and heaved himself out. The woman spotted him immediately and rushed over to see him.

‘Are you in charge here?’

‘I am.’

‘Can you please tell me what the hell is going on? I’m Lena Freeman, I’m Belinda’s best friend and workmate.’

‘I’ve just arrived, I know as much as you do,’ he said, trying to get past her.

‘She’s all right, isn’t she? Please tell me she’s alright.’

‘We’ll let you know just as soon as we have something to say,’ said Walter, squeezing past her, as the uniformed officer tried to hold her back, as Walter headed toward the side of the house, Karen hustling behind. He heard the neighbour muttering, ‘It’s always the same; they never say anything at all, in cases like this.’

‘Cases like what?’ said Lena, though any reply was lost in the melee.

Walter and Karen glanced at the busted glass in the French doors, and the shards of glass on the carpet. They stepped gingerly around the debris and headed for the stairs. Hector Browne was at the top.

‘Up here, Guv, Doc Grayling’s here,’ and he pointed toward the front bedroom door.

Inside, Doc Grayling was kneeling down over the body. Gibbons was standing with his back to the window, taking everything in, for no matter how many dead people, and how many cases he had witnessed before, there was always something extra to be learnt, or some useful tip that the senior bods might impart. Give him his due; he soaked up expertise like blotting paper capturing ink. Never missed an opportunity.

Doc Grayling heard the coming of big black sized 10s and glanced back over his shoulder, expecting to see Walter Darriteau, and he was not disappointed.

‘You got here quick,’ snorted Walter.

‘Pure luck! I had an appointment two streets away.’

‘What have we got?’

‘Young woman dead, broken neck, and I’d bet my pension on that being the murder weapon,’ nodding at the vintage varnished baseball bat that lay on the bed, now ensconced inside a clear evidence bag.

‘That’s exactly where we found it, Guv,’ cheeped up Gibbons.

‘Who found her?’ said Walter.

‘I did.’

‘TOD?’ said Walter, switching back to Grayling.

‘Give me a break, Walter, I have been here precisely five minutes.’

‘A ballpark figure, man, a rough guess? Your best estimate, give me something.’

Doc Grayling sighed loudly and said, ‘She’s been dead twenty-four, maybe thirty-six hours, rigor mortis well set in, as you can see, always starts from the head downwards, as you know, stiffening the body to this effect, allowing you guys to refer to dead people as “stiffs”.’

‘Do we ever refer to dead people as “stiffs”, Sergeant Greenwood?’

‘No, never, Guv.’

‘You know what I mean, plenty of your people do.’

‘In films and TV programmes, maybe, but this isn’t a film or a TV programme, or a gruesome story, or a blockbusting novel, but someone who has sadly met a premature end. The body will receive every respect.’

‘All right, Walter. Keep your hair on.’

‘Anything else you can tell me?’

‘Not yet. You’ll get the full report just as soon as....’

‘You can possibly manage,’ Walter mumbled, finishing off the sentence.

‘That’s correct, Darriteau.’

Walter nodded and glanced at Gibbons, and then at the mobile phone on the bedside table.

‘Bag that up. Hector!’

Hector appeared in the open doorway.

‘Find any computer equipment, tablets, mobile phones, answering machines, diaries, notebooks, and anything else that could contain emails and messages and letters and other vital information. Bag them all up and get them to the station.’

‘You got it, Guv.’

‘Karen, I want to know everything about the deceased. Marital status, sexual preferences, partners, blood relations, financial status, friends, workplace colleagues, last visitors, et cetera et cetera, and especially I want to know if she has any history of prostitution. Get Jenny on that to help you.’

Karen nodded and jumped on her mobile.

‘You think she might have been on the game, Guv?’ said Gibbons.

‘I have no idea, but we are going to find out.’

‘Doesn’t look like a house of iniquity to me,’ suggested Doc Grayling.

‘I’ll bow to your superior knowledge on that,’ said Walter.

‘What about the empty wine bottle?’ said Gibbons.

‘That’ll need bagging too, and the glass, you know the drill.’

‘Give us a few minutes,’ said the young SOCO guy who Walter recognised, and there was a pause, and photographing and filming and recording of everything in that bedroom, and eventually in the entire house, got under way in earnest.

Walter clapped his heavy hands together and yelled to anyone who was listening, ‘And I want more officers here now, pronto pronto, door-to-door, looking for sightings of visitors and callers, pedestrians and cars, and anything at all that could be described as unusual, get Nicky Barr on that, and don’t forget: Nothing is to be uttered outside this house about this case without my say so, and if anyone tips off the press they will have me to reckon with.’

‘Sure, Guv,’ said Gibbons, enjoying every moment of his day. ‘Keeping it zipped!’

Strange phrase, thought Walter. Almost American. Keeping it zipped, Gibbons had obviously been watching far too much