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

Incident Room, Karen sitting opposite, Purple Pamela, as some of the younger ones referred to Cresta Raddish, sitting at the end, Mrs West, standing in the doorway to her office, embracing a fat manila file, as if she hadn’t seen it in months.

‘Jago Cripps was drugged to the eyeballs, a cocktail of drugs, but it was not the drugs that killed him. The killer slit his wrists with either a razor blade or a craft knife. My guess is it was a craft knife. Razor blades are too fiddly to handle, and you can easily cut yourself, so will all those on car searching duties be on the lookout for craft knives. How is that going, by the way?’

‘Up to last night we have searched four hundred and eighteen suspect vehicles,’ said Karen.

‘Without any result, I presume,’ said Walter.

Karen pursed her lips and shook her head.

Walter resumed, ‘Of the fifty flats in the block, two are empty and unlived in, the keys are with the agents, thirty-six are owner occupied, and twelve are rented. Of the forty-eight occupied flats, thirty house a single person, and the other eighteen, a couple. Of course, that is what we are told, it doesn’t mean there aren’t visitors and dossers and sharers, who may well be breaking lease clauses, living and kipping in the building unbeknown to the landlords, so bear that in mind. How many of these people have been interviewed?’

DC Gibbons, the young guy who was always larking around, answered. ‘All bar six, Guv.’

‘Why is that?’

Gibbons glanced at his papers.

‘Three are out of the country on holiday, due back at the weekend, one is in hospital, appendicitis, one is working in Bristol, the local police haven’t found him yet, but they are still looking, and one is due to be seen this morning. He’s been in Glasgow, back at lunchtime.’

Walter nodded and said, ‘And how many of them saw the killer?’

There was a noticeable hush.

The he-she killer’s luck had remained with him, or her, or so it seemed.

‘None of them?’ said Walter.

‘None that we can find,’ said Gibbons.

Walter sighed and said, ‘CCTV? Over to you.’

Another guy started talking. ‘Yeah, we have CCTV of the Vauxhall on the ring road twice, once heading toward the flat,’ and he flashed up a blurred black and white blow up on the big screen. The only clear feature on the image was the superimposed time and date. 11.16pm. It showed the shadows of two figures sitting in the front seats of the car, but they were unrecognisable. ‘And here it is going back, 2.12am, one person in the car, large baseball cap, face unrecognisable, that’s the last sighting we have. That person sitting there, driving that car without a care in the world, is, or so it would seem, a mass murderer.’

‘Thank you,’ said Walter. ‘What about the CCTV at the swimming pool?’

‘Knocked out,’ said the same guy. ‘Some kids stoned it. Should be fixed some time next month, so the council bods say.’

Walter pulled a face and gave Mrs West a look, as if to say: This is what we have to cope with. Can’t you give them a nudge? She understood and smiled and nodded back.

Walter resumed. ‘We have not located the murder weapon which the killer may still possess, and nor have we found the car keys, which we must assume the killer has dumped, maybe in the river. How are enquiries progressing on the dating business? How did the killer get to know Jago?’

Karen answered. ‘So far, we have found his details on four dating sites, heterosexual, all of them. We have no evidence he was gay.’

‘Bet you enjoyed trawling through that lot,’ said Gibbons, grinning at his neighbours.

‘Shut up, Gibbons!’ yelled Karen. ‘We are trying to catch a serial killer here, you prat!’

‘Sorry, sarge,’ he said, and he caught the look of contempt on Walter’s face and that was not a good sign.

Walter sighed and said, ‘Carry on Karen.’

‘Two of the four sites are paid subscription, you have to log all your details, and two are free. The killer had open access to the free sites, anyone can. We’ve looked at Jago’s emails and found the initial contact messages. They were sent anonymously to Jago via a Polish run Internet café in the town. It’s a pay as you go place, no ID required; anyone can just go in and buy fifteen minutes. It’s a very busy place too, doing well, with transient people coming and going all the time, foreign workers, that kind of thing, many of whom can’t speak English. We have no way of checking which of their clients was our boy,’ and Karen made eye contact with Cresta and added, ‘or girl.’

Cresta nodded her appreciation.

‘So Jago’s straight, and was dating a woman on the night he died. You think?’ said Walter as he stared around the room.

‘It would seem that way,’ said Karen.

‘Maybe it’s a tranny,’ said Gibbons, unable to stop himself laughing.

A few of the others tittered too.

‘No!’ said Walter. ‘This time he may have a point. It could be a transvestite. Why not? Trannies get angry too. There’s nothing to say a killer couldn’t be a tranny. Where would you go in Chester to meet a tranny, I mean, is there such a thing as a tranny directory, Pink Pages maybe, help me here, I am out of my comfort zone.’

‘There are three clubs in town that are known tranny/fanny/manny places,’ said Gibbons, still grinning.

‘Trust you to know that,’ said Karen.

‘It would fit with our earlier idea of a late night worker,’ said Jenny Thompson, still a little backward at contributing to such packed meetings.

‘It would,’ agreed Walter. ‘Thanks, Jenny. Gibbons, tonight I want you to work the tranny joints, oh, and take someone with you. Have a few discreet words, if that’s possible. Spread the word that one of their pals could be a killer, see what comes back.’

‘I think he should dress the part,’ said Karen.

‘Oh, yeah,’ said Gibbons.

‘What do you think, Cresta?