The Inspector Walter Darriteau Murder Mysteries - Books 1-4, David Carter [diy ebook reader .txt] 📗

anyway, you’re out of date with that, young woman. It’s a DBS check now, Disclosure and Barring Service.’

Karen glanced at Walter as if for confirmation. What Michael said was true, the old Criminal Records Bureau checks had been replaced by the DBS, and it was true too that not all cab drivers are checked at all.

‘Just what we need,’ muttered Walter. ‘Convicted criminals, even killers, driving around our vulnerable young women at the dead of night.’

‘And young men,’ added Karen.

‘Yeah, that too.’

‘I’m not a killer! I’m working hard. I’m trying to get my life back together, get back on my feet. I want to see my son again. What would you have me do, sit on my backside all day, picking up the dole money? And anyway, I’m not driving round young women and young men, rarely anyway, more likely ferrying all the old biddies home from the supermarket, or pensioners to the station, going off on their holidays to bloody Benidorm, or to and from the local bingo hall, that’s far more likely.’

‘Do you know where Marigold Lane is?’ asked Walter.

‘Course I do. I am a cab driver; we have to learn all the roads. Part of the job.’

‘Have you been down there?’ asked Karen.

‘Once or twice.’

‘Recently?’ said Karen.

‘Last week sometime.’

‘When last week?’ asked Walter.

‘Wednesday or Thursday I think it was.’

‘How far down Marigold Lane did you go?’ asked Karen.

‘All the way.’

‘To the caravan, by the river?’ asked Walter.

Michael nodded and looked uncomfortable.

‘Who did you take down there?’ asked Karen.

‘Some guy. Didn’t give me his name. Customers tend not to.’

‘Did you wait for him?’ asked Walter.

‘Nope. Just left him there.’

‘What time was this?’

‘Got there about six, I couldn’t wait on, tag time coming up, and all that.’

‘Did you see the person who lives there?’ asked Karen.

‘No. Not a soul.’

‘Did you know the young woman who lives there?’

Flanagan shook his head.

‘Did you know she was a prostitute?’ asked Walter.

‘Certainly not! Look, what is this?’

‘Can you describe the guy you took down there?’ asked Karen.

‘Yeah, probably, though after a while all the punters tend to look the same.’

‘Try,’ said Walter.

‘Thirties, maybe, businessman type guy, suit shirt and tie, that kind of thing, didn’t say much, didn’t tip much either.’

‘Height?’

‘Six feet maybe, about my height.’

‘Hair?’ said Karen.

‘Dark, black or brown.’

‘Is Tracey Day a friend of Ellie Wright?’

‘Who’s Ellie Wright?’

‘The woman who lived in the caravan,’ said Karen.

‘I have no idea. You’d have to ask her.’

‘Did you set fire to Ellie Wright’s caravan?’ asked Walter.

Before he could answer Karen waded in with, ‘Did you kill Ellie Wright?’

Mickey Flanagan pulled a face and said, ‘Leave it out. Why would I do that?’

‘Maybe she didn’t want to know you,’ suggested Karen.

‘Maybe she turned you down flat,’ added Walter. ‘You’re in the market for an available young woman, we know that.’

‘Don’t be crazy.’

Karen wasn’t to be so easily put off.

‘Maybe you hit her because she wouldn’t give you what you wanted, and maybe she fell over and banged her head. Sound familiar?’

‘Now you’re just being stupid.’

‘Don’t think so,’ said Walter. ‘We are just trying to find out how Ellie Wright died.’

‘She’s really dead?’ said Flanagan, sitting heavily in the sofa, looking genuinely surprised, either that or he was a bloody good actor.

‘She is dead,’ confirmed Walter. ‘Do you know anything about that?’

‘I do not, I wish I did.’

Walter glanced at his watch.

‘It’s seven o’clock,’ he said aloud.

‘It is,’ said Michael. ‘And I am tag-tied to the bloody house for another day, and night.’

‘Save you getting into any more trouble, Michael,’ said Karen, smirking.

‘We’d better be off,’ said Walter. ‘If you think of anything else about Ellie and her little caravan I’d appreciate it if you’d let us know,’ and he set a card on the small hall cupboard.

‘Okay, I will, but I’d appreciate it if you’d not tell the charitable trust about, well you know, Tracey and all that.’

‘That could be arranged,’ said Walter. ‘But do yourself a favour and stay away from on-hire girls, get you into trouble every time.’

Michael nodded and muttered something about men having certain needs, and it was damned difficult meeting anyone when you had to be home by bloody 7pm every night.

IN THE CAR OUTSIDE Karen said, ‘Back to base, Guv?’

‘Yes. What did you make of that?’

‘Michael Flanagan?’

‘The same.’

‘He’s certainly smartened himself up.’

‘Yes, looked a different man, didn’t he. Wonder when he did that.’

‘Dunno, but I think he’s a much more likely candidate than Derek Nesbitt. Flanagan’s got form, killed a woman, for heaven sake, and we know he went to the caravan, and frankly, I didn’t believe that he didn’t meet Ellie. He looked real cut up when you said she was dead.’

‘Yes he did. Check if he’s broken the seven to seven curfew, and get hold of the papers from his original case. See if there’s anything in there about the wife’s background.’

‘You mean you think she might have been a prostitute as well?’

‘Who knows? No reason to think it, but he said she was messing around. Be interesting to know what messing around actually means.’

‘He’s been in prison for manslaughter, he patronises prostitutes, he admitted he’d visited the caravan site, and we both thought he knew Ellie, that’s all pretty powerful stuff.’

‘Yes, it is, but entirely circumstantial. We’ll need a lot more than that.’

‘True, Guv. I wonder who the guy was he took down Marigold Lane.’

‘Could be anyone.’

‘If he took anyone at all. That could all be so much smoke-screening.’

‘Possibly, though I thought he sounded quite convincing.’

‘So we’ve now three in the frame, Derek Nesbitt, Michael Flanagan, and the guy Flanagan took down there.’

‘And don’t forget Jimmy Crocker too. He’s no angel.’

Karen pulled a face and muttered, ‘True, Guv,’ and shook her head and drove back to the station, fast. She was always a quick driver, but this was different.

‘You in a hurry?’

‘Got a date, Guv.’

‘Sorry if I’ve detained you.’

‘Not a prob.’

‘With your pal, Greg?’

‘Nope. I’m not seeing Greg anymore. Thought you knew.’

‘Sorry to hear that.’

‘Don’t be. His complete lack of an adult sense of