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

the computer and bit into the apple and began reading the overnight crime reports and notes. It was still before 7am. Walter came in twenty minutes later, looking jaunty and content, she noted that.

‘Morning, Greenwood,’ he said. ‘You’re in early. Couldn’t sleep?’

‘Yeah, something like that.’

Walter limped to the coffee machine and came back with a steaming drink. ‘Anything happening?’

‘Nothing new.’

Jenny Thompson came in next and smiled and nodded at the over-nighters, and she was followed by Hector Browne and Darren Gibbons.

‘Er, excuse me, but aren’t you and Nick supposed to be seeing Jimmy Crocker first thing this morning?’ said Walter, glugging on the coffee, and gazing at Darren.

‘Couldn’t, Guv. Nicky’s going to his grandma’s funeral today, he rang me last night.’

‘Did he now? He kept that to himself.’

Walter made a mental note to check if that were true, for in the past they had once had a clever dick of a PC who had attended at least five grandmother’s funerals over the years, taking the piss, he was, and Walter couldn’t abide being lied to.

‘Well it still has to be done, take Hector with you, get down there now, it’s still early enough, you know the thinking, visit early before they get out of bed, before they have woken up, before they have gone to work, or whatever they get up to.’

Gibbons nodded and looked at Hector who had heard everything and had gone for his jacket. Walter was talking again.

‘And after you’ve seen him, go and see those bloody publicans again. You might like to drop a hint that the hierarchy here might not be so happy to approve the renewal of their alcohol licences next time round, if they can’t be more cooperative and helpful in our enquiries into the affairs of the late Eleanor Wright.’

Gibbons grinned and said, ‘Sure Guv,’ and the two guys shrugged and left the building.

Walter glanced across the desk at Karen. She looked a little tired; maybe she’d had an exciting night.

‘How did the date go?’

‘Don’t ask,’ she said, throwing the apple core in the bin. ‘Terrible.’

So he didn’t ask, for it was none of his business, and he knew that she would tell him in her own good time, if she wished to, and if she didn’t, that was cool. He couldn’t stop a grin crossing his heavy face. His unplanned date had gone fantastically well, though he’d keep that nugget to himself.

HECTOR DROVE THE UNMARKED car to Saltney Ferry and 20 Laburnum Gardens. It was a small redbrick townhouse, two floors, one of five linked houses, one of the middle ones. It looked older than its ten years, but that was down to a lack of care and maintenance. The paint on the white window frames was peeling in places, and the small front garden hadn’t been weeded in at least a year, and it showed. As they made their way up the small path toward the front door Hector began whistling.

‘Give it a rest, Heck,’ said Gibbons, as he rang the bell.

The bell inside rang, and the big dog barked.

‘Fuck!’ said Hector. ‘That’s all we need, a damn big dog.’

Gibbons grinned and muttered, ‘Probably a pussy.’

They both heard a guy inside yell, ‘Ma! Some fucker’s at the front door.’

‘I’m going, ya lazy tyke,’ and in the next second a big woman appeared wearing a cavernous blue dressing gown. She pulled the door open, while holding back an ugly looking brown beast that was keen to get better acquainted. The woman glared knowingly at them, for she could smell out the law at two hundred paces, as did the dog.

Hector did the introductions, as the woman turned and yelled up the stairs, ‘Jimmy! Get your arse out of that bed. The coppers are here for you.’

They heard him say, ‘Oh what the fuck do they want now?’

‘Come and bloody find out! I’ll put the dog in the kitchen,’ and she turned around and did just that.

A minute later Jimmy Crocker appeared in the hallway, having thrown on a grubby white T-shirt and a pair of old jeans. He eyed up Gibbons for a second for he’d come across him in battle before.

‘Come inside,’ he said. ‘I don’t want the whole fucking world knowing my business.’

Darren and Hector stepped into the small and now crowded hallway. Not surprisingly it smelt of big brown dog.

‘We are making enquiries about a young woman named Eleanor Wright,’ said Hector.

‘No comment,’ said Jimmy C, out of habit.

‘We can do this here, or we can do it down the station,’ said Darren, ‘and that could easily take all day, and half the night.’

Jimmy pulled a face and shook his head and said, ‘Eleanor who?’

‘Eleanor Wright.’

‘Don’t know anyone of that name.’

‘Are you sure?’ asked Darren.

‘Positive. Who is she?’

Hector ignored Jimmy’s question and asked, ‘Where were you on Friday night?’

Jimmy sniffed and turned away and shouted into the lounge, ‘Ma! Where was I on Friday night?’

‘He was here, with me, all night,’ came back the yelled and very predictable reply.

‘Anyone else here?’ asked Darren.

‘Only Bozo.’

‘Who’s Bozo?’ asked Hector.

‘The dog.’

‘Did you go anywhere near the river on Friday?’ asked Darren.

‘Course I did. The river winds through the city, it’s hard not to.’

He had a point there.

‘Did you visit a young woman in a caravan down by the river?’ persisted Gibbons.

‘No, worse luck. Why? Was she a goer?’ and Crocker smirked.

‘The young woman in question is dead,’ said Darren, staring into the back of Crocker’s beady eyes.

Crocker pursed his lips, his bottom lip came out and he said, ‘It happens. We all die sometime.’

‘She was burned to death, in her caravan,’ said Gibbons.

‘So?’

‘Do you smoke?’ asked Hector.

‘Yeah, now and again, not a crime is it?’

‘So you have matches on you, maybe a lighter?’

‘Now hang on a minute!’

‘Do you own a car?’ asked Gibbons.

‘No. Use me mam’s, when I need to.’

‘Where is it now?’ asked Hector.

Crocker opened the front door and nodded across the road to a small car park where five cars were gathered together, side by side.

‘It’s the