The Inspector Walter Darriteau Murder Mysteries - Books 1-4

that, but we’d like to hear it from your own lips.’
Bill Brambles glanced up at the unshaded bulb and back at the cops.
‘We were just coming into the station...’
‘We?’ asked Karen.
‘Me and the loco,’ grinned Brambles, ‘a hundred and thirty tonnes of raw power, ten carriages, perhaps thirty people a carriage, and the crew too, maybe three hundred people, I was hardly alone.’
‘I see,’ said Walter, ‘so what happened?’
‘We entered the station. It was very quiet. I noticed that because I thought there was only one guy on the platform. A tall bloke.’
‘The unfortunate one?’ said Karen.
Brambles nodded.
Walter gave her a look as if to tell her to stop interrupting.
‘He stepped toward the edge, but not in a threatening way. It all happened so fast, more like a spotter, an enthusiast, as if he were about to take our picture, but he didn’t seem to have a camera.’
‘He was alone?’ asked Walter.
‘No! No, he wasn’t, that’s the funny thing. As he stepped forward I glimpsed another figure behind, he or she stepped forward too, always standing behind the main man. I couldn’t see the other person; I never did, not properly.’
‘What happened then?’
‘We were travelling 65mph, maybe 70mph, that’s pretty quick through a station. There are so many things to monitor. The last thing you want to see is an unattended pram, or buggy rolling toward the edge.’
‘I can imagine,’ said Karen.
‘As we approached, the main guy was close to the edge, too close, and in the next moment he fell, almost dived, in front of Dodo.’
‘Dodo?’ said Walter.
Brambles childishly smiled. ‘We call the engine Dodo.’
‘I see,’ said Walter, pondering for a second the absurdity of it.
‘I slammed on the brakes, an automatic reaction, but a total waste of time.’
‘Did you see the other person on the platform?’ asked Karen.
‘No. We were well past by then. Not even a glimpse. It was just a blur. You can’t imagine how quick it happened.’
‘Did the main man jump, or was he pushed?’ asked Walter.
‘Hard to say, it could have been either, but the second figure was very close, right behind, out of vision.’
‘As if they were hiding from you?’ suggested Karen.
Brambles pondered on that and pulled a face. ‘Maybe.’
‘What’s your gut feeling?’ asked Walter.
‘My gut feeling is... he was pushed.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘If you are going to jump in front of a train you would have planned it, wouldn’t you? You would have gone to that station knowing what you were about to do.’
‘You’d still be terrified at the prospect,’ said Karen.
Again Walter shot her a look.
‘Yeah maybe, but the look on this guy’s face was not so much one of terror, more one of surprise, not that I got that much of a look, it all happened in a split second. One instant he’s there, the next he isn’t, the next I’m past him and out of there. All done, in the blink of an eye. Not pleasant, I can tell you. I wouldn’t mind, but this is my second one this year.’
‘Oh?’ said Walter.
‘Yeah, just before the Woodhead tunnel in January. No doubt about that one. He jumped on the track and walked straight toward me, grinning.’
‘Oh, geez,’ said Karen.
‘Yeah, exactly. Why can’t these cranks take a pot of pills or summat? What have we ever done to deserve this kind of trauma?’
‘Maybe the guy at Mostyn wasn’t a crank,’ suggested Walter.
‘Maybe you’re right,’ said Brambles, ‘but we’ll never know, will we?’
‘Is there anything else you can tell us?’
‘Not really. As I say, it all happened in an instant.’
Walter sighed and Karen stood up.
‘Thanks, Mr Brambles, you’ve been most helpful,’ said Walter, standing and offering his hand.
Brambles took it and shook it; and Karen’s too, and a moment later the officers were outside in the car.
‘Well?’ said Karen. ‘Back to the station?’
‘No. Not yet. Take me to Audlem, it’s near here, there’s a pub I know. We’ll have a drink and a think, and a chat.’

Chapter Six
The Shroppie Fly was located on the canal bank. Walter had discovered it when one of his former girlfriends, Audrey from the mission, had persuaded him to take a boating holiday with her. The one evening they spent in the Fly was the highlight of the week, so far as he was concerned.
There were three or four painted metal tables and chairs outside overlooking the brown water. A group of mallard ducks were squabbling on the far side.
‘Grab a table,’ said Walter. ‘I’ll get the drinks,’ and he disappeared inside.
‘White wine for me,’ she said, smirking.
Walter harrumphed.
Karen sat down on one of the cold chairs and looked out across the canal. There were four narrowboats berthed there. They didn’t look as if they had moved since the previous summer, long multi coloured craft with large names painted on their sides. Genevieve, London. RickySue, Skipton. The Blue Goose, Ilkeston, and Sir Winkalot, Chester. Two more barges were coming down the canal in line astern, heading for the locks that would take them down toward Chester. The first one had four guys onboard. They saw the slim blonde sitting there on her own-some and waved and smiled and shouted, ‘Need some company, love?’
But before she could answer, a big black bloke came out of the pub carrying drinks, and sat beside her.
Karen waved them away, and the guys waved back and shouted ‘Another time maybe!’ and then they were gone.
‘Friends of yours?’
‘Not yet,’ she grinned.
He passed her an orange juice. His was a large pint of foaming real ale, two inches already missing, in a straight glass, most important, ‘and here’s your lunch,’ he said, ‘on me,’ tossing a packet of salt and vinegar crisps across the table.
‘Diet,’ she said, pushing them back.
He didn’t mind. He could manage two.
‘So,’ he said. ‘What have we got, exactly?’
‘We have two deaths that could be accident or suicide, in which case there is no case to investigate.’
‘True, but we also have two cases that could be murders, in which case there is one, and possibly two