The Inspector Walter Darriteau Murder Mysteries - Books 1-4

murderers out there, and that needs investigating.’
‘We can rule Marian out of the railway death, she was at her solicitors,’ said Karen. ‘Let’s assume for a moment we have two murders, and they’re linked, are we looking for a man or a woman?’
‘Could be either,’ said Walter.
‘I think it’s a man.’
‘Why?’
‘Just a feeling.’
‘Keep feelings out of it,’ said Walter, gulping his drink, ‘stick to the evidence.’
‘Ooh, that’s rich coming from you. You thought Marian did it.’
‘No I didn’t. I just didn’t want to rule her out too soon.’
There was a short silence as if they were thinking on different lines and Walter said, ‘What is the motive?’
‘Good question. They were both preachers. Someone with a grudge against vicars, perhaps? Maybe they buggered up a wedding.’
Walter snorted. ‘Hardly a good enough reason to kill.’
‘It’s been done for less,’ she said, echoing his earlier words, and then she said, ‘Could this be more sinister than we think?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘An Islamist thing. You know, someone messing with a fundamentalist’s brain? Putting ideas into their heads.’
‘Going round murdering Christian preachers? Well, it’s possible I suppose, though unlikely, but everything about this case looks unlikely. One thing’s for sure; we rule nothing out until we know different. More to the point, did the victims know one another?’
‘That’s a good place to start.’
‘It is,’ said Walter. ‘When we get back to Chester you make that your number one line of enquiry. If you can show they knew each other, there might be a common friend or acquaintance, and then we could be getting somewhere. My worry is these are random killings.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘How did the killer know that Colin Rivers would cross that road at that time? How did the killer know that James Kingston would be at Mostyn station standing on the platform at that time? I don’t see a connection. I don’t think he knew either. I think it’s random.’
‘You said he.’
‘He or she.’
‘If they are random killings, we’ll have our work cut out,’ said Karen.
‘Random killings are the hardest to solve. No motive at all, other than personal satisfaction.’
‘In that case let’s hope it’s the preacher thing. Do you think we should go public and warn all preachers to be on their guard?’
‘I’ve been thinking about that. It won’t be long before the press gets hold of this. I wondered if we should call a press conference before they go off at a tangent.’
‘That’ll create mayhem.’
‘Yeah it will, but it might flush our little bunny out.’
‘It’s your call.’
‘Yeah, I’ll have another drink and mull it over,’ said Walter, and he went back into the pub. When he came out he said, ‘And another thing I need you to do. Check out recent releases, prisoners with previous, and the mentally unstable, care in the community, all that crap. Find out if the authorities have recently foisted on us some head-the-balls who should never have been released.’
‘Good point; I’ll check that out first. Erm, where’s my drink?’
‘Oh sorry, did you want one?’
‘Nah, only teasing.’
THE DRIVER LAY ON THE bed, hands behind head, staring at the ceiling. In ten minutes it would be time to get up and prepare for work.
100 Ways to Kill People.
It wasn’t as easy as you might think, not if you wanted to be creative about it, and that was the whole point. Anyone could wander down the high street and pull out a carving knife and ease it into someone’s back, but what was the point in that? Where was the challenge? No, that wouldn’t do.
Time for thinking caps on.
They’d be surprised at the next one.
And why hadn’t there been much publicity?
God, the coppers were slow. They hadn’t put two and two together. They didn’t appear to realise they had two murders on their hands. If they didn’t buck up their ideas a letter to the press might bring them to their senses.
The driver stood and went through to the spare room. Four articles displayed. Much more interesting. Two on the highway, two on the railway. A little speculation by bored journalists, but not much. Had the whole world gone one-eyed? Even the dopey press hadn’t picked up on it. That would have to change. They would all have to change, or maybe, just maybe, they should be next.
Ha, hah!
Would the casino be busy tonight? Probably not. There wasn’t the spare cash about, other than with people who shouldn’t have the money in the first place, and there would always be plenty of those.
Time to get ready. Must look nice.
No more bets, ladies and gentlemen. No more bets!
Twenty black! Vingt noir.

Chapter Seven
William Camber had always been a loner; leastways he had for the past twenty years, ever since he and Lorraine split. He had been a late developer so far as women were concerned. An only child, a domineering mother, a father in the merchant navy who went away for ten months at a stretch, and was drunk for most of the time when he came home. Perhaps it wasn’t surprising William found it hard to relate to other people, and especially women.
He always struggled with the five-hurdle handicap.
To meet a nice girl.
To ask her out.
To have his invitation accepted.
To go on a date.
To take it further.
He’d get past one, or two, or maybe three, but by the time the fourth hurdle reared up in front of him, he’d normally have stumbled.
Then he met Lorraine Bickerstaffe.
She worked on the till in the convenience store on the corner. Lorraine was no kid, but that was fine because William was thirty-nine. She had smiled at him in that special way. She felt a little sorry for him. He always came in alone, and seemed lonely. He wasn’t bad looking, and polite too, and she had been out with a lot worse, though she didn’t care for the whippet he always tied up outside the shop, before setting foot in the store.
The next time he came in she could tell he was nervous. It was quiet that