And the woman upstairs had apparently died of natural causes, although that did not obviate her being poisoned, a skeleton unable to reveal that possibility.
‘It’s the inheritance,’ Isaac said. In the office, Larry Hill and Chief Superintendent Goddard, his uniform proudly worn.
‘It’s for the presentation of a gallantry medal to the constable who was shot when he was protecting a woman from an irate husband,’ the chief superintendent said.
Anything to promote himself, Isaac thought. Goddard was looking to take over Counter Terrorism Command when the time was right, although that wasn’t likely to happen as long as Alwyn Davies was the commissioner of the London Metropolitan Police, and the man wasn’t in a hurry to vacate his post.
Davies, the man who was going to reform the Met, bring it into the twenty-first century, but instead had proven himself to be an adroit political animal, had done little in the way of reformation, more in demoralising. At least that was the opinion of Isaac and Goddard, although there were others who had prospered.
‘No chance of an early arrest?’ Goddard said.
‘Not yet. We’ve not got a motive for the murder. Sure, the man had money, but not in the house, and no one’s gained anything yet. Once the man’s last will and testament is read, we’ll have a better idea.’
‘And when’s that?’
‘Tomorrow. The family will be gathering at Leonard Dundas’s office at ten in the morning. I’ll be in Dundas’s office, although I’ll probably not be at the reading. However, I will be given a copy afterwards.’
‘Not all the family will be there,’ Goddard said.
‘Ralph probably won’t be. The father may not have liked him, but he’s probably included in the will somewhere.’
‘No guarantees. It would help if you were in when the will is read.’
‘Outside will be fine. I’ll see the people as they come out from Dundas’s office.’
***
Ralph Lawrence prowled up and down in his hotel room in Kensington. It had cost plenty, more than he could afford, but what did it matter. He would either pay for it with one of the cards he possessed or he wouldn’t. He knew that his return to England, not that he had any option, was a necessary risk, and there were some people not far away who wanted money in cash, and he could not pay. And he knew how they dealt with those who crossed them.
‘One month from now you will be in here, or we will find you,’ they had said. And now he was back in their part of the world, and he still remembered the man with his shattered kneecaps groaning in agony, their idea of a warning.
‘Just so you don’t forget, take a close look at him,’ one of the three had said. Criminal nobility, that was what Ralph Lawrence knew their lead man to be.
If only I hadn’t tried to cheat those men in Spain. How was I to know that the British tourists, a sweet and gullible husband and wife team, were part of a sting to trap me? Ralph Lawrence thought in a moment of introspection.
And now he was in England, and the repayment to the man and his thugs could not be avoided. He knew being here was a risk, but his father’s death had been providence from heaven. A chance for the miserable old skinflint of a father to pay for all the suffering he had caused him, and as for the others, his son, his sister and her husband, what did they matter. Once the gangsters had been paid off, he was going straight, straight from Heathrow and back out to where it was warm, to purchase himself a good house, a good car, and find himself a willing woman. Ralph Lawrence was not a vain man; he knew that he had the gift of the gab, and this time, he would not need to pretend with the woman. This time he would be rich.
***
Molly Dempster, for the first time in her adult life, found herself without a routine. She did not like it, having been used to her twice-weekly visits to the Lawrence mansion. She did not know why she had been invited to the office of Leonard Dundas on the following day. She knew it had to be important, but she had never asked for anything from her employers and had never once been tempted to take anything from the house: not a bar of soap, nor washing up liquid, nor even some money occasionally. All that she purchased for the home she accounted for in her neat and meticulous handwriting. She felt great sorrow for the man who had died, even sadness for a woman who had died decades before. She could only imagine the anguish that her husband must have gone through. If she had known, she would have made an effort to soothe the man.
Caroline, she knew, was a compassionate woman. She’d ask her tomorrow at Dundas’s for three months to move out of the house that Gilbert Lawrence had let her live in. She had saved some money and could afford to pay the rent for a while. After that, she could live with her sister, though she didn’t want to. Molly knew that as much as she loved her sister, the woman could drive her mad with her untidiness, her need to smoke in the house. Gilbert’s death had signalled to Molly the closing of her life, and all she could do was resign herself to the inevitable. She sat down again on the kitchen chair and shed a tear, not only for Gilbert and Dorothy but for herself.
Chapter 6
An auspicious occasion, the reading of the last will and testament of Gilbert Aloysius Lawrence: recluse, property magnate.
Isaac knew that the accolade of philanthropist would not be used in any obituary, not even at the man’s funeral, as he had never given much to anyone outside of his family, and only to charity when it came with a sizeable reduction in tax.
Bridget, in the office, had checked back for any press cuttings in the last thirty years and had found very little. The name of Lawrence had appeared in the financial sections of the newspapers from time to time, but apart from that, there was not much of interest.
Ralph Lawrence had more column inches devoted to him, due to his behaviour in his teens, starting with drunken and loutish and culminating in appearing in court on a charge of passing fake cheques.
As Bridget had said to Isaac, the man’s a habitual conman, no perceivable morals, good or bad, a rotten egg as her father would have said. All that could be found about Caroline Dickson, née Lawrence, were the details of her wedding, as well as a photo.
Isaac sat in the reception area of Leonard Dundas’s office; he was early. The young woman at reception had given him a coffee and a magazine to read, although those coming in through the door were of more interest. Jill Dundas, Leonard’s daughter, came over and introduced herself. Isaac found her to be polite, but not friendly, purely professional. He judged her to be in her forties. She was wearing a dark blue jacket with matching trousers, a white blouse. If her look was anything to go by, she was a worthy person to take over from her father, Leonard, who had come into the office looking tired, more so than the first time Isaac had met him.
‘It’s a nightmare,’ Leonard Dundas said. ‘When Gilbert was alive, he kept his finger on the pulse. But now, his death has left a lot of people anxious.’
‘What sort of people?’
‘Tenants, lending institutions, overseas banks.’
‘Why? Surely everything is secured.’
‘Secured, yes, but people are people, they panic. And besides, what’s to worry about? Gilbert was solvent, and no lease agreements have been impacted.’
‘Was Lawrence still buying?’
‘He never stopped.’
‘New instructions?’
‘It depends who inherits.’
‘Ralph gave us the slip at Heathrow. We’re trying to find him and his son,’ Isaac said.
Caroline Dickson entered the office, nodded at Isaac. Her husband accompanied her, as did Emma, Gilbert’s sister. Molly Dempster came in looking a little unsure of the surroundings. The receptionist gave her a cup of tea, and showed her where to go, and ensured she was seated comfortably. Isaac could see through the open door that Caroline gave the housekeeper a brief hug.
The door to where Dundas was to read the will closed soon after. Isaac strained to listen but could hear nothing. A man walked into the solicitor’s office. He was puffing, and he looked
as though he had had a rough night. Isaac knew that he was face-to-face with Ralph Lawrence.
‘Where’s the meeting?’ Ralph said to the receptionist.
‘Your name?’
‘Ralph Lawrence. Sorry for being late, traffic.’
‘I’m Detective Chief Inspector Cook,’ Isaac said, standing up to introduce himself. ‘We missed you at Heathrow.’
‘You didn’t miss me. I missed you. Subtle difference.’
‘There are some questions we have for you.’
‘After we’ve dealt with finding out who my father has given his money to. He was a difficult man, we never got on, although I suppose you know that. And my mother upstairs in the house. I thought he was smarter than that. Did he kill her?’
‘Not that we can prove. Is there any reason he would have?’
‘None that I can think of. I liked him when we were young, but then he became remote, thought that throwing money at our education, paying for overseas trips, was the solution.’
‘Challis Street Police Station after the reading, okay?’
‘As long as he hasn’t given it all to the Battersea Dogs Home, that’ll be fine.’
Ralph Lawrence rushed away, entering through the door into the room where the rest of the family, as well as Molly Dempster, sat. Isaac craned his neck to see the reaction of the others but could see little. The one man who had remained elusive, the one man that his family had not wanted to see, and for whom Wendy had been searching, had walked into the solicitor’s office.
Isaac took his phone out of his pocket. ‘Wendy, Ralph is at Dundas’s. Get down here, take a good look at him, and make sure he doesn’t give us the slip again.’
***
Leonard Dundas rose to speak. The others in the room held their breath, looked nervously around them, all except Molly who sipped her tea. She would have admitted to being baffled as to why she was there, and what was being said. She had an aunt who had left her a teapot once when she had died, but the handle had fallen off long ago, and all she received from her parents, who had been as poor as church mice, was a demand from the council to pay the electricity or it would be cut off.
And there in that room was Ralph, looking much older than the last time she had seen him, vaguely smelling of aftershave and alcohol.
Such an attractive young man, she remembered, always trying to sneak a girl into the house, never getting past his father, but he had charmed Molly as well as the girls, and if the coast was clear, she had turned the occasional blind eye – not that she approved. She was strict Presbyterian, and they didn’t do such things, not before marriage. Not that it stopped a few in the congregation, she knew that.
Caroline sat on the other side of the room. She was clutching her husband’s hand, hard.
I, Gilbert Aloysius Lawrence, presently of 47 Atherton Street, Kensington, London, England, hereby revoke all former testamentary dispositions made by me and declare this to be my last will.
Those present listened as the preliminary declarations were made, and the nomination of Leonard Dundas as the man’s executor. In the event of his being unable to complete his duties, then Jill Dundas was to take the role of executor. Caroline Dickson and Ralph Lawrence waited for the distribution of the estate. The fact that their father’s solicitor had been nominated as the executor concerned Caroline, not so much Ralph, as long as he received his fair share.
To Molly Dempster, a person who has shown great loyalty to the family, I extend my thanks.
The housekeeper looked up when her name was mentioned. Ralph was instantly suspicious that Molly and her father had been involved, but he took a further look, and realised that both of them had been too old, and Molly had always been the eternal spinster, but…
The house that she currently occupies will be signed over to her. The deeds will be made available in her name, and she is to continue to receive her salary until her death. Also, all costs relating to council rates, electricity, gas, and maintenance will be paid out of my estate. A fund will be established to cover this. As well, a one-off payment of one million pounds will be deposited in a savings account for her use.
One house down, over two hundred more properties, Caroline and Ralph thought. Neither of them had any problem with Molly receiving the house and the money. Molly sat stunned, not sure what to make of what had been said. Ralph leaned over and whispered in her ear. ‘He’s given you the house,’ he said.
‘Does that mean I don’t have to go and live with my sister?’
‘You’re rich. You don’t have to go anywhere. Our father has looked after you well.’
‘Oh, good. I am pleased,’ Molly said. Leonard Dundas could see that the woman was confused. He would have a word with her before she left.
Dundas continued.
To my son Ralph, a disappointment, in that he has frittered away an excellent education, a stable upbringing, and chosen not to embrace frugality and sound business practices, I bequeath nothing.
‘What the …?’ Ralph jumped to his feet. ‘He can’t do this, not to me. I have debts to pay, people with demands.’
‘Sit down, Ralph,’ Caroline said. ‘Hear what Mr Dundas has to say.’
‘I can’t leave here with nothing, I can’t.’
‘Mr Lawrence, Ralph, if I could have your forbearance, there is more,’ Dundas said. Jill Dundas sat quietly taking in the interactions of the people. It would be her who would have to deal with them afterwards.
However, he is to be offered redemption. If he can hold down suitable employment for one year, with no cheating, no harebrained get-rich schemes, and no seduction of gullible women, then subject to the recommendation of a group of eminent persons that I have assembled, a sum of five million pounds is to be given to him. That money will be transferred to him over a five-year period in monthly instalments.
‘Who came up with that?’ Ralph said.
‘Your father,’ Dundas said. ‘I believe the term is that you’ve been snookered.’
‘I’ll challenge the will.’
‘At the end of this reading, it will be necessary for those present to sign that they will not contest the will. If they do not, then all monies to them will be forfeited.’
‘And given to who?’
‘The money will be held in trust for another generation. Mr Lawrence was an astute man. He had thought this through very carefully, and with my advice.’
‘He was mad, mentally incapable. There’s no court in the country would believe that he was a sane man, thirty years in that house with our mother, a corpse. What kind of man does that, and did he kill her? We don’t know that yet.’
‘Be quiet,’ Caroline said. Ralph sat down, a scowl on his face. Desmond Dickson looked at the man, remembered him from when they had last met, eleven years ago at least. He hadn’t liked the man then, he liked him even less now.
Michael Lawrence, my grandson, through Ralph, has become a person of weak character. A fund sufficient for his rehabilitation has been set up, and he will voluntarily check into a private facility that will treat his addiction. He is an intelligent young man, poorly guided by a father of low repute. If, after one year, Ralph’s son, with Ralph’s active encouragement, is still clean and contributing to society, then Ralph will receive an additional payment of one million pounds. Michael will also receive one million pounds at that time. If, as I expect, he has not re-entered society, then Ralph will not receive either the five million pounds or the additional one million pounds. I will further add that I do not believe that any of the money bequeathed to Ralph and his son will ever be paid. I cannot, in death, profess to like my son and my grandson any more than I did when I was alive.
Ralph sat quietly. He knew people who would deal with the high-and-mighty Leonard Dundas.
To Caroline, my daughter, a person that I have missed over the years, but could not bear to see, on account of her mother, I bequeath five million pounds. An additional one million pounds are bequeathed to each of her and Desmond Dickson’s childre
n. Both of them have taken their place in society, and I can only express my admiration for them. Unfortunately, I have never met either, except when they were very young, but I have received regular reports, as I have on all those present here today.
‘What does that mean?’ Emma Lawrence asked. So far, she had sat quietly.
‘Yearly reports were prepared by a private investigator, a discreet man. Mr Lawrence led the life of a recluse, but he was well aware of what went on. His mind was still alert, his business acumen was sound.’
‘He was as mad as a hatter, locked up in that house,’ Ralph said. He had been quietly seething, knowing full well that a will was invalid if signed by an incapacitated person. And he knew madness when it was there staring everyone in the face.
‘Gilbert Lawrence’s will has been updated every year. He was a sane man, and tests were conducted to prove that he was.’
‘The man never left the house. How could he have been sane?’
‘Proof will be supplied if required.’
‘Whoever did these so-called sanity checks, did they know that my father had his wife upstairs, a skeleton that he had prepared in the cellar of the house?’
‘That knowledge was not available,’ Dundas said.
‘Then we are wasting our time here. I’ve better things to do than sit here and listen to the last words of a madman,’ Ralph said.
‘Under the terms of the last will and testament of Gilbert Lawrence, you will forfeit any claim on his estate if you do not sign your agreement here today.’
DCI Isaac Cook Box Set 2 Page 25
