DCI Isaac Cook Box Set 2

by Phillip Strang

  ‘I don’t make it a habit of letting strange men into my house and into my bed. Mind you, five in the morning, and he’d be out there and running around.’

  ‘And you were just getting in the mood for a return bout.’

  ‘I’m a healthy young female with needs, the same as everyone else.’

  ‘I’m not criticising,’ Wendy said. ‘I’ve been there, done that, got the badge.’

  ‘I bet you have,’ Amelia said, a smirk on her face. ‘The fire still burns hot?’

  ‘Not as hot as it once did. Now, getting back to Barry. He had another woman; did you know that?’

  ‘Not that it was any of my business, but no. We were friends, nothing more.’

  ‘This other woman was older than him by a few years, married.’

  ‘Attractive?’

  ‘Yes, but not as attractive as you.’

  ‘Thanks, but that’s how I need to be. A life of starving myself and doing the right exercises. Not much fun sometimes. Mother does nothing and look at her.’

  ‘This woman is nearly twenty years older than him, old enough to be his mother. Barry had spent time with her, professed love.’

  ‘Love? Barry?’

  ‘Incapable?’

  ‘I’m not saying he is, but the man was beautiful. An unusual term to use about a man, but he was. Physical perfection, a woman’s ideal.’

  ‘But you didn’t fall for him?’

  ‘You’ve met my parents, sensible people. I take after them. Perfection is fleeting, a façade that fades with time. It’s the inner person that ensures contentment; the outer layer is for the momentary pleasure.’

  ‘A good lover?’

  ‘The best. I’ve tried a couple since, but they don’t measure up. I don’t know where he learnt his technique, but he was a master at his trade.’

  ‘A gigolo?’

  ‘Not with me. I wasn’t about to give him money, he knew that. This other woman, what about her? Rich, starved of love?’

  ‘Starved of love appears likely. She’s not noticeably rich, although she had access to some; not enough for a serious gigolo.’

  ‘What’s enough? Not everyone’s driven by greed. What if he only wanted enough to live well, sleep with whoever?’

  ‘He had that, and then when he wanted, the young and nubile.’

  ‘There was me. Go on, say it.’

  ‘We thought he might have been fixated on older women, but if he slept with you, that tends to destroy that argument.’

  ‘Not in itself. What man would get up before the crack of dawn when there’s a woman ready and willing? That never made sense to me.’

  ‘The man could have had commitment issues; not willing to allow himself to be emotionally or sexually controlled.’

  ‘If Matilda was screwed up, he could have been as well.’

  ***

  Stanley Montgomery sat in the interview room. After what Larry had seen at the man’s house, he couldn’t care less that he did not have a cup of tea, a comfortable chair.

  Larry Hill did not like the man, although that didn’t make him a murderer. Regardless of what other crimes he may have committed, whatever antisocial and sociopathic actions he may have done, it was still homicide that interested the team.

  Larry remembered Constable Elaine Sand’s parting comment: ‘He’s either Saint Stanley of the Divine Benevolence or the devil incarnate.’ He had thought it an accurate observation of a man who appeared to care, but was it care? Or control? A need to maintain his assets in good condition, the car regularly serviced and washed, the house neat and tidy. Could it be that he approached his wife and children in the same way, treating them with reverence, showing them the way, mollycoddling them, not allowing them to cross the road?

  And then, Barry, the son, moves on and out. Disinherited, forgotten, his name never to be mentioned. But then, Matilda had moved out, and Stanley Montgomery had stood by her, had given her a house, money probably. Yet he had never seen her again.

  Larry felt that the man needed a psychiatric evaluation, but that could wait. For now, the truth; later the defence’s arguments that the man had had a difficult childhood, never knowing a moment’s peace, beaten by an uncaring father until his skin was raw. Even if the man had killed his son, the chance of a conviction, a custodial sentence in prison, was unlikely. More probable was that he would spend time in a high-security psychiatric hospital, drugged into complacency, never feeling guilt, never being cured.

  Isaac was the first to enter the interview room. He proffered a hand as a courtesy. Montgomery glowered back, his hands folded.

  ‘Let’s get this over with,’ Montgomery said. ‘My wife?’

  ‘You’ve already been told. I’ve spoken with her,’ Larry said.

  ‘You’ve no right.’

  ‘Mr Montgomery, do you want a drink before we start?’ Isaac asked.

  ‘Not in this place.’

  ‘Very well.’ Isaac went through the procedure, informed Mr Montgomery that he was helping them in their enquiries into the murder of Barry Montgomery.

  Montgomery sat still, said nothing. His head did not move. He did not see the light up above, the heater in the corner, the sun streaming in through a window set high up, the bars on it. All he saw were the eyes of the two police inspectors: Detective Chief Inspector Isaac Cook and Detective Inspector Larry Hill.

  Isaac saw it as an attempt at intimidation, and it was not going to work. He had stared down a few villains in his time, and Montgomery was not up to their calibre.

  ‘We found your wife locked in her room,’ Larry said.

  ‘If you had bothered to check, you will find that my wife is absent-minded. It was for her own protection.’

  ‘A medical condition?’

  ‘I believe so.’

  ‘Has she been to a doctor’s?’

  ‘Is this relevant?’ Montgomery said. ‘She is a person with a nervous disposition. I have ensured her well-being after the death of our daughter. We are both grieving, and you still have the temerity to drag me down here, to embarrass me in front of our neighbours.’

  ‘Mr Montgomery,’ Isaac said, ‘why don’t we stop this charade? You are an insensitive man, a man that it is easy to dislike. You do not care what your neighbours think or do, as long as they keep away from you. A police car to bring you here can only enhance your reputation, or lack of it. You should be pleased with what we did for you.’

  ‘Is this it? A slanging match while you insult me. I’ve a wife to care for, a daughter to bury.’

  ‘A son that needs justice.’

  ‘I will not hear that man’s name mentioned.’

  ‘You’re not in your house; you’re in a police station. Barry Montgomery was your son. He’s been murdered. Now, we have some possibilities. One, it was a married woman he was having an affair with, or it was her husband. We’re not convinced about the woman, although the husband remains a possibility. Then we come to you and Matilda. You hated your son, and we are told he struck you, told you to let Matilda live her life the way she wanted.’

  ‘My wife was not there. She doesn’t know the truth, only what Matilda told her.’

  ‘Not Barry?’

  ‘He would not have said anything...’

  ‘Assuming it’s not you, then it’s Matilda, burdened with guilt over her relationship with her brother.’

  ‘Are you implying that my children were sleeping together? My dear Matilda with that brute?’

  ‘We’re implying nothing. It is you that is expressing the possibilities. Did you drive them together, their defence against you and their upbringing?’

  ‘They always had the best.’

  ‘You keep saying that, but they left as soon as they could. Your house is a prison. Tastefully decorated, and comfortable, but children, as they are growing up, need the chance to develop, to make mistakes, to fall in love, to fall out again.’

  ‘That may be your family, not mine. I protected them, and then they deserted me, left me with
their mother.’

  ‘You don’t love your wife?’ Isaac asked.

  ‘She is getting old, and Matilda, she was so beautiful and innocent. I wanted her to stay that way.’

  ‘You transferred your physical affection from the mother to the daughter, is that the truth?’ Larry said.

  Montgomery jumped up from his seat and grabbed Larry by the throat. The man’s grip was firm, and Isaac couldn’t release it. Two uniforms, on hearing the commotion, came into the room, separating Montgomery from Larry.

  Larry took a seat, attempting to catch his breath. Isaac stood, not sure how to make sense of what had just occurred. Montgomery sat stunned, taking deep breaths, his face red.

  ‘Fifteen-minute break,’ Isaac said, pausing the interview. ‘Mr Montgomery, tea, coffee, something to eat.’

  ‘My apologies. You touched a raw nerve.’

  Twenty-five minutes later, the interview resumed. By that time, Larry had had the chance to recover, and Stanley Montgomery had been looked at by a doctor. The man was declared to be in good health, but suffering from stress.

  ‘The man’s got a pulse, we know that,’ Larry said sarcastically when the doctor updated him and Isaac.

  Isaac again went through the procedure before recommencing the interview. As far as he was concerned, Larry had baited the man, not that he could blame him. It should be kid gloves with the father of a murdered man, a daughter who had committed suicide. The man’s impenetrable barrier was unnerving Larry, and Isaac knew that he would have liked to grab the man and throw him about until he started telling the truth. Each time they met the man, a little more came out, yet where was the meat, the information that would allow the police to come to some conclusion?

  ‘Inspector Hill is probing, Mr Montgomery. You do realise this?’ Isaac said.

  ‘Insulting the memory of my Matilda, I could not allow that.’

  ‘Let’s go back to the beginning. You are not a pleasant man, certainly not charismatic, rude most of the time, dismissive at others. Is that a fair description?’

  ‘I love my family, always have,’ Montgomery said.

  ‘Let’s clarify what I said originally.’

  ‘Then, yes, I will grant you that. I mean no harm, I commit no crime, pay my taxes, clothe and feed my family. Although they don’t always understand.’

  ‘No one would.’

  ‘It was my childhood, harsh and uncaring, a brute for a father, a mother who didn’t care.’

  ‘No doubt of interest to a psychoanalyst,’ Larry said, ‘but it doesn’t advance the investigation, does it?’

  ‘I met my wife in my last year at university. We married within three months. Even then I was dismissive of people. But Janice, she understood. We were happy, and then along came Barry, followed by Matilda two years later. It was easy when they were young, always at our coattails, wanting to be with us, listening to what we had to say. Of course, they could be naughty, but it was harmless and childish.’

  ‘What happened?’ Isaac asked.

  ‘They grew up. Matilda started to develop adolescent crushes on boys at school, pop singers.’

  ‘The same as my eldest,’ Larry said. ‘They grow out of it.’

  ‘It was unhealthy, and her schooling suffered, and then she got in with a bad crowd, swearing, answering back to her mother, to me. I had to stop it.’

  ‘Patience and guidance work best.’

  ‘I tried them both, but to Matilda, as well as to Barry, I was steeped in the past.’

  ‘You stopped them finding themselves?’

  ‘Not all the time, and then Matilda came home from school, a flaming row with her mother, abusive towards me.’

  ‘What was said?’

  ‘Matilda was fifteen, almost sixteen. She’d met a young man at school, and…’

  ‘She told you that she had had sex with this young man. Is that what you are trying to say?’

  ‘Yes. After that, I kept her at home as much as I could. Picked her up from school, dropped her off in the morning.’

  ‘How did she respond?’

  ‘I loved her, you know that?’

  ‘We don’t doubt that, although what you did doesn’t help. She was at an impressionable age, looking to her peers for advice, not to you.’

  ‘I couldn’t accept it. I tightened the controls on her, on Barry, but then she left home and went to university.’

  ‘Young men?’

  ‘I don’t think so. In truth, Matilda was not an affectionate person, more like me than her mother. But she had wanted to experiment. I could see her getting in with the wrong crowd at university, a repeat of what had happened at school. I went to the house she shared, offered to drive her from home to the university and back every day. I had her interests at heart. I was doing it for her. She was so innocent, a rose amongst thorns.’

  ‘It’s obsessive,’ Larry said.

  ‘It’s parental love. Your children will grow up, want to leave home, start answering back, call you a retarded old fool who should be in a museum.’

  ‘You hit your daughter at the house she shared?’

  ‘Never. I may have grabbed her by her arm, but I could never hit her; she knew that.’

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘Barry was there. The relationship between us was not good. He’s more like his mother.’

  ‘Did he intervene?’

  ‘He tried to reason with me, to let Matilda stay at the house. He was taking out one of the housemates, not sure which one. You know about Barry?’

  ‘That he was attractive to women?’ Isaac said.

  ‘Young or old, they would always fawn over him. Even when he was young, he had this innate charm. He knew it as well.’

  ‘That’s why we’ve considered that a jealous husband or a former boyfriend could have killed him.’

  ‘It’s possible. Matilda loved him more than anyone else in the world, but it was the love of a sister for a brother, and I never touched her. I couldn’t, too pure, too innocent.’

  ‘She had a boyfriend a few months ago,’ Isaac said. ‘We’ve interviewed him. He said she was emotionally cold. Does that surprise you?’

  ‘She meant no harm, but she could not express herself the way that her mother could, that Barry could.’

  ‘Yet with all this love for Matilda, you never saw her again.’

  ‘I couldn’t, don’t you understand? She had grown up, and she had boyfriends, lovers. My feelings towards her never changed, but she was tainted goods.’

  ‘You gave her a house.’

  ‘What else could I do? I wanted to protect her, but I couldn’t control her anymore. I did the best I could; not good enough, obviously.’

  ‘Let’s come back to Barry. What happened after the incident at the shared house?’

  ‘I never saw him again. Not that I didn’t want to at first, but then he changed. No longer was he with a woman by choice; now he was selling himself.’

  ‘A male escort?’

  ‘It upset his mother when she found out, and I vowed never to allow his name to be mentioned again.’

  ‘Your wife?’

  ‘She wanted to forgive him, but I forbade it. It would have been too much emotional stress for her to deal with. I did it to protect her.’

  ‘Were you ashamed of your son?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Matilda?’

  ‘Her mother would meet her. I paid all her bills. I hoped that one day she would find a good man, settle down, and then we could have reconciled, but now…’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Montgomery,’ Isaac said. ‘I don’t think we have any more questions for now. Sorry, only one. The shared house, do you have its address?’

  Montgomery wrote the address on a piece of paper and left the room. The two police officers could see a broken man; a man who had confronted his demons, a man who through his actions had sent his two children on a path from which there was no return.

  Chapter 16

  There was no doubt in anybody’s mind that
bringing Stanley Montgomery into Homicide had been a good move. For once they had a new avenue of enquiry that would take them away from the current suspects, and into hitherto unconsidered areas.

  Wendy could see the need to meet with Christine Mason again. If, and it seemed clear that it was true, Barry Montgomery, alias Colin Young, alias whoever else, had been selling his services, then had the accounts manager at the Fitzroy Hotel been a client or a paramour? Had the man’s feelings for her been genuine, had hers for him? And was the manager, the unpleasant man that Wendy instinctively didn’t like and Christine was afraid of, not the villain of the piece, but merely a man who had seen the truth?

  ‘What do you reckon?’ Larry asked.

  Wendy was still trying to digest all that she was being told, trying to put the pieces together, aiming to identify inconsistencies in Christine Mason’s story, her hesitancy, her need to look away at certain times. ‘We need to know who paid the bill at the Fitzroy,’ she said.

  ‘The credit card, we know it was valid and in the name of Colin Young,’ Bridget said.

  ‘If the man was a male escort, then where did he operate from? How do the women make contact with him? And why the Fitzroy?’

  ‘As good a place as any to make contact with his clients,’ Larry said.

  ‘Not if Christine Mason was there, it wasn’t,’ Wendy said. ‘We know her to be a jealous woman, and if she had seen anything…’

  ‘Anything what?’

  ‘She would have had her proof. But we know the story about the taxi near to Paddington Station is correct. Why tell us that story if she had known the truth about him before?’

  ‘Unless she was blinded by love,’ Isaac said.

  The team was in Isaac’s office, the investigation was getting hot, the culprit was not far from being discovered, hiding behind a thin disguise. It was the time that DCI Isaac Cook liked the best: the adrenaline rush, the quickening heartbeat, the added passion in the office. Days spent sifting through unknowns, finding solutions, clues, avenues of inquiry, people to interview, and then…

  One recalcitrant and disagreeable man who under pressure had revealed a hitherto unknown secret. One so awful that he could not bring himself to say the word, let alone allow his son’s name to be spoken again.