DCI Isaac Cook Box Set 2

by Phillip Strang

  It was unusual, Larry thought. Back in London, the pathologist, not an affable man, would barely give you the time of day. And no comment before the autopsy.

  Wendy thought there was a refreshing air of informality out of London. She remembered back to when she’d been a junior constable in Sheffield, many years in the past now, the ease of conversation in the station. Of course, there were a few idiots, one or two up themselves, and others who brown-nosed at the first opportunity. Even so, London was better, especially with Isaac Cook as her senior.

  Leaving Jim Greenwood in Pathology, Larry and Wendy took the opportunity to find a small restaurant for lunch.

  ‘It’s my wife,’ Larry said as they sat down, each eating a salad. Larry had to admit that it had been some time since he had tasted food unimpaired by cigarettes and beer. ‘I’ve got to stop smoking now,’ he said.

  ‘Cold turkey is best,’ Wendy said. She knew he would suffer for a few weeks, the same as she had. He’d also find it hard to know what to do with his hands, the need to fumble with the cigarettes in his pocket, the need to take one out to stick in his mouth and light up.

  Ninety minutes later, Greenwood joined them from Pathology. He ordered steak and chips. For once, Larry did not envy him.

  ‘Nothing to report,’ Greenwood said after he had emptied half a bottle of tomato sauce onto his plate. ‘He sliced the woman open from stem to stern.’

  Both Larry and Wendy could tell that Jim Greenwood had not handled the sight of the blood and bone and the woman’s internal organs as well as he tried to portray. They knew that the pathologist would have executed a Y-shaped incision from her shoulder joints, meeting at mid-chest, the stem of the Y ending at the pubic region. He would have then removed the critical organs, including the brain afterwards, and then sent them to be checked and catalogued.

  ‘Apart from that,’ Greenwood continued, taking time out from his meal, ‘Taylor’s only other comments were that the woman appeared to be in good physical condition for her age, that she showed no signs of drug abuse, and that she could have probably lived to a ripe old age apart from her premature death.’

  With no more to do in Plymouth and no reason to go back to Polperro, Larry and Wendy headed back to London. Jim Greenwood would continue with the investigation, and even if he was squeamish, he was a competent police officer. He’d not let them down.

  Chapter 17

  Hamish McIntyre was concerned; the continuing focus on his daughter, Samantha, troubled him. Gareth Armstrong had alerted him to DCI Cook’s visit to Fergus Grantham the night before. And now the death of Liz Spalding, Samantha’s rival for Stephen Palmer’s affection.

  ‘An unexpected surprise,’ Grantham said as he opened his door to find McIntyre standing there.

  ‘It’s not much of a surprise,’ McIntyre replied. He was looking for answers, willing to take whatever actions were necessary to remove the focus from his daughter.

  ‘What was Cook doing around your house last night?’ McIntyre asked as he sat in the chair that Isaac had sat in the previous night.

  ‘He was just fishing. He’s got no evidence against anyone, and his investigation is floundering. No doubt he’s under pressure from his superiors for a result. I was the last possibility, a stone unturned, a chance for him to nibble away at me to gain some information.’

  ‘And what did you give him?’

  ‘Nothing, just a brief reminder that he’s a police officer, and I am an experienced lawyer, and we’re not on a level playing field.’

  McIntyre knew he was being fed a pack of lies by Grantham. ‘You’d better level with me,’ he said.

  Grantham could see that he was being placed in an unenviable position. He wasn’t sure what the man’s reactions would be if he learnt of the strength of the relationship with Samantha. He assumed it would be favourable, but McIntyre had an unequalled reputation for dealing with those who interfered in his affairs.

  ‘I told him nothing,’ Grantham said.

  McIntyre stood up, came close to Grantham. Under normal circumstances, the lawyer would have held his ground, used his intellect to belittle whoever was attempting to win a point against him, but not this time.

  He sat quietly assessing the situation, trying to figure out what to say. For once, he was without words.

  ‘Let me tell you, Fergus Grantham, my daughter is innocent of any crimes levelled against her. If you and she wish to maintain the subterfuge that both of you seem to be at great pains to do, then so be it. She’s old enough, single, and I approve of you as a consort for my daughter.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Grantham said. One hurdle over, he thought.

  ‘Now, let us get back to where we were. What did DCI Cook want here last night?’

  ‘He had proof that Samantha and I were involved. I was in the house that night when the police came to interview her. He wanted me to admit that I was there. They could have asked Samantha, but as Isaac Cook said from that chair where you’re sitting, Samantha is still a person of interest. They’re not sure how she ties in to the deaths of Marcus and Palmer.’

  McIntyre sat down again, this time choosing another seat. Outside, Gareth Armstrong sat in the car.

  ‘I’ve not spoken to her yet,’ Grantham continued. ‘He did not accuse Samantha directly; he only mentioned that she was a person of interest, and now another woman has died, someone who had been involved with Palmer.’ Grantham wanted to say that he suspected Samantha, a logical conclusion. He knew he needed to be careful in what he said.

  McIntyre raised himself from the chair and walked around the room, looked at the pictures on the walls, checked the book Grantham was reading and sat down again. He looked Grantham straight in the eyes. ‘The police will suspect Samantha,’ he said. ‘I want you to find out from her what is the truth.’

  ‘Are you seriously stating that your daughter could be responsible?’

  ‘I’m saying nothing. If, as I believe, you and she are serious, then we need to protect her.’

  ‘Even if she’s guilty?’

  ‘I hope she’s not. Let the police conduct their investigation; you conduct yours and don’t try to conceal anything from me.’

  ‘Did you kill Stephen Palmer?’ Grantham said.

  ‘Others have accused me of lesser crimes. None of them is in any position to give you advice on how you approach me and what you say. I suggest you take heed of that fact. I am giving you my confidence; use it wisely.’

  With that, McIntyre opened the front door of the house and left. Grantham sat for five minutes pondering on what had just occurred. To him, it sounded as though the man had given a de facto confession to the murder of Stephen Palmer and an admission that he was convinced that his daughter had killed Liz Spalding. He would need to act soon, and without hesitation.

  ***

  Larry spent the day after Wendy’s and his return from Cornwall in a haze. As Wendy had predicted, he fumbled in his pocket for his cigarettes, continually holding two fingers up to his mouth in the act of simulation. In the end and in desperation, he had purchased chewing gum to distract him.

  An update from Forensics in Plymouth: they had identified the lipstick that had been found on Liz Spalding’s clothing. It was nothing special, just a lipstick that could be bought in most chemists’ and most department stores.

  Jim Greenwood phoned soon after. ‘We’ve had a visitor down here.’

  ‘Liz Spalding’s delayed man?’ Larry said.

  ‘Not him, Bob Palmer. He said he hadn’t seen Liz for a long time, not since his brother’s funeral. The man was distraught, wanted to see where she died. I got the local doctor to give him a sedative. He’s at the hotel where you stayed. He’s not committed any crime, apart from being a damn nuisance. What do you want me to do with him?’

  ‘Find out how he knew she was down there. We’ve not released the name yet, not all the next of kin have been informed,’ Larry said. ‘It’s almost twenty years since his brother took her out. Time hasn’t moved on for
Bob, and it’s obsessive people who commit murder.’

  ‘He could have killed Liz if Forensics is wrong,’ Wendy said.

  ‘It’s unlikely, but then again, all these years, he could have been stalking her, too scared to approach, unable to leave the past where it belonged. Spend some time with Palmer, push him, find out what you can,’ Larry said. ‘Ask him how he knew it was Liz and how he knew she was in the village. We don’t suspect him of murder, not of her. We should regard him as harmless, but of concern. Check out where he intends to go and what he plans to do after he leaves the village.’

  ***

  Fergus Grantham sat opposite Samantha Matthews in the front room of her house. After his encounter with her father, and what he sensed was a change in the man from polite to malevolent, he was curious to see if Samantha displayed the same.

  He’d never given much thought to McIntyre’s reputation before. He was the man’s lawyer, that was all. He was concerned that the woman he cared for had inherited violent traits from her father; after all, genetic inheritance is stronger than any acquired skills or values.

  ‘You told my father that we’re involved,’ Samantha said. She was dressed in a green dress with matching high heels. It was still early, and she had not finished putting her makeup on when Fergus knocked on the door.

  ‘He knew already. He offered no opinion for or against, but he was clear on one matter, his concern for you.’

  ‘I’ve done nothing, if that’s what he believes. What about you?’

  I believe that you would be justified in any action that you might take.’

  ‘Are you implying I murdered that woman? How dare you imply such a thing.’

  Fergus realised he had not mentioned the name of Liz Spalding or her death. He wasn’t sure if the police had.

  If Samantha had killed the woman, he thought, how could she be so calm? What dark depths were there in her psyche? What else was she capable of?

  He decided a different approach was required to remove her from any possibility of being arrested and found guilty of the murder. He, like her father, didn’t care whether she was guilty or not.

  ‘Your father is concerned,’ Fergus said. ‘He will protect you, regardless. As your lawyer and as a person who loves you, so will I.’

  ‘I know,’ Samantha said. She poured herself a small sherry, poured one for Fergus. She wasn’t sure what to say, as she had no compunction or guilt about what she had done to the woman who had blighted her life. She knew that she had left the village with a sense of elation. ‘There is nothing for you to do, Fergus, and nothing for my father to be concerned about. As you’re here and you’ve got time, I suggest we go upstairs. Is that acceptable for a lawyer to consider?’

  Grantham followed her up the stairs. He knew the truth; the reason was not important, protecting her was.

  Chapter 18

  DCS Goddard met with Isaac. They were in Goddard’s office, the large window behind him, the impressive desk, the leather-backed chair, the symbols of seniority on display.

  ‘One murder of a minor villain, and where are we now?’ Goddard said. ‘What’s the count, if you’re including Liz Spalding?’

  ‘Stephen Palmer’s death is linked with the deaths of Liz Spalding and Marcus Matthews. McIntyre’s daughter, the widow of Marcus Matthews, probably killed Liz Spalding.’

  ‘The tie-in with Stephen Palmer?’ Goddard asked, although he had been keeping up to date with the reports that Isaac was regularly submitting.

  ‘Samantha Matthews was having an affair up to the disappearance and the now known murder of her lover, Stephen Palmer. At the same time, he was taking out Liz Spalding.’

  ‘Does the neighbourhood where Samantha Matthews lives know of her family history?’

  ‘According to her, nobody does, or else they’re wise enough not to deal in idle gossip. Her next-door neighbour knew, but he was sleeping with his business partner’s wife while the man was away drumming up business. The man had his own secrets, no gain in revealing someone else’s. He has no connection with any of the murdered people, other than a neighbourly friendship with Samantha, a few occasions exchanging pleasantries with her father, and he used to have the occasional drink with Marcus Matthews.’

  ‘Is there any way you can pin the murder of Stephen Palmer on Hamish McIntyre?’

  ‘He was close to where Palmer died, before and after. It’s conclusive to us, not provable in a court of law. A prosecution wouldn’t hold up, not after twenty years. Marcus Matthews was there as well. Whether he committed the act – after all, it was his wife that Palmer seduced – or whether he was just a bystander, we don’t know. The body had been too long in the warehouse; the vermin and the insects, the pigeons in the roof had destroyed any chance of forensic evidence.

  ‘Our first case, the death of Marcus Matthews, is still at a standstill. McIntyre did not kill him. Liz Spalding was killed by a woman, ninety-nine per cent certainty on that. We now have an added complication in that we believe Palmer’s brother, a nerdish and timid man, had also discovered where Liz Spalding lived. We’ve got our contact down in Cornwall, DI Jim Greenwood, following up for us. He’ll be talking to Palmer as soon as possible to find out why he was there, how he knew she was there, and more importantly, whether he has been stalking her all these years.’

  ‘Could he be her murderer?’

  ‘She slept with Bob Palmer that one night after the funeral. If Palmer is guilty of any crime, why hasn’t he acted before? And if he believes that Samantha Matthews’ family were guilty of crimes against his brother, then who knows what the man could be capable of.’

  ‘How long before a result?’ Goddard asked. ‘Questions are starting to be asked on high. Why is it, Isaac, that every time there’s a murder case, and you’re the SIO, the body count starts rising?’

  ‘Nothing to do with me.’

  ‘How’s Jenny?’ Goddard asked, aiming to change the subject. He had total confidence in his DCI. He knew the man would not give in until the case or cases were solved.

  ‘Jenny’s fine, life couldn’t be better.’

  ‘Make sure it stays that way. Keep me updated, phone at any time. Give me something to pass on. I have people to report to, the same as you.’

  ***

  Bob Palmer woke from his sleep, splashed some water on his face, looked out of the window, not quite sure where he was. He opened the door of his room only to see a police officer sitting on a chair opposite.

  ‘Detective Inspector Greenwood would like to have a word with you when you’re ready,’ the young constable said.

  Palmer finally realised why he was there. The sedatives had been potent, and he was sad. He closed the door, put on a shirt to go with the trousers he was already wearing and walked down the stairs to the small bar. Jim Greenwood, already alerted that Palmer was awake, was waiting for him at a small table. On it was a plate of sandwiches and two coffees.

  ‘I ordered for us,’ Greenwood said.

  ‘Why the policeman outside my door?’

  ‘Why are you here?’

  ‘I had to come.’

  ‘That’s as maybe, but how did you know she was here? We’re not holding you responsible for her death, not at this time, but you had a fixation about the woman, is that true?’

  ‘She was my brother’s girlfriend. She should have been mine.’

  ‘Life doesn’t always work out the way you want,’ Greenwood said. ‘I wanted to be a superintendent, not a detective inspector, but that’s how it is. Your brother died twenty years ago, yet you still pined for this woman.’

  ‘You wouldn’t understand it.’

  ‘I wouldn’t. I’m on my second marriage, and that’s not going too well either. One door closes, another one opens. That’s how I see it, but you, Mr Palmer, don’t. Now, what’s the truth? How long have you been stalking the woman?’

  ‘I’ve never stalked her. I’ve kept an eye on her over the years through the internet, and sometimes by sitting in a car at the en
d of her road. I’ve seen the men she married, the men she went out with. I’ve always regretted that it wasn’t me, but I never approached her, and I would never have harmed her.’

  ‘Let us come back to your brother. He died, as I understand, as a result of an affair with a married woman. Do you know this?’

  ‘I can’t say that I know too much, and after twenty years, the memory tends to alter the facts.’

  ‘It didn’t alter your fixation on the woman, did it?’ Greenwood could see that the man was still visibly upset. He called over to the bar and ordered two stiff whiskies, one for him and one for Palmer.

  ‘I don’t normally drink.’ Palmer said.

  ‘A stiff drink is the best thing. What are you going to do after you leave here? Are you going to go back to your house and mind your own business? Or are you intending to cause trouble?’

  ‘I’m not sure. I want to react, but I don’t know how to. Liz may have been promiscuous, judging by the number of men she has been with since Stephen died, but I always forgave her.’

  ‘Don’t you mean since the night she slept with you after the funeral. I’ve been given a complete rundown on who you are, the death of your brother and the suspects. Let me repeat the question, what do you intend to do?’

  ‘I can’t give you an answer. I’ve committed no crime. After this interview, I will leave and go back to my house, or I may go away on a trip. I’ll attend her funeral; nobody cared for her as much as I did.’

  Greenwood felt like grabbing the man and giving him a good shake, telling him to snap out of it, to be a man and get on with it, but he knew it would serve no purpose. And as Larry had said, the man was strange.

  ***

  Samantha Matthews had not appreciated being questioned by Fergus. Sure, he was her lover, but she had nothing to answer for. She already knew that her father would protect her at any cost. And she had always suspected that her father had somehow been involved directly or indirectly in the death of Stephen, her first great love.