‘I’ve already had someone looking at any there, although it’s not London. There will not be so many. How long are you staying?’
‘Until I get some answers on her whereabouts.’
‘Good, then you can come over to the house for a meal one night.’
Isaac replied in the affirmative, but sitting down with the husband of a woman he had known intimately did not sit well with him. He would endeavour to steer away from the subject if it came up again.
The assumption that a camera would have picked up Marjorie Frobisher proved not to be so accurate. There were cameras in the banks, the hotels, even some of the shops, but relatively few of them kept the tapes for more than a couple of weeks. The stores were interested in shoplifters, and if none had been apprehended, then there was no reason to keep the record.
At the end of the first day, Isaac was anxious to get on with the task. So far, he had spent more time at the hotel than at police headquarters. It was not a case of avoidance, but the invitation to dine with the husband of a former lover continued to unsettle him.
‘June, this invite to your house,’ he tentatively broached the subject at the office the next day. There had been some developments in the case, but before she told him, he wanted to clear the air, state his position.’
‘Tonight, at eight, come casual; my husband is looking forward to meeting you.’
‘I’m not sure I can come.’
‘Why?’
‘It’s a little embarrassing.’
‘Isaac, what do you mean?’
‘Our past history.’
‘How quaint,’ she replied, mocking him with fluttering eyelids and a coy smile.
‘I’m not sure your husband would want a past lover in his house.’
‘You mean the man who took my virginity.’
‘Did I?’
‘Of course you did, and as to being embarrassed, do you think I never slept with another man before I married my husband? I lived with his best man for six months before I started going out with him. It was even mentioned in the wedding speeches. Everyone thought it was hilarious.’
‘If you’re certain it’s alright.’
‘Of course it’s alright. Anyway, you wanted an update.’
‘What have you found?’
‘Marjorie Frobisher stayed at one of the hotels in Malvern. She had a wig on and her face concealed. The receptionist at the hotel identified her, recognised her even, although she didn’t like it and left soon after. She used a false name.’
‘Any ideas after that?’
‘That’s all there is. As to where she went?’
‘You don’t know?’ Isaac asked.
‘All the receptionist could tell us was that she took a taxi to Worcester. The driver dropped her off at the railway station. From there she could have gone anywhere.’
Isaac’s time in Worcester was at an end. It was not the function of a detective chief inspector to find out where the woman had gone. He realised they needed more help in the office.
He had only one more obligation. June Brown’s husband proved to be an excellent host, the meal was perfect, and the wine that Isaac had taken, ideal. His premonition about how awkward the situation would be was ill-founded. He left for London early the next morning.
***
Isaac arrived back before eight in the morning. He had purposely left early to avoid the traffic. Not that it made any difference, as there was early morning fog on the motorway. For half the distance his speed was almost down to a crawl. It was four and a half hours of stop-start driving. Meeting up with a past lover had left him reminiscing. He felt the need of a woman. Sophie would almost certainly come over that night if he gave her a call.
He had barely walked into the office – Farhan was already there – when his phone rang. ‘You’ve heard the news?’ It was his detective superintendent on the other end.
It was evident from Richard Goddard’s tone that there had been a development. ‘What’s happened?’ Isaac could see that an early get-together with Sophie was looking unlikely.
‘We’ve got a suspicious death.’
‘Marjorie Frobisher?’ Isaac asked.
‘It’s her brother. I heard ten seconds before you walked in,’ Farhan said.
‘I didn’t know she had a brother,’ Isaac said.
‘The fictitious one.’ Richard Goddard seemed excited.
‘Billy Blythe?’
‘That’s right. The actor who played him, Charles Sutherland.’
‘Do we have any details?’ Isaac asked.
‘Vague at the present moment. The body was found twenty minutes ago, at his hotel.’
‘I need to be over there with DI Ahmed,’ Isaac said.
‘The local police will be taking control.’
Isaac and Farhan left the office soon after. Isaac mulled over how this impacted on the missing woman but kept it to himself. He was still tired from the drive, and not in the mood to indulge in random conversation with Farhan, who looked excited, but distant.
The trip to the Savoy Hotel took twenty minutes. It was one of the best hotels in town, and Charles Sutherland’s suite was one of the best. The media was already setting up on the street outside. He intended to find out how the information regarding a minor celebrity had been leaked. It was regarded as a suspicious death, not a murder, and definitely not a free-for-all.
‘Farhan, what’s the matter?’ Isaac realised that something was troubling his colleague.
‘It’s my wife. She moved out, took the children.’
‘When was that?’
‘This morning, when I left the house early.’
‘But why?’
‘The normal. How I love my job more than her. How the children never see me.’
‘Doesn’t she realise how important our work is?’
‘She’s not rational. Mind you, if I had told her who the body is, then maybe she would have changed her mind.’
‘It’s hardly the basis for marriage, the machinations of a soap opera.’
‘Agreed, but she’s like so many others.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The separation of fact from fiction.’
‘I need you here now.’ Isaac realised that Farhan should be dealing with personal issues, but now there was a real case. He could not let him take time off.
‘I know, and besides, this is where I want to be.’
How many times had he heard it? Isaac thought. No wonder the marriage breakdown rate is so high when the spouse and the family become the lesser priority. He knew that Sophie was just a woman to spend time with, but Jess O’Neill may want a different kind of commitment, a commitment he was unable to give.
Downstairs, the hotel looked calm. Guests were checking in, checking out. The cafes and the restaurants were open; the people appeared to be oblivious to the death upstairs. How they could avoid the melee of media outside, he was not so sure, but some were probably used to media intrusion. He recognised a few famous faces as they moved through the foyer.
His train of thought was abruptly interrupted as they exited the lift on the top floor.
Outside the lift door, a well-presented fresh-faced police constable in uniform intercepted them. ‘Sirs, this area is closed off.’
‘Detective Chief Inspector Cook and Detective Inspector Ahmed,’ Isaac said as they both presented their identification badges.
Clearing the first obstacle, they walked to where the constable had directed them.
‘Yes, what can I do for you?’ A tall, red-faced man, who, at least to Farhan, looked in need of a healthy diet, stood in their way as they entered Charles Sutherland’s suite.
‘Homicide and Serious Crime,’ Isaac said.
‘Sergeant Derek Hamilton, Charing Cross Police Station.’
‘Good to meet you, Sergeant. I’m DCI Cook. My colleague is DI Ahmed.’
‘I’ll need to see your IDs, gentlemen.’
‘Fine,’ the sergeant said, after checking.
‘Forensics is already here.’
It was clear that guests on either side of Sutherland’s suite were being moved out, their luggage visible in the corridor.
‘Inspector Barry Hopkirk. Pleased to meet you.’ Isaac instinctively did not like the man on introduction. He appeared to be in his fifties. He wore an ill-fitting suit, crumpled as if he had slept in it, a tie skewed to one side.
Isaac saw no reason for subtlety. ‘Is moving the other guests’ luggage standard procedure?’
Hopkirk, a man with a short fuse, immediately went on the offensive. ‘Is that a criticism?’
‘This man’s death is regarded as suspicious.’
‘That may be, but when we arrived, there was only a dead body.’
‘You’re moving guests and their luggage off the floor. Have they been interviewed, checked for a possible weapon?’
‘We’ve got their names; they’re not exiting the building, only changing rooms. Besides, there’s no sign of a weapon being used,’ Hopkirk said.
‘That may be, but have you considered that they may be involved?’ There were clearly set down procedures in the case of a suspicious death, and Hopkirk was not following them.
‘There was nothing suspicious when we arrived.’
‘The Savoy Hotel, a former television celebrity. You don’t think that’s suspicious?’
‘I’m not aware of his importance.’
‘Charles Sutherland. Famous actor. Are you telling me that you have never heard of him?’
‘I never made the association. All I saw was a dead body.’
‘What do you have here?’
‘Forensics will bring you up to speed. They’re inside with the body. And make sure you put on footwear protectors,’ Hopkirk said.
Isaac and Farhan moved to the room where the body had been found. ‘Who is the crime scene examiner in charge here?’ Isaac asked.
‘Who’s asking?’ The reply came from a small man, bent over examining the body. He wore a white coverall, his hands gloved.
‘Detective Chief Inspector Isaac Cook.’
‘Give me a couple of minutes, and I’ll be with you.’
The dead man was naked and sprawled on the floor. It was not a pleasant sight, as the victim was clearly overweight, verging on obese. It was clear from the faeces that his bowels had relaxed.
‘Nasty business,’ the small man said as he came over and shook hands with Isaac and Farhan. He had removed his gloves first, thrown them into a plastic bag. He was short, ridiculously short, and Isaac had to angle his neck down to look into his face, although mainly saw the top of his head. ‘Gordon Windsor,’ he said.
‘I don’t see any sign of violence,’ Farhan said.
‘And you won’t.’ The crime scene examiner spoke with a Welsh accent. He talked slowly. Isaac thought it might be a way of controlling a stutter.
‘Why not?’ Farhan asked.
‘Poison.’
‘How did you know it was murder?’
‘I didn’t. Hopkirk did.’
‘I just blasted him out,’ Isaac said.
‘That may be, but he came here due to a death at the hotel. Apparently, standard procedure at the Savoy to call the local police when there’s a death.’
Isaac realised that he may have been a little harsh on Hopkirk. If that proved to be the case, he would apologise later.
‘How did Hopkirk figure it was murder?’ Isaac asked.
‘The body lying on the floor, the drooling, the defecation. He can tell you better than me, but my understanding is that he came here for a dead body, and then he found out about the wild parties and wondered if it was drug-related, overdose or something similar.’
‘What did he find?’
‘Cocaine, but not much else ‒ certainly not enough to cause death. That’s when he looked around, found clear evidence of poison.’
‘Careless to leave the evidence here,’ Farhan said.
‘Careless or disturbed? I’ve no idea. That’s for you to find out,’ Gordon Windsor said as he removed his coveralls and picked up his bag. ‘For me, it’s to get the body back to the morgue, deal with Forensics and then write a report. It’s going to be a long night. Wedding anniversary, I was going to take my wife out for a meal at an excellent restaurant. Curiously, the restaurant downstairs, just off the foyer. Hopefully, she’ll understand.’
‘Will she?’ Farhan asked.
‘She’s used to it. She’ll pretend to be upset, but she’ll be fine.’ Farhan could only reflect on why his wife was not as sympathetic, but he assumed that Gordon Windsor did not have a mother-in-law constantly in his wife’s ear.
Chapter 13
With the crime scene examiner’s departure, and Inspector Barry Hopkirk a little friendlier after Isaac had apologised to him, Isaac and Farhan returned to their office. Farhan could clearly see long hours on the case. He knew it would not help with his marriage. He had a job to do, a family to provide for, whether his wife liked it or not, and being miserable and moping around was going to solve little. He decided to snap out of it and get on with the job.
‘This changes the situation,’ Isaac said.
‘The question is whether it’s related to Marjorie Frobisher,’ Farhan replied as he sipped his coffee. It was a little too hot for him.
‘What do we know about Charles Sutherland? Could this be unrelated?’
‘Possibly.’
‘If it is linked, then you know what this means.’
‘What did he know?’
‘Or who was he?’ Farhan put forward another possibility.
‘What do you mean?’
‘How did he get to know of anything worth selling? It’s not as if Marjorie Frobisher went around the production lot sounding off to anyone in earshot. There’s also the animosity between them.’
As expected, DS Goddard was soon in their office. ‘Is it clearly murder?’ he asked.
‘There’s a strong possibility,’ Isaac replied.
‘Not confirmed?’
‘The crime scene examiner will let us know when the autopsy has been conducted, as well as keep up updated on the toxicology analysis on the contents of the bottle.’
‘The poison was in a bottle?’
‘That’s what we are led to believe.’
‘If it’s a confirmed murder, then we’ll need to set up a Murder Investigation Team.’
‘We’ve just been discussing this,’ Farhan said. ‘We could do with the help, sir.’
‘Isaac, you’ll be the senior investigating officer. Is that okay with you?’ the detective superintendent asked.
‘Fine, sir.’
‘Now, what do I tell my contact? He’s bugging me for information.’
‘Downing Street?’
‘Isaac, it’s best if you don’t pry too much into my contacts.’
‘What do you know?’ Isaac asked.
‘Not a great deal, other than Marjorie Frobisher would be better off dead, but the murder of Sutherland? That’s another situation altogether.’
‘There has been no connection made between the disappearance of one and the murder of the other,’ Isaac said.
‘Then make the connection,’ the detective superintendent replied.
‘And you, sir?’ Farhan asked.
‘I’ll see what I can find out.’
‘You’ll talk to your contact?’ Isaac asked.
‘This afternoon. He wants an update. Give me what you can before then.’
Sophie messaged soon after Goddard had left the office. Isaac replied that it was not possible. She messaged back ‘understood’, which with her it was.
Farhan had received news that his children were at school and fine.
Isaac decided to travel out to the production lot. It was a murder unless confirmed otherwise, which seemed unlikely. For whatever reason, the people he had interviewed needed to be re-interviewed, including Jess O’Neill.
Farhan headed back to the hotel.
***
If they
were aware out at the production lot that one of their former stars had met an untimely death, it was not apparent. The place was a hive of activity. Every time that Isaac had been out there in the past, it had been towards the end of the day or early morning.
The end of the day, they were invariably looking through the day’s filming or else finalising the script for the next day’s shooting. Early morning, the production people were still in the offices, and the cast were in their dressing rooms. This time, it was just after two in the afternoon. Isaac had been on the go since three in the morning and he was starting to feel a little weary. He knew it would pass once he started interviewing the people again.
He saw Jess O’Neill from a distance. He could see her arguing with someone, but then that was her job, and apparently she was good at putting people in their place, getting what she wanted.
Richard Williams was at the production lot. It seemed unusual to Isaac. He decided to talk to him first. He waylaid him as he walked swiftly towards the central offices. Isaac was well aware that Williams had seen him and had been trying to get out of his way. To Isaac, it was a red rag to a bull. He quickened his pace and caught up with Williams just as he opened the door to the first office.
‘Mr Williams.’
‘Now is not an ideal time.’ Richard Williams said, catching his breath. He was not as young as Isaac, not as fit, although that didn’t stop him when it came to chasing the women. Sally Jenkins was nowhere to be seen, but Isaac assumed she was back in the office in the city. No reason to bring the end of the day bit of fluff out to the production lot, Isaac thought. Richard Williams was always on the prowl, and the production lot would be a good place to look for a new conquest. There were invariably some extras hired for the day. The pretty, young, and female would be easy prey for someone as suave as Williams. Isaac had noticed the Ferrari when he parked his car.
‘It’s important.’ Isaac replied.
‘You’re here about Charles Sutherland, I assume?’
‘You’ve heard?’
‘It’s all over the media. They say he’s been murdered.’
‘There has been no official confirmation.’
‘I’ll take your word on that. The media will beat anything up.’
The DCI Isaac Cook Thriller Series: Books 1 -3 Page 9
