‘Instead of trying to make the connection, we isolate them totally from each other.’
‘Sutherland’s death could be unrelated, but Sally Jenkins? Why would anyone kill her?’
‘Other than she knew something about the missing woman?’
‘I suppose so,’ Isaac replied.
‘What if there is no missing woman? How would we approach the case of Sally Jenkins?’ Farhan asked.
‘We would look for a motive; for someone who had a reason to want her dead.’
‘She wasn’t raped.’
‘And not a break-in that went wrong, judging by the condition of where she lived.’
‘So it must have been someone she knew,’ Isaac said.
‘DI Hill, the crime scene officer, is intimating that someone came in the front door; the break-in may have been a subterfuge.’
‘Only Richard Williams had a key.’
‘But why would he want to murder her? And, anyway, he was in bed with Linda Harris.’
‘She’s an unknown,’ Isaac admitted.
‘What do you mean? I know you have your suspicions, even took her out for a meal. What was your intent there, professional or personal?’
‘Both, I suppose, but she’s not involved. At least, I assume she’s not. She was not around when Marjorie Frobisher disappeared, nor when Sutherland was murdered.’
‘So that means she’s innocent of all crimes?’
‘I’m not sure,’ Isaac admitted.
‘Why do you say that?’
‘What do we know about her?’
‘We are aware she’s working for Williams, sleeping with him.’
‘I asked MacTavish to check her out.’
‘And…’
‘I’m still waiting for his reply.’
‘Did you fancy her?’ Farhan asked.
‘At first.’
‘And after?’
‘She became upset when I started probing. The evening ended badly.’
‘What about the other woman? Are you still in contact?’
‘Not for some time. It may be a good idea to maintain contact, seeing that she’s a witness.’
‘And potential plaything?’ Farhan jested.
‘So far, I’ve managed to keep it under control. I’m not the lothario that you are, obviously.’
‘You know we’d both be in trouble if Goddard found out.’
‘I’ve not done anything wrong yet,’ Isaac announced with regret.
‘Would you have slept with Linda Harris if your night had turned out differently?’
‘Probably.’
‘What do we really know about her?’ Farhan asked.
‘I think she’s a fellow government employee.’
‘And if she is?’
‘Then she’s clear of any involvement in the murders.’
‘I’m not certain she is.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘If she’s willing to indulge in sexual relations with a man purely because it’s her job, what else is she capable of?’
Isaac had to agree, disturbed that a woman he almost slept with, probably would if the opportunity presented itself again, was no better than the two women who had sold themselves to Charles Sutherland.
It seemed ironic to Isaac that Farhan was getting more action than him. He knew full well that he had been sleeping with his woman again; the look on his face evidence of the fact.
Chapter 33
Wendy, pleased that the weather was more agreeable, had staked out the first place of interest, a small two-storey terrace in Twickenham. She could see that Richard Williams liked his investments well-maintained: the small garden at the front was neat and tidy, the paintwork on the exterior façade in remarkably good condition, in contrast to the other houses in the street. She assumed it had been freshly painted. Compared to her home, a dreary run-down property close to the docks, it was beautiful. Her husband had never been into home repairs, and she did not have the skills to do the work. Williams’ terraced house was the sort of place she would love to own, knew she never would.
She parked her car across the street. For three, close to four hours she watched the house from inside the car. The only people she saw, a young couple pushing a child’s buggy. They were clearly the tenants. Bridget had already ascertained it was rented out to a couple with one child. Wendy realised the missing woman was not at this location.
After a quick lunch she drove out to the next location, a flat close to Hackney. She would have gone to the apartment down by Canary Wharf as her second choice, more upmarket than Hackney, but it was early afternoon, and the traffic was building up. Even so, it still took her the best part of ninety minutes.
It was clear that the second property was not as salubrious as the first. It appeared to be on the third floor, in a drab, red-brick, ex-council property. There were two problems on arriving: one, she could not see the entrance to the flat, only the front window, and two, parking restrictions on account of the late afternoon rush hour were about to apply. She could only stay for thirty minutes.
She phoned Isaac. She found his manner a little distant – as if he had something on his mind. Disregarding his curtness with her, she told him about the house in Twickenham, and the flat in Hackney. She also let him know that she regarded Canary Wharf as a better possibility, and that tomorrow she would drive out there.
Farhan, meanwhile, had phoned Robert Avers to ask if he had heard from his wife.
The man’s response surprised Farhan. ‘I’m not going to sit at home waiting for her to knock on the door. She screwed around enough, now it’s my turn.’
Farhan understood where he was coming from, careful not to let on that they believed his wife was alive and somewhere in London.
***
The next day, Wendy drove out to Canary Wharf, a massive redevelopment of the former West India Docks. Now a major financial centre, comprising major banks, financial services, and media organisations, it was also the home of some very impressive upmarket properties, primarily high-rise executive apartments.
She was convinced that it was the most likely location to find the woman: comfortable, secluded, an ideal place to hide out if you could afford it. No need to trudge down to the local supermarket to buy some food, just phone, and one of the expensive restaurants would deliver to your door, along with a good bottle of wine. And, from what Wendy had heard, Marjorie Frobisher enjoyed the good life, despised the poverty of her childhood.
It was clear that the flat, on the thirteenth floor, was too high to see anyone at ground level, unless the occupant stood right against the window.
The concierge at the front door, she felt, would not offer much help. Besides, she did not want to alert the missing woman to the fact that someone was looking for her. The easiest way was to enter the building unseen.
Observing the concierge, a smartly dressed man in his late twenties, she waited until he was distracted by a car pulling up at the front. A woman got out of the driver’s seat. Wendy assumed her to be in her early fifties, obviously well-heeled judging by the shopping in the back seat of the vehicle. As the concierge went out to help, Wendy slipped past and into the building.
The lift was on the twentieth floor and descending. She hoped it would arrive at the ground floor before the concierge saw her: it did. Quickly, she pressed thirteen on the row of buttons, the speed of the lift surprising her.
Exiting the lift, she moved swiftly to flat number 1304. She pressed the bell, a woman came to the door. Wendy apologised, said she had mistaken the numbers, and it must be 1340.
The concierge barely noticed her, as she brazenly exited the lift on the ground floor and walked out of the building. He did not see the broad smile on her face.
***
Isaac knew that the situation had changed. Marjorie Frobisher was alive and well; the evidence, indisputable. Wendy had been sure, and she did not make mistakes. As she had stated, when she phoned him from Canary Wharf, ‘I know that woman as well as m
y own mother.’
How to proceed concerned him. If he confronted her, what could he say? She had been missing for a long time, but she had not committed any crime. What would he ask her? Who was this mysterious child? Who killed Sutherland and Sally Jenkins? Why did she choose to stay missing?
If the woman decided to remain mute, there was not a lot he could do. And then, if she was scared again, she could disappear without a trace. She had done it once successfully; she could do it again.
And if he was being watched, those interested in the woman could follow him out to Canary Wharf. Could she end up dead if he acted inappropriately? Farhan, as good as he was, was not sufficiently experienced to advise on the matter. Sure, he could offer valuable advice, but what if it went wrong. Who would take the blame? He knew the answer without asking – it would be him. Richard Goddard, his detective superintendent, was the ideal choice for advice, but he was looking for a promotion, apparently very friendly with Angus MacTavish. Could either of them be trusted?
The questions outweighed the answers, and now there was the disturbing information about Linda Harris, apparently sleeping with Richard Williams for Queen and Country on official orders.
Angus MacTavish had phoned some hours earlier; said that he had been advised that Linda Harris was involved and that she was a very smart woman – devious, the word he used.
But who was MacTavish? Did he genuinely believe that no political party, even his, deserved to be elected if it sanctioned government approved murder?
Isaac felt that he had to make decisions based on his own sense of decency and to see how they turned out.
Richard Williams, the executive producer, somehow seemed integral to solving the murders. Isaac reasoned the best approach would be to meet him again. He still felt that of all the people involved, he was probably the most innocent, but then there were doubts there, Sally Jenkins being the most obvious.
What if Linda Harris was giving an alibi for Williams purely to ensure that when Marjorie Frobisher reappeared, she would be able to report to her superiors? Was she sleeping with Williams, and if she wasn’t, why did she go along with his statement that she had?
Isaac could see that he had to confront Linda Harris, hope that Marjorie Frobisher was safe, at least for a couple of days. He had already asked Wendy to stake out Canary Wharf, and see if she could keep the missing, now found, woman safe.
***
Farhan and Isaac met again in the office later that day: Farhan to further discuss what Aisha had suggested; Isaac to assess how to handle the situation with Richard Williams, and whether he could be involved or not in his former PA’s death.
Farhan was in a good mood; his regular conversations with Aisha continued, and his wife was no longer talking about a reconciliation. Apparently, her parents, despairing of her ‘no good’ husband, had suggested a divorce from Farhan and marriage to a cousin of hers, someone she genuinely liked: a devout Muslim and a good provider, as he owned a number of shops close to the family home.
He should have been distraught at his children being taken from him, but he was a practical man, moderated by his years in the police force. Life, he had come to see, was not black and white, right or wrong, good or bad. Life was about compromises, not absolutes, and his children being with a good man and a good woman, even if the man was not the biological father, was better than being in the conflict zone of a liberated man and a pious woman. He would accept the decision and wish them well.
He felt relief – as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Aisha still remained a problem – an irresolvable problem.
Isaac wanted to sound out Farhan about what they had. It was evident to both of them that the situation was coming to a head. Too much was going on not to have a breakthrough in the near future. Richard Goddard had been pleased when Isaac had phoned him earlier, and let him know that he felt confident it was all coming to fruition. He failed to mention that Marjorie Frobisher had been discovered.
The detective superintendent had always been a mentor to Isaac, and it upset him that he could not be entirely honest with his boss, but there remained some uncertainties. The detective superintendent was in line for a significant promotion. Angus MacTavish could have some bearing on that promotion, and he was a definite uncertainty. Isaac could not be sure about his boss at the present moment, although nothing in his history had indicated a subversive, dishonest nature.
‘Farhan, let’s come back to what your friend said before.’ There was to be no jesting from Isaac this time about the girlfriend.
‘Sally Jenkins?’
‘Richard Williams appears to be an obvious candidate, but why? Isaac asked.
‘We’re clutching at straws again,’ Farhan said. ‘It’s possible if it was somehow related to Marjorie Frobisher, but murder? Would Williams be capable of committing such an act?’
‘I can’t see it.’
‘Neither can I?’
‘Who else then?’
‘Linda Harris? She was around at the time.’
‘She’s providing an alibi for Williams. If she left him and went over to Sally Jenkins’ place, would he have known?’
‘Almost certainly.’
‘How far from Williams’ place to Sally Jenkins’?
‘Twenty minutes, no more.’
‘So it’s possible,’ Isaac said.
‘What do you intend to do? Who do you talk to first?’
‘Linda Harris. If she’s the murderer, she may have acted under orders.’
‘And if she did?’
‘Then she’s a very dangerous woman. If Sally Jenkins’ murder was premeditated because of what she may have known, what about Marjorie Frobisher?’
‘She’s dead, or soon will be, and neither you nor I will be able to protect her.’
‘A disturbing reality.’
‘An accurate picture, though. If her death is sanctioned officially, then she is a dead woman.’
***
Isaac phoned Linda Harris. Offered his apology, asked to see her again.
‘What was the response?’ Farhan asked on Isaac’s return from the corridor outside their office. He had heard Isaac ingratiating himself with the woman.
‘Tonight, same restaurant as before.’
‘Any idea how you will bring the matter up?’
‘Whether she killed Sally Jenkins or not? I don’t think the evening will go too well if I do.’
‘If she can sleep with Williams, and murder another woman, what chance do you have of finding out the truth?’ Farhan saw a danger in Isaac’s approach.
‘We can’t do nothing.’
‘Devil or the deep blue sea. There’s no other option for us, although it looks as if you, at least, will be having some fun.’
‘As you did with a witness.’ Isaac could not resist a little jest.
‘A witness on our side. Yours could as easily kill you as make love. It’s not an exciting prospect.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll be fine,’ Isaac said.
Farhan was not so sure. His boss was possibly becoming involved with dangerous people, government-sanctioned people. He only hoped he knew what he was doing.
***
Linda Harris was undeniably friendly when she met up with Isaac. ‘How are you? Good to see you,’ she had gushed. Isaac, forewarned, was not convinced.
‘I’m fine. Sorry about last time,’ he said. He had to admit she was stunning, dressed in a floral dress, short as she preferred, and a pair of red high-heels.
‘I dressed especially.’
‘You look beautiful.’
‘Good enough for dessert?’ Her comment seemed a little too forward for Isaac, but he had to admit that she was.
‘Main course, even.’
‘I think we should have something to eat first, don’t you?’ To Isaac, it all seemed a little too orchestrated, a little too teasing. He knew some details about the woman, which caused him to be wary. Sure, he wanted her for dessert, although he would have preferr
ed Jess O’Neill. Apart from a couple of occasions, in a pub out near where she worked, he had not seen her for some time.
He had lambasted Farhan for his indiscretions, although he had not been blameless. However, with Jess, it had remained platonic. He knew he wanted her, knew she wanted him, but so far it had not progressed beyond a passionate kiss on a couple of occasions.
Regardless of Jess, Isaac knew that Linda Harris would be dessert if the evening progressed well enough.
First, there were some questions about Richard Williams’ alibi. Not answers veiled by confusion or outright denial; answers openly given, once he had broached the subject of her true employer. And even then, would she be open and truthful?
They chose a table near the back of the restaurant. Isaac ordered pork, Linda chose the veal. A good Chardonnay complemented the meal. Isaac drank sparingly; Linda with more enthusiasm.
‘Linda.’ Isaac knew he had to speak.
‘Don’t ruin the evening.’ She sounded genuine.
‘I hope I’m not.’ He knew how he wanted the evening to end. Personal assistant or not, lover of Richard Williams or not, secretive government employee or not, he intended to bed her if the opportunity arose.
‘I’m aware that you have received some information about me,’ she said.
‘I have.’
‘And you want to know more?’
‘There’s been two murders, probably more if we don’t find the killer, or killers?’
‘Killers? Could there be more than one?’
‘It’s possible. We still don’t have a clear motive for either murder.’
‘Isaac, I honestly don’t know about the murders.’
‘So, why are you sleeping with Williams?’
‘You sound jealous.’
‘Should I be?’ Isaac obliquely failed to answer her question.
‘You know I work for the government, MI5.’
‘That’s what I’ve been told.’
‘My superiors have given me authority to reveal certain facts if the situation came up.’
‘Has it?’
‘I believe it has. You are the lead policeman on the investigation into the two murders, although initially you were looking for a missing woman.’
The DCI Isaac Cook Thriller Series: Books 1 -3 Page 26
