Larry stood up; the cat was using his new suit to sharpen its claws. His cats at home were regularly bathed, this one was not.
‘Could you elaborate?’ Larry asked.
‘None of your business.’
‘It is if it is relevant to a murder enquiry.’
‘Why should it be?’
‘We’ve yet to identify the body. Any idea who it may be?’ Wendy asked.
‘I haven’t been in that house for a long time. How would I know?’
‘We are aware the body was that of a male, aged in his late thirties to early forties, who almost certainly died at the beginning of 1987.’
‘No one I know.’
‘Last time I was here, you said that you had seen a lot of dead people,’ Wendy reminded the old woman, who showed every sign of ejecting them from the mansion very soon.
‘I was in London during the war, worked as a nurse.’
‘And after the war?’ Larry asked.
‘We came from a privileged family, employment was for others.’
‘What did you do?’
‘For a couple of years, voluntary work, but mainly taking our place in society.’
‘It doesn’t sound much of a life,’ Wendy, who had little time for the idle rich, commented.
‘Endless parties and fun? It was marvellous.’
Five minutes later, Larry and Wendy found themselves outside the front door of the house. Their eviction had been executed swiftly.
‘What do you reckon?’ Larry asked.
‘None of what she told us is relevant if the body has nothing to do with her or her sister,’ Wendy replied.
‘There’s more she’s not telling us.’
‘We’ll meet DCI Cook and let him know,’ Wendy said.
‘Until the body is identified, we’ll continue probing the background of the two sisters.’
‘Agreed. There still remains a strong possibility that the body is somehow tied back to them.’
Chapter 5
‘What do we know about this lawyer?’ Isaac asked at the late afternoon debriefing back at Challis Street Police Station.
‘Only a name,’ Wendy said.
‘And the name?’
‘Montague St John Grenfell.’
‘Sounds aristocratic to me,’ Isaac said. The key members of the team were assembled: Larry was standing in the corner, his back to the wall, Bridget was holding a large cup of tea and the obligatory chocolate biscuit, Wendy as well. Isaac was sipping on green tea as his weight was starting to cause him some concern.
‘We checked him out in Burke’s Peerage. He is the second son of a lord with no chance of inheriting the title and the stately home unless the incumbent dies soon,’ Larry said.
‘What do you mean “soon”?’ Isaac asked.
‘Grenfell is in his late seventies; the elder brother is two years older.’
‘Someone needs to go and check him out.’
‘You’d be the best person for that, sir,’ Wendy said. She remembered how he had charmed Angus MacTavish, the chief government whip, on a previous case. Dealing with the elite of society seemed best suited to Isaac’s disarming and pleasant manner. She knew that she was too abrasive, and her speech echoed government schooling at every utterance. Larry, although he spoke more clearly than she did, had a distinctive northern accent.
‘I’ll deal with Grenfell,’ Isaac said. He was glad of the opportunity to get out of the office. As the senior investigating officer, the administrative side of his job was beginning to annoy him. He could see himself asking Bridget to take on a heavier workload and help him out, once she had got her primary responsibilities under control.
‘And for us, sir?’ Larry Hill asked.
‘Keep with the sisters, see what you can find out. Bridget, can you trace this missing husband?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Good. Larry and Wendy can follow up.’
‘All this may be circumstantial and irrelevant,’ Larry said.
‘Moving out of the house in 1986, a body placed there in 1987? It must be tied in to the women,’ Isaac said.
‘Agreed, sir. That is what Wendy and I thought.’
***
Bridget soon busied herself with finding out what she could about the husband. It was proving to be difficult as there were no recorded marriages in the period before 1986 for Mavis Richardson, which indicated a wedding outside the country.
However, there was a clear record of marriage in 1952 for Gertrude Richardson, which surprised Wendy. Although, Wendy realised, the woman had denied she had a sister, so why would she not deny a marriage, and now there was the question of where her husband was, although records clearly showed that he would be in his nineties now, so possibly deceased. Too many unknowns, too many instances of intrigue and subterfuge, to not believe that somehow, someway, the sisters were not involved directly or indirectly with the body.
Until the body was formally identified, Wendy and the rest of the team realised they were chasing possible red herrings. It was clear that another visit to the old woman in the mansion was required. Wendy did not relish the task.
As there was no phone at the mansion, it was a drive in heavy traffic out to Richmond. The same procedure: ring the doorbell, wait for five minutes, receive verbal abuse about her being an old woman and the cats needed feeding, and then a reluctant entry through to the kitchen.
‘I contacted my lawyer about you coming here all the time. He said it was police harassment, and if it continued, then I was to register an official complaint.’
‘Miss Richardson, that is your prerogative. I am only doing my job. By the way, how did you contact your lawyer? I wasn’t aware you had a phone.’
‘I had no intention of giving the number to you.’
‘Why?’
‘You’re knocking on my door every five minutes. I didn’t want you ringing as well.’
‘There is a record of you being married back in 1952, is that correct?’
‘I prefer to forget about it.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘He was a scoundrel.’
‘When did you last see him?’
‘Thirty to forty years, I suppose.’
‘Why did you deny that you had been married, when I asked before?’ Wendy could see some softness appear in the old woman.
‘It’s my business, no one else’s.’
‘What was he like?’ Wendy held a cup of tea that the old woman had given her. It was cleaner than the last time.
‘A lovable rogue, charm the birds out of the trees.’
‘He charmed you?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you’ve not seen him for thirty to forty years?’
‘That’s correct.’
‘Any idea where he is now?’
‘He went overseas. Apart from that, I have no idea. He could be dead.’
Although not senile, Gertrude Richardson was, nevertheless, old and frail, and excessive questioning would have achieved little more. Wendy had noticed that the woman’s initial disdain at her space being invaded had subdued, and her manner, though still disarmingly blunt, was agreeable.
Realising that no more was to be gained, Wendy bid her farewell, promised to come and see her in a few days. The response was as expected, but it did not have the harsh undertone that had been present on previous visits.
***
Montague St John Grenfell did prove to be aristocratic when Isaac met him in his office. He was, Isaac knew, a man in his late seventies, but surprisingly fit and agile. He was as tall as Isaac, over six feet in height. His handshake was firm and vigorous, his manners impeccable. Isaac was impressed.
‘Please take a seat,’ the lawyer said. ‘I only have Earl Grey. Is that fine by you?’
‘Fine,’ Isaac replied. As the lawyer prepared the tea, it gave Isaac the opportunity to look around his surroundings. He had to conclude that it was a good office, certainly better than his at Challis Street, but then, his was the office
of a policeman, clean and functional, lacking in any charm. Grenfell’s office showed the look of age, as though it had been occupied by the one person for many years. Not far from Paddington, the third-floor office was situated on Bayswater Avenue in an office building which Isaac assumed had been built over seventy years earlier. There was no lift which had given him some much-needed exercise. He wondered how Grenfell managed every day, as he noticed that the man limped.
An impressive bookcase stood to one side of the office, overflowing with legal books and assorted memorabilia. Isaac sat on a comfortable chair, Grenfell on a leather chair, a walnut desk separating them. It was clear that the man was busy as legal files littered the desk. Isaac saw no computer which seemed incongruous in the modern age. He wondered how anyone could conduct business without email and access to the internet.
Montague Grenfell returned holding two cups of tea. Isaac noticed the man’s hands did not tremble as he carried them. ‘You’ve been looking around my office,’ he said.
‘It’s certainly more impressive than mine,’ Isaac replied, aware that he had been seen.
‘I’ve been here for over forty years. More like a home for me than an office.’
‘Is it?’ Isaac asked.
‘Just a figure of speech, but I’d rather be here than at home.’
‘May I ask why?’
‘Here, I have my books and my studies. At home, there is no one.’
‘Your wife?’
‘I’ve been a widower for five years.’
‘Sorry about that.’
‘No need to be. People get old, people die. None of us is immortal.’
Isaac knew there were questions to be asked, and as congenial as the current setting was, he needed to redirect their conversation. ‘Gertrude and Mavis Richardson, what can you tell me about them?’
‘I’m not sure there is a lot. Gertrude is semi-reclusive, Mavis is more outgoing.’
‘My detective inspector and constable have met them both.’
‘Gertrude can be acerbic.’
‘Have you known them long?’
‘Since my childhood, although they are a few years older than me.’
‘Where did you meet them?’
‘I’m sure you’re aware of my family history.’
‘Second son of a lord.’
‘Burke’s Peerage could tell you that. What else?’
‘That’s as far as we went. So far, we have a body with no identity, and the only people with any link to that period are the two sisters. There’s no reason to believe they’re involved, but there is a possibility that people close to them could be.’
‘My family is extremely wealthy, obscenely so. The wealth resides with my eldest brother, the lord. I’m financially secure due to a bequethment from my father in his will, but compared to my brother, it is a mere pittance.’
‘Your meeting with the sisters?’ Isaac repeated his earlier question.
‘They were regular guests at the family’s stately home.’
‘Any reason?’
‘They are cousins of mine, distant cousins.’
‘Are they independently wealthy?’
‘They both were, but now Mavis has all the money.’
‘That was explained by Mavis. Gertrude denies that she has a sister.’
‘Bad blood, goes back a long way.’
‘Do you know the reason?’ Isaac asked.
‘Gertrude made some bad decisions. Mavis, always the smarter, helped her out.’
‘We are aware that Gertrude signed over the properties.’
‘I ensured it was legal.’
‘And that’s left Gertrude living in abject misery?’ Isaac asked.
‘Abject misery in a mansion in Richmond. I do not think so. Regardless of what Gertrude may have said, that is not the truth. There’s enough money for her to live well, but she chooses the life.’
‘So, why doesn’t she accept the money?’
‘You’d better ask her. I’ve offered it to her enough times, so has her sister.’
‘According to both women, they have not communicated for a long time.’
‘I believe I’ve said enough on this matter. As you have said, there is no connection between the women and the body at this time.’
‘Can I clarify if the women have communicated in recent times?’
‘I suggest that you talk to them further.’
Isaac prepared to leave. ‘Just one more question, totally unrelated. How do you manage the stairs up to here?’
‘With difficulty. It doesn’t help only having one leg.’
‘I didn’t realise.’
‘Motorcycle accident in my youth.’
As Isaac exited the building, his phone rang. ‘I have some updates from Forensics,’ Gordon Windsor said.
‘When can we meet to discuss?’
‘Your office, sixty minutes.’
***
Isaac hurried back to the office, pushed the car harder than he should have, broke the speed limit a couple of times, but the news from Gordon Windsor sounded important. Upon arrival, he found Windsor comfortably seated with a smug look on his face. Wendy was with him, having just arrived backed from Gertrude Richardson’s place in Richmond. Larry was out with the other sister, Mavis.
‘What do you have?’ Isaac asked.
‘Forensics have been able to analyse some of the clothing, even read a tag on a shirt.’
‘The significance?’ Isaac asked.
‘Made to order.’
‘Wendy, a job for you.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Anything else?’ Isaac asked.
‘It appears that the trousers were also made to measure, but so far they’ve not found a tag. They’re conducting an analysis of the fabric, may come up with something.’
‘How about the body?’ Isaac asked.
‘They’re still conducting tests, but asphyxiation is looking the stronger of the two means of death, although the trauma to the skull is significant.’
‘Regardless of how the man died, we still need a name.’
‘I’ll get on to it straight away,’ Wendy said.
‘Any luck with the elder sister?’ Isaac asked her.
‘Apart from admitting that she had been married, not a lot. She was more agreeable, seemed to appreciate the company this time. The place is a mess, should be condemned.’
‘According to her lawyer, there’s no reason for her to live like that,’ Isaac said.
‘Then why does she?’
‘Senile?’ Gordon Windsor asked.
‘Not from what I can see,’ Wendy said.
‘We need to find out more about her and this mysterious husband,’ Isaac said. ‘How’s Bridget progressing?’
‘There are two husbands to find, Gertrude’s and Mavis’s, although both will be in their nineties now.’
‘Possibly dead.’
‘It’s possible.’
‘We need to know what happened to them anyway, but first we need to identify the body. Wendy, you and Larry better make that your priority.’
‘As soon as Bridget gives us an address, we’ll go and visit the tailor.’
***
‘Did you know about your sister’s marriage?’ Larry asked Mavis Richardson. His entrance into the elegant house, this time through the front door.
‘It was a long time ago. Michael Solomon has not been seen for years, same as my husband,’ Mavis Richardson replied.
Larry, this time asked to sit in a more comfortable chair than on his previous visit, could only reflect that the woman still had an eye for a man, especially a younger man. The woman was older than his mother, and he was happily married, two young children, another on the way. He knew all about Isaac and his legendary reputation for seducing beautiful women. He felt no need to emulate him and especially not with someone so old, even though still remarkably attractive. Larry assumed her look came courtesy of a healthy bank balance, expensive cosmetics, and a plastic surgeon. All o
f which may be interesting, but there was a more important issue to consider – the unidentified body.
‘Tell me about Gertrude’s husband.’
‘Attractive, well-spoken, lovable rogue.’
‘Did you like him?’
‘All the women liked him, that was the problem.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘He’d screw anything in a skirt.’
‘And?’ Larry asked, not sure of the response.
‘Yes, I’m included.’
‘What did your sister say?’
‘She never knew. Mind you, she screwed mine, so I suppose it’s all fair in love and war.’
Larry, who had been receiving SMS updates from Isaac and Wendy, continued to probe, continued to slowly move away from the woman as she edged along the sofa in his direction. ‘My colleague has met your lawyer.’
‘A lovely man.’
‘Apparently, you have known him since you were children.’
‘We’re cousins, poor cousins.’
‘Poor hardly seems an appropriate word.’
‘Compared to his family, we were virtual paupers. Sure, we were not on our uppers, cap in hand, but their wealth was immense. One of the richest families in the country.’
‘Your background?’
‘Gertrude and I are the only children of Frederick Richardson, a wealthy landowner and property developer in the north of England. My father and Montague’s father were half-brothers. One was conceived in the marital bed, the other was not. You must realise which of the two was illegitimate.’
‘Then you and your family have no claim to the title and the wealth?’
‘My father and Montague’s father were brought up as brothers. Their father made no distinction, although the right of succession did. The first claim to the title belonged to the eldest son, assuming he was legitimate.’
‘If either you or your sister had a son, then he is in the line of succession?’
‘It’s a long line, and the legitimate heirs take precedence, and besides, neither of us have had any offspring.’
***
The name on the clothing tag, although faded, had shown up under ultraviolet. Bridget had a printed scan. The name stated ‘Clement Jones and Sons. Gentleman Tailors’. It was not hard to find, located as it was on Savile Row, the address for the discerning and wealthy purchaser of men’s clothing in London.
The DCI Isaac Cook Thriller Series: Books 1 -3 Page 37
