‘How about Garry Solomon?’
‘Are you the police?’
‘Detective Inspector Hill.’
‘Any problems concerning me?’
‘Not at all. Bakewell Street is the last known abode of Garry Solomon, also known as Solly Michaels.’
‘How long ago?’
‘Thirty years.’
‘I’ve been here for forty. If he was a drinker, then he would have been in here.’
‘Why’s that?’ Larry ordered another two pints: one for him, the other for the publican.
‘Thirty years ago, we were the busiest pub in the area. Nowadays, as you can see...’
‘What changed?’
‘The boutique pubs. This pub no longer suited the up and coming trendies.’
‘Bitter about it?’ Larry asked.
‘Not really. I own the lease and the building, and as long as enough people come through the door to pay the bills, then I’m fine.’
‘Garry Solomon would have probably been down on his luck, although he would have dressed well.’ Larry knew that the body in the fireplace was expensively dressed, which did not tie in with the house and the area Garry Solomon had been living in.
‘There was a Solly that used to come in here, but that would have been back in 1984.’
Larry checked his records. In December 1983, Garry Solomon had been released from prison after serving twelve months, with time off for good behaviour. The charge, possession of a prohibited drug.
‘Looks to be the same person,’ Larry said. He noticed that the advice came at the cost of two more pints of beer.
‘There’s not a lot to tell you. He came in here every night for a couple of months, drank his fair share of alcohol, and then he disappeared.’
‘What date would that have been?’
‘February 1984, give or take a few weeks.’
It would take another two pints before Larry concluded with the publican. It was clear that the time difference between Greenwich and Garry Solomon’s death was relevant. The period prior to Greenwich, while it may have some bearing on his demise, did not seem as important.
Larry phoned Isaac, explained the situation, and the reason why he was not in a condition to drive back to the office.
It had happened a few times to Isaac as well, and he fully understood. He told Larry to take an early night, and he would see him in the morning. At least Larry’s wife would see him at a sociable hour, but not in the best condition.
***
The following day, Larry had to find out where Garry Solomon had gone after leaving Greenwich and before his untimely death. There was a period of three years and a change in fortune to be accounted for. In Greenwich, he had been destitute, an ex-prisoner. At the time of his death, he had been affluent; at least, that was the assumption judging by the clothes that he had been wearing at the time of his death.
Bridget was checking out the ownership of the house in Greenwich, and Isaac had another planned meeting with Montague Grenfell. Isaac’s suspicions, as always, came back to the family lawyer. Wendy had found Garry Solomon’s wife, now she had to find his son.
Neither were regarded as primary suspects in his death, as the construction of the fireplace surround at the house in Bellevue Street had required someone of strength, and Wendy could not envisage Emma Hampshire as being capable, and the son would have only been thirteen at the time.
As Bridget was still checking on the information Larry wanted, he decided to contact some of Garry Solomon’s earlier contacts. His criminal career had not been particularly long, lasting from his first prison sentence in 1977 through to his death in 1987. There had been two terms in prison, the first lasting twenty-four months, the second, twelve months. Seven years of freedom out of ten, which to Larry seemed to be statistically correct for the average villain.
If he had become involved in drug trafficking, it could only indicate one thing, that he was short of money. But then, there was Montague Grenfell stating that money was available for the asking, but Garry Solomon had never asked, which seemed illogical.
From what the team had managed to source, neither the father nor the son was short of charm or the willingness to stick their hand out for assistance. According to Gertrude Richardson, she had not seen Michael Solomon since he left in the seventies and her son since 1970.
‘There’s a secret,’ Isaac said to Larry on his arrival in the office.
Bridget was checking the title deeds for the house in Greenwich, and yet again it was all leading back to Montague Grenfell. The ownership was not clear, but the attempts at obscuring it were. It was obvious that it would have required a smart legal mind to put it all in place. And why was the house derelict, when it was worth a lot of money? Anyone smart enough to obscure the ownership would have been smart enough to appreciate its value.
‘Are we ruling out Garry Solomon’s widow?’ Isaac asked.
‘He treated her badly at one stage,’ Larry said.
‘I’m trying to find the son,’ Wendy said.
‘Is he important?’ Isaac asked.
‘Not for the murder, but he may know something.’
‘But he was only thirteen when Garry Solomon died.’
‘That may be, but so far we have a body, apparently affluent, but no motive, and why hide it in a fireplace?’ Wendy said.
It was a question that had concerned Isaac since the case began. Why not in the basement under the floor, and then covered with concrete, or a grave in the backyard. It was almost as if the discovery was to be expected.
‘Let us look at who could have placed the body in the fireplace,’ Isaac said to the team.
‘The body would have required one person, but sealing the fireplace? That would have probably required two people,’ Larry said. He had propped the back of his chair up against the wall, the two front legs not touching the floor.
‘Are we assuming one person?’ Bridget asked.
‘So far, we’ve being looking for a motive, not how many people could have been involved,’ Isaac replied.
‘Could be one or two,’ Larry said.
‘But why the fireplace?’ Wendy asked.
‘It seems illogical unless they intended to come back and seal the fireplace with bricks.’
‘Whoever placed the wooden structure around the fireplace must have been physically strong, so that discounts any of the women that we know of. The only people capable would have been Michael Solomon and Mavis Richardson’s missing husband, Ger O’Loughlin,’ Isaac added.
‘And Montague Grenfell,’ Larry said.
‘Of course, there’s always the family lawyer. It always comes back to him.’
‘Ger O’Loughlin is not missing,’ Wendy said.
‘Can he be contacted?’ Isaac asked.
‘Mavis Richardson will know how to contact him.’
With no more to be discussed, the team went back to their work. Wendy had spoken to Emma Hampshire, told her that it was important to contact her son. She had been reluctant to comply, but had given Wendy the address.
***
Kevin Solomon, a man of forty-three, was not difficult to find. The address, a two-bedroom flat in Hampstead, was in remarkably good condition for a man who had a history of drug abuse. Bridget had checked out his criminal record, found a history of drug possession, a few arrests for being drunk and disorderly, but no prison sentences, and no major crimes.
‘The flat, is it yours?’ Wendy asked. She had been invited in after showing her badge.
‘Out of my price bracket,’ Kevin Solomon replied. Wendy had to admit he was a good-looking man, not what she had expected.
‘What is your price bracket?’
‘Cheap, exceptionally cheap.’
‘No money?’
‘If I have some, I spend it.’
‘A remarkably frank admission,’ Wendy said.
‘Honesty, it’s part of my rehabilitation.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I’m a dr
ug addict, heroin mainly. For years, I was crazy for it. I would do anything for the next hit.’
‘Crime?’
‘Petty sometimes, or else I would hire out as a male escort.’
‘Pay well?’
‘Well enough for the next injection.’
‘That doesn’t explain the accommodation.’
‘It’s owned by the family.’
‘Which family?’
‘My grandmother’s.’
‘We were not aware that you had any contact with them.’
‘My father didn’t, although I knew from my mother about the family lawyer.’
‘Montague Grenfell?’
‘Yes, him.’
‘Have you met him?’
‘Once, when he came here and gave me the key to the flat.’
‘Did your father have any contact with his mother or Grenfell?’
‘He hated them. I doubt if he made contact.’
‘And you?’
‘Whatever the issue was between my father and his mother, I never knew.’
‘Did you meet her?’
‘I knocked on her door once. I was drugged out, attempted to explain who I was. She slammed the door in my face.’
‘Why would she do that?’
‘Living in a mansion fit for condemning. She must have assumed that I wanted to steal her money.’
‘Did you?’
‘Not really. I am not an ambitious man, lazy would be a more apt description. I knew I was in trouble with my addiction, and I was looking for somebody, anybody, to help.’
‘There was your mother.’
‘She wasn’t much help.’
‘I met her,’ Wendy said. He had made them both a cup of coffee. Whereas he had given up drugs, he had not given up cigarettes. Both were sitting in the main room of the flat smoking, a luxury both obviously enjoyed.
‘What did you think?’ Kevin Solomon asked.
‘I liked her. She seemed genuinely concerned about you.’
‘Maybe she is, but I don’t see her often.’
‘Any reason?’
‘She was quick enough to ship me off to boarding school.’
‘She said your father walked out on you two.’
‘After he had caught her screwing another man. Did she tell you that?’
‘Tell me about your father.’
‘He disappeared when I was three or four. I don’t remember him.’
‘You never saw him again?’
‘Once, when I was about ten or eleven, but never again.’
‘Did Bob Hampshire treat you well?’
‘He was a good man, more like a father than my father.’
‘Why the bitterness towards your mother?’
‘She shipped me off to boarding school.’
‘Only that?’
‘It’s enough.’
‘I’m afraid that your father is dead.’
‘I’m not surprised.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘I knew about the drug trafficking and the prison sentences. From what my mother told me, he ran with the wrong crowd. He was always bound to get his wings clipped at some time.’
‘Your father died in 1987 when you would have been thirteen.’
‘Unpleasant death?’
‘Murdered, unfortunately.’
‘His death means nothing to me. I was upset when Bob Hampshire died, but my father’s death leaves me cold. Does that sound callous?’
‘Not at all,’ Wendy replied.
With no more to be gained, Wendy left. Again, the hand of Montague Grenfell had interceded. She phoned Isaac to update him, as well as to inform Bridget. If the flat currently occupied by Kevin Solomon belonged to Gertrude Richardson, then what else belonged to her.
There was the property in Greenwich, and there was every reason to believe it belonged to Gertrude Richardson or her sister, or both. And was Gertrude as eccentric as everyone said? And what of the money and all the properties in Mavis Richardson’s name? What did Grenfell know?
It was clear that Montague Grenfell needed to be brought into Challis Street Police Station, cautioned, and given a chance to explain the truth in detail.
Chapter 14
Larry followed up on Garry Solomon’s earlier life. The evidence unfolding indicated that before 1976 he had been an honest man, but somehow he had become involved in selling drugs.
Larry visited Garry Solomon’s business before he had turned to crime. It was located down a side street in Hammersmith. The company was still involved in servicing luxury motors, attested by the Mercedes and BMWs lined up on the forecourt.
‘Garry Solomon, remember him well,’ the owner, Graham Nicholson, said. A distinguished-looking man, he spoke with the accent of the well-educated.
‘What can you tell me about him?’ Larry asked.
‘I bought this place from him back in 1976. Paid plenty for it.’
‘Good buy?’
‘It’s kept me solvent.’
‘Why did he sell it to you?’
‘No idea. He said he wanted to move on, bigger fish in the sea.’
‘What did you believe?’
‘I wasn’t concerned as to what he said, only if the business was viable. Everyone distorts the truth when they’re selling or buying.’
‘Can you speculate as to what was the truth?’
‘He was a young man. Obviously smart and a competent businessman, but he seemed to be in a hurry to set the world on fire. He was probably a little immature to be running a business such as this.’
‘Did he keep in contact?’
‘Not really. He honoured the agreement we had made: introduced me to his suppliers, his customers, and then left. I never saw him again.’
‘Did you ever wonder what had happened to him?’
‘Why? Should I have?’
‘I’m just curious. We’re tracing his whereabouts from 1976 through to 1987, that’s all.’
‘Why 1987?’
‘He died in 1987.’
‘Suspicious?’ Graham Nicholson asked.
‘He was murdered.’
‘Not a good way to end your days.’
‘Apart from that, do you have any idea where he went to?’
‘You’re pushing the memory here. It’s been many years. I vaguely remember hearing that he had fallen on hard times, but apart from that, there’s not much I can tell you.’
Larry returned to Challis Street Police Station. Montague Grenfell was due within the next hour, and Isaac wanted him to be present in the interview room with him.
***
Montague Grenfell arrived at Challis Street at 3 p.m. He was not in a good mood and felt the need to verbally abuse Isaac.
In his usual manner, Isaac shrugged off the lawyer’s rhetoric. As the senior policeman involved in the murder of Garry Solomon, he had a job to do, and whether Montague Grenfell was pleasant or abusive made little difference.
Isaac opened the interview with Grenfell, following all the procedures. Isaac sat on the right-hand side of the table, with Larry on his left. Grenfell sat on the other side, facing Isaac. He had not brought additional legal representation.
Detective Chief Superintendent Goddard watched from outside. He had made a special trip to come and see Isaac. The case of the body in the fireplace was not occupying the media, except on an infrequent basis. The fickle public had been diverted by world events, terrorist activity in the north of England, and the inclement and unseasonal weather in the country.
‘Mr Grenfell, there are anomalies in statements that you have made to me,’ Isaac said.
‘I have always been truthful when asked.’ Isaac realised it was Grenfell’s predictable reply. A man who, by his own admission, looked out for the Richardson family’s interests, even if that meant obscuring the truth from the police during a murder investigation.
‘According to Gertrude Richardson’s grandson, you supplied him with a flat in Hampstead.’
‘That is
correct.’
‘When I asked you on a previous occasion, you denied any knowledge of Garry Solomon’s family.’
‘That is correct.’
‘Why did you not tell me?’
‘Firstly, you had asked me in my office, not in an interview room, duly cautioned.’
‘And secondly?’
‘The son has no recollection of his father, other than a fleeting childhood meeting when he was ten or eleven. He did not seem relevant to Garry’s murder.’
‘That is for the police to decide, not you,’ Isaac said.
‘I disagree. The son would have been thirteen or fourteen when his father was murdered. He cannot be implicated in the man’s death,’ Grenfell said. Isaac noticed that the man had tensed, almost verging on anger.
‘That may be, but it is clear that you are withholding information.’
‘If you ask formally, then I will answer. Apart from that, the Richardson family’s personal business, and by default mine, remains sacrosanct.’
‘Even when a murder has been committed?’
‘Even then.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘My family has a history stretching back for hundreds of years. English aristocracy keep their dirty linen to themselves. It is not there to be bandied across the internet and in the media.’
‘The house in Greenwich?’ Larry asked.
‘Bakewell Street?’ Grenfell sat up at the mention of Greenwich. ‘How did you find it?’
‘Last known address of Garry Solomon,’ Larry said.
‘Who owned it, owns it?’ Isaac asked.
‘Gertrude.’
‘And if she’s dead?’
‘It’s a matter for probate.’
‘In your legal opinion?’ Isaac asked.
‘I cannot answer that question.’
‘Why not?’
‘I represent the Richardson family. It is a matter for them.’
‘You mean Mavis?’
‘Yes, Mavis Richardson.’
It was evident to Isaac that Montague Grenfell would remain a hostile witness, only willing to give the truth when asked directly.
‘Would Garry Solomon’s widow be eligible to inherit Gertrude Richardson’s assets?’ Isaac asked.
The DCI Isaac Cook Thriller Series: Books 1 -3 Page 44
