‘And her debts.’
‘You are aware that his wife uses the name of Emma Hampshire?’
‘Yes.’
‘Which means that you are aware of the movements of Garry Solomon, the two prison terms, the convictions for drug trafficking.’
‘Yes.’
‘Then why are we spending the time to find out when you could have supplied us with that information?’
‘If you ask, I will answer. Otherwise, what I know remains secret.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Isaac said.
‘No offence, but you are not of aristocratic birth.’
Regardless of Grenfell’s statement, Isaac saw it as a slur on his good character and that of his parents.
‘Let us come back to Garry Solomon.’
‘What do you want to know?’
‘You are aware that he and Emily Solomon were married legally in England?’
‘Yes.’
‘You denied any knowledge of it on a previous occasion.’
‘Yes.’
‘Are you aware that you may well have committed a criminal offence by your persistent lies?’
‘I am well aware of the law.’
‘Was Garry Solomon murdered because of something he knew?’
‘Why ask me? I am the family lawyer, not his murderer.’
‘Could they be one and the same?’ Isaac knew he was baiting the man, attempting to get more from him than a curt reply.
‘Repeat that in public and I will sue you for slander.’
‘Judging by the way in which the body was concealed, there are only three people capable of committing the murder, or at least hiding the body in the fireplace: you, Michael Solomon, and Ger O’Loughlin.’
‘From what I’ve been told, the construction around the fireplace was substantial,’ Grenfell said.
‘It would have required someone with the skill to build and the strength to put it in place,’ Isaac said.
‘That rules me out. I’ve only got the one leg, and as for handyman skills, I can barely change a light bulb.’
‘What about Michael Solomon?’
‘It’s possible. He was certainly strong enough, although I never saw him do anything practical around the house.’
‘Ger O’Loughlin?’
‘He could have done it, but why? He had nothing to gain by Garry’s death, and besides, he’s long gone.’
‘And you know where he is?’
‘Mavis does.’
‘And you?’
‘Yes.’
‘We need the address.’
‘I’ll send it to you.’
Isaac concluded the interview, knowing full well that yet again Montague Grenfell had not been forthcoming with the truth.
***
‘I need you to visit Ger O’Loughlin,’ Isaac said.
Normally, Wendy would have been delighted with a trip out of London, but her husband was worrying her greatly. The doctor was giving him just four to five weeks, and now she was off to Ireland. Still, she couldn’t refuse as it was her job, and her promotion to sergeant was soon to be confirmed. For once, the expense account and the ability to use it did not excite her, but, as always, she would do her duty.
A flight was booked with British Airways at eight the next morning. Wendy’s eldest son offered to come over to the house to feed the two cats, and to visit his father every day.
Arriving in Dublin, she picked up a hire car at the airport. The address for O’Loughlin was recent, and she had no difficulty finding him. She had even phoned in advance, and informed the Irish police, the Garda, that she was coming. It was a formality, and as no arrests were to be made, she was free to question O’Loughlin on her own.
Any extraditions and they would be involved, but that looked unlikely, as when she had phoned the previous day, the phone had been answered by a softly-spoken woman with a distinctive Irish accent. ‘My father is dying,’ she had said.
Ger O’Loughlin, as explained by his youngest daughter on Wendy’s arrival, was suffering from lung cancer after a lifetime of chain smoking.
Wendy found the man sitting up in bed, a ventilator forcing air into his destroyed lungs.
‘How is Mavis?’ Ger O’Loughlin asked, his voice rasping but weak.
‘She’s fine,’ Wendy said.
‘Still attractive?’
‘Still.’
‘She was a looker, couldn’t keep my hands off her when I was younger.’
‘She still acts younger than her age. Are you aware of her sister’s death?’
‘Grenfell phoned.’
‘Do you hear from him often?’
‘Rarely.’
‘When did you last see Mavis?’
‘It must be twenty-five years at least. We have spoken a few times, but both our lives have moved on. We’re long-distance friends, nothing more.’
‘Did he tell you about Garry Solomon?’
‘Yes, and he told me that Michael Solomon had died, but I knew that already.’
‘How?’
‘I kept in contact with him. We used to meet from time to time over the years. When he died, his second wife phoned.’
‘Did you know he was not divorced from Gertrude when he married the second wife?’
‘I never asked if he had married again. I assumed they were living together and she had taken his surname.’
‘Don’t you go tiring my dad. He needs to rest,’ O’Loughlin’s daughter said after poking her head around the door.
‘I won’t,’ Wendy said.
‘Always fussing, that one,’ O’Loughlin said after the young woman had retreated.
‘How many children do you have?’
‘Four, and a good wife as well. She’ll be back in later today.’
‘According to Mavis, she did not want children.’
‘That’s why we broke up. It was important to me, not to her.’
All Wendy could see was a tired old man close to death, but she had not travelled to talk about life now, but life back when he was younger, when he was married to Mavis Richardson.
‘Sorry, but I need to ask about Garry Solomon.’
‘The last time I saw him would have been around 1963, the night he walked in at the party.’
‘When Michael Solomon was in bed with Mavis?’
‘Wild days.’ Ger O’Loughlin managed a thin smile.
‘And you didn’t object?’
‘We were young. It was the age of free love and permissiveness. Mind you, Garry went crazy with hitting Mavis. It took all my strength to pull him off.’
‘Were you a strong man?’
‘I used to work out at the gym.’
‘What can you tell me about the structure around the fireplace in Bellevue Street?’ Wendy asked.
‘Nothing. I never went around to the house after that day.’
‘When she caught you in bed with Gertrude?’
‘You’ve done your homework. Who told you?’
‘Mavis. So why was she upset if you had both been indulging in wife swapping?’
‘As she saw it, a wife-swapping party was by mutual consent of all parties, whereas my sleeping with her sister was a private agreement.’
‘How did you see it?’ Wendy asked.
‘An afternoon screw, nothing more. It was not the first time that I had slept with her.’
‘Mavis kicks the two of you out, subsequently forgives the sister, but not you.’
‘She forgave me, but the trust that Mavis had for me was broken. We both moved on.’
At that point, the young daughter came in and asked Wendy to leave as her father needed to rest. There seemed no reason for her to stay longer in Ireland. There was a late-night flight; she intended to catch it.
Chapter 15
Larry decided to focus on Garry Solomon. His whereabouts between 1984 and 1987 were still vague, apart from the times he visited the clothing shop to buy some hand-made shirts and trousers. Solomon’s last visit had been in 1986, ap
proximately one year before his murder.
There were no criminal activities registered against either of the two names he had been using, which meant he was either honestly employed or out of the country. Or, possibly, he had managed to evade the long arm of the law. Larry saw that option as remote, as Garry Solomon had shown himself to be a small-time criminal of limited abilities. The man had received a good education, was apparently articulate and intelligent, yet he remained a petty criminal. It all seemed incongruous to Larry, who was a strong believer that a person should make the best of what was given at birth and in their life, and should always strive for more.
It was a philosophy that drove him on in his career within the London Metropolitan Police. He was aiming to make detective chief inspector within a year, superintendent in three, and chief superintendent in five. He knew that he needed one or two university degrees to achieve his final goal, but working with Homicide was demanding and he knew he was not keeping up with his studies.
The only way to achieve the degrees was to take six months off work and to study to exhaustion, sleep and study again. However, he had a family and another child on the way. It would be another five years before he could see any financial relief.
Montague Grenfell, when questioned, had offered no information as to where Solomon had gone, but Larry and Isaac had regarded that as further obstructive behaviour.
Bridget had managed to find records of a driving licence issued to Garry Solomon, the address in Knightsbridge. It seemed an upmarket location after Greenwich.
Larry saw it as a long shot, but there were no other leads. He made his way out to the property in Montpelier Square. The house was as opulent as the house in Greenwich had been rundown. He knocked on the door. A woman in her sixties answered.
‘Detective Inspector Larry Hill, Challis Street Police Station.’
‘What can I do for you?’
‘I need to ask you some questions.’ Larry showed his ID badge. The door opened fully to let him in. He observed that the house was beautifully decorated, and the woman was very attractive.
‘Your name?’ Larry asked once he was seated in the main room of the house.
‘Barbara Ecclestone.’
‘Have you lived here long?’
‘It was my parents’ house. I grew up here.’
‘I’m looking for a Garry Solomon, or as he was also known, Solly Michaels.’
‘So was I, for a long time.’
‘You knew him?’
‘We lived together.’
‘What can you tell me about him?’
‘Is he dead?’
‘I’m sorry.’
The woman, obviously distraught, sat down to compose herself.
‘I’m not surprised,’ she said.
‘Are you alright?’ Larry asked.
‘He walked out on me a long time in the past. I was upset back then. Now, it’s just the shock of facing reality.’
‘Did you look for him?’
‘Everywhere I could think of.’
‘Did he have many friends?’
‘Not in the two years that he was here with me. We spent most of the time here, occasionally walking up to Harrods to buy the groceries.’
‘What do you know about his past life?’
‘He became involved with a criminal element, started trafficking drugs. He did time for that on a couple of occasions.’
‘Were you involved with him then?’
‘On and off. I went through a wild period, but, as with Garry, I settled down. Got older, I suppose.’
‘What do you know about his family life?’
‘He mentioned his father once or twice, although I never met him. Any mention of his mother and he would get upset. No idea why. My mother was a bitch, but I still miss her. Are they still alive?’
‘The father died some years ago; the mother, recently.’
‘Did she know that her son had died?’
‘She did. She died soon after.’
‘How sad.’
‘Do you know the date when he disappeared?’
‘January 21st, 1987.’
‘Good memory.’
‘It was my birthday. I had made a special meal, bought some champagne, but he goes out for a couple of hours and never comes back. In the end, I threw the meal in the bin and drank the champagne. Is the date significant?’
‘It was the day he died.’
‘And there I was getting angry, yet it was not his fault. How did he die? Car accident?’
‘Unfortunately, he came to a tragic end. He was murdered.’
The woman sat down and put her face in her hands, overcome with emotion. Larry found a bottle of whisky and gave her some. Five minutes later, she revived.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said.
‘It’s an understandable reaction.’
‘It’s been thirty years. I’ve moved on since then, got married, had a couple of kids.’
‘And the children?’
‘They have both left home. One’s married, the other one is overseas.’
‘Either of them belong to Garry Solomon?’
‘No.’
‘Tell me about the day he disappeared,’ Larry said.
‘Do you want a cup of tea?’
‘Yes, please.’
Five minutes later, with the tea poured, Barbara Ecclestone spoke about her time with Garry Solomon.
‘I first met Garry in 1979. He was just out of prison, and I was a social worker. I was there to help him readjust to society and to ensure he went straight.’
‘Did he?’
‘My first ex-prisoner, my first failure.’
‘What happened?’
‘He called himself Solly Michaels. Soon after his release, he was back with his criminal mates. If you had met him, you would have wondered why.’
‘Why?’
‘A charming man, articulate, generous, great company.’
‘Did you become involved then?’
‘You mean lovers?’
‘Yes.’
‘Not at all. I was very prim and proper, still am.’
‘And then what?’
‘Three years later and he’s back in prison. We had kept in contact over the years, and occasionally we would meet up. I think he enjoyed my attempts at reforming him.
‘I started to visit him in prison, and we spoke about our lives. He was from an affluent background, shipped off to a boarding school, as was I. We were both bitter about the neglect, although, with me, it didn’t affect me as badly as it did Garry.’
‘Greenwich,’ Larry said.
‘You’ve been there?’
‘And the local pub.’
‘It was awful out there.’
‘Still is.’
‘Why didn’t he come here instead of Greenwich?’
‘My mother was still alive. And besides, Garry still had some unresolved issues to deal with.’
‘Such as?’
‘He was a ladies’ man.’
‘He was playing the field?’
‘I’m sure he was. As long as I didn’t know, I was fine. I loved him, foolish as it was, and I was willing to wait.’
‘While he was here with you?’
‘We were together virtually twenty-four hours a day.’
‘Did he work during his time here?’
‘He seemed to have some money coming in. I quizzed him once. He said it was from his family.’
‘Did you work during that time?’
‘No. We were just very happy, planning our future together.’
‘Did you know about his past personal relationships?’
‘His wife and son? Yes, I did. Apparently, she had upset him once, but he had forgiven her. He said that she had moved in with a good man and that his son was fine. Apart from that, he did not speak about his past.’
‘Did he see them?’
‘I don’t think so. For some reason, past memories were always difficult for him. He dealt with the present an
d the future.’
‘Is there any more?’ Larry asked. ‘The day he disappeared, what happened?’
‘He went out, never returned. I’ve no idea where he went or who he met.’
‘Thanks. I may come back to you if there is any other information that I require.’
‘My husband is due back in fifteen minutes. Please stay till then. I don’t want to be on my own at the present time.’
Fifteen minutes later, the husband returned. Barbara told him why a police inspector was in the house. Larry left soon after and headed back to Challis Street.
***
Detective Chief Superintendent Goddard was in Isaac’s office on Larry’s return to Challis Street. From Larry’s side of the glass partition, it appeared to be an animated conversation.
‘Isaac, how much longer is this going to take? We’ve other murders requiring your team’s attention, and this thirty-year-old corpse is still garnering more attention than it should.’
‘We’re still collating the facts,’ Isaac’s reply.
‘What have you got?’
‘We now know where Garry Solomon was before his murder. His murderer is still uncertain, and why a fireplace remains a mystery.’
‘Surely you must have a motive.’
‘No motive is apparent.’
It was clear from DCS Goddard’s visit that he was under pressure to provide a result. Isaac had ceased to relish his superior’s visits. Questions as to when the case was going to be wrapped up always grated. The team were working hard, attempting to resolve it, but everyone was jaundiced by now. Their previous cases had been long and gruelling, and before Garry Solomon’s body had been discovered, they had been hoping for a break from the routine. It sometimes seemed to DCI Isaac Cook that they were in a growth industry.
Wendy’s promotion, due to Isaac’s efforts and her good work, had come about. She was now Sergeant Wendy Gladstone, and to Isaac, a title well earned. Not that it helped with her husband who continued to wither. Under normal circumstances, she would have been entitled to compassionate leave, or at least to forbearance from the London Metropolitan Police as she juggled the emotional and financial needs of her husband and the professional needs of a policewoman involved in a murder investigation that defied logic.
Regardless, Wendy had been insistent that being at home or at the nursing home were non-constructive, and that an idle mind did no good. On several occasions, Bridget had gone home with Wendy to keep her company.
The DCI Isaac Cook Thriller Series: Books 1 -3 Page 45
