The DCI Isaac Cook Thriller Series: Books 1 -3

by Phillip Strang

  ‘You’ve changed your address,’ Larry said.

  ‘I’ve lived here for five years.’

  Wendy felt that she did not like the man, but then she had little time for the class structure that pervaded the country. If she had admitted to it, she would have stated that she was a socialist.

  It was clear that there was a woman in the house, her shrill voice shouting for Grenfell to come back.

  ‘I have a visitor. This is not a convenient time. Come back later.’

  ‘Are you used to the police knocking on your door?’ Wendy asked.

  ‘Too often for me.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘The neighbours don’t agree with the parties I have here.’

  ‘Loud, are they?’ Larry asked.

  ‘They are welcome to come, but they are all frustrated, members of the local golf club, regular churchgoers.’

  ‘And you are not?’

  ‘Hell, no. You only get one shot at life. I intend to enjoy myself.’

  ‘And if that includes women and drinking and making a noise?’ Wendy asked.

  ‘Not so much for the drink, but the women, yes.’

  ‘We are from Homicide,’ Wendy said.

  ‘Wait a minute. I’ll tell her to make herself presentable before you come in.’

  Two minutes later, Malcolm Grenfell returned. ‘Come in.’

  The woman sat on a chair in the kitchen. She was wearing an evening dress, even though it was early in the day. In her hand was a glass of champagne.

  ‘Hi, I’m Lucy,’ she said. ‘Is Malcolm in trouble again?’

  Wendy thought she was in her early twenties. Larry could not but look at her more than he should. Both of them would have agreed that she was vivacious, although only Larry would have appreciated the visible bare breast.

  ‘Go upstairs,’ Grenfell said. ‘I’ll be there shortly.’

  ‘You’d better be hard when you get there,’ Lucy said.

  Wendy realised that the woman had said it to tease Larry.

  ‘She’s had a few too many drinks,’ Grenfell said.

  ‘A friend of yours?’ Wendy asked.

  ‘One of many. I make no pretence as to what I am.’

  ‘And what is that?’

  ‘A lecherous old man who should know better.’

  The three sat down at a dining table.

  ‘Tell me why you are here?’

  ‘Are you aware of certain events pertaining to your family?’

  ‘Albert is dying, and Montague will inherit the title.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘I have no contact with Albert, and very little with Montague.’

  ‘Why is that?’ Larry asked.

  ‘They disapprove of me.’

  ‘Because of your lifestyle?’

  ‘They belong to the past. They see that a title and position requires a person to devote himself to a life of sobriety and service to the community. I don’t.’

  ‘They still pay you to live the life they despise?’ Larry said.

  ‘No option. They could not have a family member of theirs demeaning himself with taking a menial job, even living with the proletariat.’

  ‘I am sorry to tell you that Montague has died,’ Wendy said.

  ‘No, that cannot be. I spoke to him the week before last.’

  ‘What did you talk about?’

  ‘Albert.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Albert was the one who insisted on maintaining my lifestyle.’

  ‘And Montague would have stopped your allowance?’

  ‘Probably not, but I wanted to check.’

  ‘Are you sad that Albert is dying?’

  ‘Why? Should I be? Look at the life he led – boring and pointless. Married to the same old shrew for years.’

  ‘She’s dead.’

  ‘A long time. The best thing she did for Albert.’

  The frivolous rent-a-lay poked her head around the corner of the door. ‘I need you,’ she said to Grenfell.

  He told her to watch the television or to have another glass of champagne. She left and went back upstairs, complaining as she went. Wendy was certain that she was snorting cocaine.

  ‘Mind you, I did like Montague, even if he was stuffy.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Wendy asked.

  ‘He always had his head in a book, or was fussing over money.’

  ‘Highly regarded by your family and the Richardsons.’

  ‘The Richardsons,’ Grenfell sighed.

  ‘What is it about the Richardsons that causes you to sigh?’ Larry asked.

  ‘I never understood the relationship.’

  ‘They are cousins.’

  ‘I realise that, but we have other cousins. I never saw any of them receive the same benevolence.’

  ‘Did you know them?’

  ‘Twenty to twenty-five years since I’ve seen the two sisters.’

  ‘The eldest one is dead.’

  ‘Gertrude?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m not surprised.’

  ‘Why?’ Wendy asked.

  ‘Highly promiscuous.’

  ‘She was eighty-seven when she died.’

  ‘At least she knew how to enjoy life.’

  ‘Not for the last few years. She had become reclusive.’

  ‘Unhinged after her son disappeared.’

  ‘What do you know about the son?’

  ‘We were about the same age, shipped off to the same boarding school. He was a decent person, although he had some of Gertrude’s madness.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He had a wild streak. Always getting into trouble.’

  ‘What sort of trouble?’

  ‘At school: graffiti when he could get hold of some paint, smuggling whisky into the dormitory, even managed to seduce the headmaster’s daughter. The old man caught him in bed with her, expelled him immediately. Made himself a legend amongst the pupils that day.’

  ‘Do you know why he hated his mother?’

  ‘Hate? He didn’t hate her, quite the opposite.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He loved her, but never wanted to see her.’

  ‘Do you know why?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘On the death of your brother, you will become Lord Penrith,’ Wendy said.

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘What are your thoughts?’

  ‘No need to worry about the neighbours up there.’

  ‘You would move in to the family home?’

  ‘It will need fixing up first, but yes. Why not?’

  ‘You intend to enjoy yourself?’ Wendy asked.

  ‘For as long as I can.’

  ‘Garry Solomon. What do you know about him?’

  ‘No idea what happened to him.’

  ‘It’s been on the news.’

  ‘Too busy to watch the news.’

  ‘Garry Solomon is dead.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘He was murdered.’

  ‘Somebody’s wife or daughter, I suppose.’

  ‘We don’t know why.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘1987.’

  ‘That’s a long time. How did Montague die?’

  ‘He was pushed down some stairs.’

  ‘Murdered?’

  ‘Murdered. Or an unfortunate consequence of a fight.’

  ‘Fight? Montague? He was a pacifist.’

  ‘His death clears your way to the title,’ Larry said.

  ‘The title means little to me.’

  The two police officers left soon after. The young woman was becoming restless again, and Malcolm Grenfell looked more in need of her services than talking to them.

  Chapter 20

  ‘George Sullivan,’ Isaac said in the office on Wendy and Larry’s return. ‘He is the other man in the photo.’

  ‘And you want us to find him, sir?’ Larry asked.

  Wendy, once back in the office, had moved over to near Bridget. Isaac could
see that Wendy was in need of her friend’s ministrations. For the moment, it was only Isaac and Larry.

  ‘Any ideas about him, DCI?’

  ‘Nothing to go on. His lordship gave the name just before he fell asleep.’

  ‘How much longer before he dies?’

  ‘According to Katrina?’

  ‘Katrina?’ Larry asked, knowing full well who Isaac was referring to. The office always liked a little bit of gossip, even if it was discreet.

  ‘Katrina Smith, his private nurse.’

  ‘How long?’

  ‘One week, give or take a few days.’

  ‘And then Malcolm Grenfell is the new Lord Penrith.’

  ‘Is he excited?’

  ‘Not sure.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He professes not to care, but he’s a member of the idle rich. With Albert and Montague dead, he gets the title, the stately home, and the money.’

  ‘A good enough motive to murder Montague Grenfell.’

  ‘As you say.’

  Wendy, feeling slightly better, came over and joined the conversation. ‘I didn’t like him, sir,’ she said.

  ‘Malcolm Grenfell?’

  ‘A man his age messing around with a girl in her twenties.’

  ‘He likes young women?’

  ‘He’s a total waster, sir.’

  ‘But is he a murderer?’

  ‘If it affected his lifestyle, he might feel inclined.’

  ‘Could he have killed Montague?’

  ‘To ensure the title?’ Larry asked.

  ‘Why not?’ Isaac answered.

  ‘Montague Grenfell had control of the money, the titles to all of the properties. Did he set up a proxy in case he was indisposed?’

  ‘It’s a question that needs answering. We should ask Bridget to check.’

  Wendy leant over to the door entrance and shouted for Bridget to come over.

  Bridget brought a sheet of paper with her.

  ‘Bridget, who will take control of Montague’s legal and financial responsibilities?’

  ‘I have a copy of his will, sir.’

  Isaac scanned the document. ‘Albert, the first executor, then Mavis Richardson. The wealth stays within the Grenfell family, so Malcolm’s claim on the money and the house is secure. There is also a generous amount of money to be taken from his estate and given to Mavis Richardson.’

  ‘What does it mean?’ Larry asked.

  ‘He trusts Mavis, but not Malcolm,’ Bridget said.

  ‘That is fine, but everyone in this will, except for Malcolm Grenfell, is over eighty years of age. Any one of them could die at any time.’

  ‘In that case, full control would probably go to Malcolm.’

  ‘The man has a strong motive, at least for the murder of his brother.’

  ‘Is Mavis Richardson at risk?’ Larry asked.

  ‘DCI, you mentioned George Sullivan,’ Wendy said.

  ‘Lord Penrith identified him as the unknown man in the photos.’

  ‘Who is he?’

  ‘That’s up to you and Larry.’

  ‘Are we saying that Albert Grenfell and his wife attended the wife-swapping parties?’

  ‘The photos may be unrelated. George Sullivan may know.’

  ‘Where do we look, sir?’

  ‘According to the elder Grenfell, he had a house in Berkshire. Not much to go on, but that is all there is. Maybe check Montague’s records.’

  ***

  Albert Grenfell died two days after Isaac had spoken to him. Wendy and Larry informed Malcolm Grenfell by phone. They could hear the sound of people and music in the background. The new Lord Penrith did not turn the music down.

  The new lord was delighted and intended to enjoy his good fortune with more drink and more food. The frivolous twenty-something that Larry and Wendy met had been replaced by another.

  Mavis Richardson took the news badly when Wendy told her. ‘He was a good man. Old fashioned, but genuine. Who’s left now?’ Mavis said. Wendy thought she looked a lot older than when she had previously seen her.

  ‘Did he attend any of your parties?’

  ‘Yes. On a couple of occasions.’

  ‘And his wife?’

  ‘Once.’

  ‘What can you tell me about George Sullivan?’

  ‘He was a friend of Albert’s.’

  ‘He was at one of your parties?’

  ‘We never invited him again.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He was a coarse man.’

  ‘Would you care to elaborate?’

  ‘We only agreed that he could come if he brought a woman with him.’

  ‘And he did?’

  ‘No. He came on his own.’

  ‘But he stayed?’

  ‘He was an attractive man. Gertrude wanted him immediately, but I could see he was trouble.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘He started putting his hands on me.’

  ‘Was that a problem?’

  ‘In front of everyone?’

  ‘Are you saying that behind closed doors it was okay, but not in front of the guests?’

  ‘It’s basic good manners, and he had very few of them.’

  ‘Did you sleep with him?’

  ‘Gertrude did.’

  ‘Why didn’t you?’

  ‘He wanted to, and if he had been more of a gentleman, I probably would have.’

  ‘Was Montague Grenfell there?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What happened after you refused?’

  ‘He became drunk, accused me of being a prick teaser. In the end, the party ended early, and Albert led him away.’

  ‘His wife came as well?’

  ‘She didn’t take part.’

  ‘And Albert?’

  ‘I slept with him the one time. Gertrude, on another.’

  ‘Where can I find George Sullivan?’ Wendy asked.

  ‘I’ve no idea. He may be dead, same as all of us. I am the only one still alive. You do realise that?’

  ‘We found Malcolm.’

  ‘Still living it up with his young tarts?’

  ‘You never mentioned that you knew where he was.’

  ‘I never knew. Did Montague?’

  ‘Montague knew everything,’ Wendy said. ‘And Malcolm is now the incumbent lord.’

  ‘Does he know?’

  ‘I told him.’

  ‘He will destroy the good name of the Grenfells. He is the last of the line. After him, there will be no more Lord Penriths.’

  ‘Is that a bad thing?’ Wendy asked.

  ‘I still believe breeding counts for something,’ Mavis Richardson said.

  Wendy realised that it was not for her to discuss Montague Grenfell’s will. That was for a more formal occasion. Wendy assumed that Mavis Richardson knew its contents, but she would only live for a few more years before she died, or became too old and frail to understand what was required of her. Wendy wondered what happened in such circumstances, but assumed there was a procedure.

  ‘Have you nominated another lawyer?’ Wendy asked.

  ‘Not yet. I’m not sure who I can trust.’

  ‘Maybe you should.’

  ‘Malcolm will turn the ancestral home into a bordello,’ Mavis said.

  ‘Garry Solomon had a son.’

  ‘I am aware of that.’

  Mavis Richardson appeared tired. Wendy made her excuses and left, not sure what she had achieved by visiting. The old woman had not provided any more useful information, and judging by her condition, she was not in a fit state to take on the responsibilities as the executor of Montague Grenfell’s will.

  Lord Penrith’s wealth would be a sufficient motive for anyone, and Gertrude was independently wealthy, as was Mavis. What would happen if Mavis died? She had no living relatives, other than an ex-husband, but he was at death’s door.

  The only person who had anything to gain from Mavis’s death would be Kevin Solomon, the son of Garry Solomon.

  Wend
y phoned Larry. They agreed to meet up with Kevin Solomon to see if he knew any more.

  ***

  Isaac had received an urgent phone call from Katrina Smith, still up at Lord Penrith’s house in Leicestershire. ‘Malcolm Grenfell is here,’ she said.

  ‘What did he have to say for himself?’

  ‘He was drunk; he had a woman in the car. At first, I assumed it was his daughter.’

  ‘She’s not his daughter,’ Isaac said.

  ‘He thought I was part of the deal.’

  ‘Violent?’

  ‘He could have been.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘Kneed him and punched him in the face.’

  ‘I didn’t know you were so tough.’

  ‘You’ve not checked out my history?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Five years with the British Army, two of those in Iraq. I received training in unarmed combat and weaponry.’

  ‘Were you on the front line?’

  ‘Baghdad, field hospital.’

  ‘Tell me about Lord Penrith.’

  ‘The new one?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘He wanted to move in, spend the night. There wasn’t a lot I could do to stop him. I told him his brother was still in the house.’

  ‘They’ve not taken the body away yet?’

  ‘You would think it was royalty that had died. He is lying in state, and all the staff, local dignitaries, other members of the aristocracy are filing past. It’s macabre.’

  ‘Did Malcolm Grenfell want to see his brother?’

  ‘Hell he did. He was more interested in doing an inventory of anything valuable.’

  ‘Is he still there?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Can you leave?’

  ‘Not with his brother lying dead in the other room. Can you come up?’

  ‘It may be an excellent opportunity to meet Lord Penrith.’

  Isaac arrived at the Penrith House at six in the evening. Katrina came out of the front door on seeing him arrive. She could not resist and gave him a hug and a kiss.

  ‘He’s impossible,’ she said.

  ‘What’s he done?’

  ‘He found the key to the wine cellar, and he’s down there with his woman. I took a look, and it was evident she is not his daughter. Both naked and covered in wine, almost like a bacchanalian orgy.

  ‘I’ll deal with it,’ Isaac said. Katrina had phoned the local police, but they were reluctant to intervene as the man was now the lord. Isaac knew what Wendy’s comment would have been.