Isaac moderated his tone, spoke calmly. ‘Your brother found out that Montague Grenfell was smarter than most men, and that he needed another password to withdraw money. He visited Grenfell, obtained the password by force, and then hurled the man down the stairs to his death.’
‘It did not happen that way.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Don’t answer,’ the lawyer said.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Isaac said. ‘We will discuss this later.’
Chapter 34
Daniel Solomon had attempted to run when the two police cars had drawn up outside his office. He had been arrested before Deidre and was down at Challis Street in the holding cells.
Once the interview had been concluded with his sister, and careful to ensure the siblings did not see each other, he was brought up to the same interview room.
‘My sister has been here.’ Daniel Solomon sniffed the air, smelling her perfume.
Leonard Smithers, his lawyer as well as Deidre’s, sat to his right. Isaac thought they had chosen their lawyer poorly. There had been times during the previous interview when Smithers could have advised Deidre Solomon better. Not that it concerned Isaac. He knew he had his man in the interview room and he was not going to let him get off the hook.
Isaac went through the formal procedure, advised the client of his rights and cautioned him.
‘Mr Solomon, you have been charged with the murder of Montague Grenfell. Do you wish to make a written confession?’ Isaac asked.
‘I have killed no one,’ Solomon replied. Isaac had assumed that would be the man’s initial response.
‘We have proof that monies belonging to Montague Grenfell were deposited in an account controlled by you.’
‘What account?’
‘An account at the HSBC in the Channel Islands.’
‘I don’t have an account there,’ Solomon said.
‘The bank maintains a copy of all applications. Your name and your signature will be there. Do you deny that you have an account in the Channel Islands?’ Isaac’s voice had risen in volume for emphasis.
‘I have a lot of bank accounts.’
‘Your sister had the ability to withdraw funds from one of those accounts.’
‘What account?’
‘The account where you deposited monies obtained fraudulently from Montague Grenfell.’
‘I did not.’
‘Where did your sister get the money from?’
‘You’d better ask her.’
‘We have.’
‘My client has no more to say,’ Smithers said.
‘This is a murder enquiry. Mr Solomon doesn’t get off that lightly.’
‘Mr Solomon, your sister obtained the details of an account that Montague Grenfell had stored on his phone. She gave them to you. You attempted to withdraw money. When you realised that the account needed another password, you visited Grenfell and threatened him.’
‘This is all lies.’
‘We will conduct checks with other clients of your sister. This may be a scam that you have perpetrated on other men.’
‘I deny all of this. This is a fabrication, attempting to make me give you a false confession.’
‘Your sister screws them, and then you take their money. What do you do? Wait outside the door while she exhausts them, or do you watch? Maybe you are a pervert who enjoys watching his sister screw other men, or maybe you are jealous because it is them and not you? Have you screwed your sister, Mr Solomon?’ Isaac knew he had overstepped the mark, but he wanted the man angry, as angry as hell.
Daniel Solomon was up on his feet and around to Isaac’s side of the desk. Two uniforms came in and restrained him.
‘After watching your sister screw Grenfell, you make a plan. You visit his office and use violence to threaten him. He resists, you grab him. You force him outside of his office. Cornered, the man gives you the password. Montague Grenfell is a smart man; he knows he can change the password once you are gone.
‘You know he’s correct, and if he lives you will be charged with grievous bodily harm, and you will go to prison. The money can only be yours if you avoid prison and Grenfell doesn’t change the password.’
‘This is harassment,’ Smithers bellows.
‘This is murder,’ Isaac answers. ‘And Daniel Solomon is guilty.’
‘It was an accident. I swear it,’ Solomon relaxed and started to sob. ‘He fell, that’s the truth.’
‘Too convenient,’ Isaac said. ‘If he had not died, you would have killed him anyway. You had no option. It was fortunate that the fall killed him. The murder charge sticks.
‘I did not mean to kill him.’
‘Okay. Montague Grenfell’s death was not premeditated, but he still died. I want your confession.’
‘I will not admit to murder.’
‘Then admit to the rest. A judge and jury will decide at your trial as to the truth.’
‘You were tough in there, Isaac,’ Larry said after Solomon had been remanded pending trial.
‘He’ll still get off with manslaughter.’
‘Deidre?’
‘Accessory to manslaughter, fraud. A few years in jail, no more. Ask Wendy to visit their mother and let her know.’
***
The mood in Challis Street changed after the arrests had been made for the death of Montague Grenfell. DCS Goddard had visited the office to thank the team.
Garry Solomon’s murder still remained on the books, but the team were confident they had their man, although there seemed to be no logic to it.
The man responsible for installing the grille at Bellevue Street had been identified by Tom Wellings, but there was no tie-in to the body in the fireplace. It was not believed that they had known each other, and it had been a few years since the man’s last visit to Bellevue Street.
Due to the man’s age, Larry phoned a friend of his at a police station closer to the man’s home. A police car, no markings, transported him to the station.
Isaac and Larry followed the same procedure as they had with Daniel and Deidre Solomon.
‘Mr Sullivan, we are aware that you installed a metal grille on a door at 54 Bellevue Street, Holland Park in 1987.’ Isaac asked.
‘After thirty years, do you expect me to remember?’
Isaac could only see a kindly old man who had shaken his hand with no sign of malice. ‘What’s this all about?’ he had asked. ‘Always happy to help the police.’
Isaac had to remind himself that thirty years previously, George Sullivan would have been a man in his early fifties, and probably fit and strong. His story and the problem with Mavis Richardson were well known, but that was some time before Garry Solomon had been murdered.
‘I appreciate that it may be difficult, but it is important.’
‘Assuming it is, what does it mean?’
‘The grille isolated Garry Solomon’s body from the rest of the house.’
‘Gertrude’s son,’ Sullivan said.
‘You were at Albert Grenfell’s funeral,’ Isaac said.
‘As were you, Chief Inspector. And very friendly with Albert’s nurse.’
Isaac could see that a forceful interview would serve no purpose. He still struggled to believe that George Sullivan had murdered Garry Solomon. No connection had been found between the two men.
‘Let us assume that you installed the grille,’ Isaac said. He leant back on his chair to appear less intimidating. George Sullivan had declined his right to legal representation.
‘If that is what you want.’
‘We are aware that you attended one of their parties.’
‘I was younger. Not much use to me now.’
‘Would you have installed the grille on someone else’s behalf?’
‘It’s possible.’
‘For who?’
‘I am not at liberty to say. Your sergeant told you that I was with Army Intelligence?’
‘Yes, and so was Albert Grenfell,’ Isaac said.
/> ‘And he’s dead.’
‘Did he ask you?’
‘It’s possible, but I do not know why.’
‘Were you in the habit of helping him?’
‘Ex-Army Intelligence. Yes, we looked after our own. It was the time of the Cold War, still top secret. I told your sergeant that I was a pen-pusher, not a field operative. Unfortunately, it was a lie on my part. We risked our lives to help each other. Albert saved mine once. If Albert wanted something, he could rely on me.’
‘And you could rely on him?’ Isaac asked.
‘Totally. People today do not understand the concept. They have never experienced war, being behind the enemy line, death only one bullet away.’
‘Is that what you and Albert were involved with?’
‘It’s still classified, although I don’t know why after so many years.’
***
Isaac saw no reason to hold George Sullivan any longer. The man was too old to stand trial, and there was no case against him. A metal grille on a door leading to a room with a body was not an admission of guilt, although Albert Grenfell’s friendship with Sullivan might be.
Protecting the family name at all costs had been mentioned by Mavis Richardson in the past. Would that include covering up a murder as well? Isaac thought.
Once back at the office, he surfed the internet hoping to understand what it all meant. Five hundred years, even more recently, maintaining the family name allowed a multitude of sins, but this was the twenty-first century. Surely such behaviour would not be condoned today.
The day was drawing to a close, and he took the opportunity of an early night. He had planned to meet up with Katrina and to go out to a restaurant near Tower Bridge. There was a sense of relief in Homicide now that the Solomons were in custody.
Wendy had visited their mother. She was visibly distraught, but not surprised. She still loved them as the children she had given birth to, but according to her, they had both turned out bad, just like their father. Wendy had phoned social services to ease the burden on the woman caused by the babies. She also made an appointment to take the woman to see the doctor. She would pick her up, wait for her, and take her back. Mary Solomon appeared to have no friends, no relatives, and now no children.
Wendy knew that although life had taken a turn for the worse for her, she still had two loving sons, a friend in Bridget, and colleagues she admired and cherished. Sadness for Mary Solomon’s life was temporarily replaced by contentment with hers.
Larry had an appointment with a paint brush. His wife had finally got him on home renovations, and an early break from work meant only one thing to him: purgatory.
Bridget and Keith stayed back late in the office.
***
With the most recent murder resolved, apart from the paperwork involved and the subsequent trial, the intensity of the Murder Investigation Team lessened. As DCS Goddard had said on one of his visits, ‘It’s a great result. Everyone should be proud of themselves.’
Wendy had taken the opportunity to have a couple of days off, as had Larry. Bridget stayed in the office as the paperwork showed no sign of abating. The prosecution case files still needed completing, and besides, the office was more agreeable than her home.
She had kicked out the malingering lover, but she missed him. He may have had his faults, but he had been there when she had arrived home at the end of the day. Now all she had was a cold house and four walls to look at, apart from the television in the corner.
Isaac continued as usual, his workload supplanted by assisting on another case. Katrina Smith was still very much in his life, but the intensity of the relationship was starting to wither, as he always knew it would. That was how his life operated, and whereas he wished Katrina well, he could see it as only a matter of time.
Keith Dawson continued to work through Montague Grenfell’s records. Isaac had to admit that he had done a good job, and even though he lacked the natural camaraderie of the other people in his team, he still fitted in well. Larry’s opinion of the man had changed after Dawson had even paid for a round of drinks one Friday night.
It was three weeks after the arrest of Daniel and Deidre Solomon when the department came back together. Events had moved on, and the murder of Garry Solomon had taken precedence again.
After thirty years, it would have been possible to put it to one side and declare it as unsolved. As Isaac said to the team, ‘If we had arrested the murderer then, he would by now have been released from jail.’
Finding a killer after so long seemed like finding a needle in a haystack, but it had been Keith who had found it, hidden deep inside a file on Montague Grenfell’s laptop. Bridget had checked, found it to be correct. It was damning evidence, and its repercussions could still be felt today after thirty years. It was a clear motive.
Katrina had told Isaac two days earlier that Malcolm Grenfell had married Emma Hampshire in a registry office in Leicestershire. Her son, Kevin, had given her away. Katrina thought that Malcolm Grenfell had changed; Isaac was not sure.
Nuptials aside, Isaac knew that he needed to question the bride and groom again. He made plans to drive up to see them, but first he needed to interview George Sullivan again.
***
It was Wendy who picked up George Sullivan from his house. It had only been three weeks since she had last seen him, but his health had deteriorated.
Not long now, Wendy thought.
George Sullivan was as always polite and amenable, although he needed Wendy’s assistance into the police car.
Interview Room A at his nearest police station. Isaac was already there.
‘Mr Sullivan, thank you for coming.’
‘Always willing to help the police.’
Isaac went through the cautioning process, informed him of his rights. Sullivan waved them away. Isaac continued to a conclusion. It was always difficult interviewing old people, and whether Sullivan was guilty of any crime or not, it was clear that the man would not stand up in any court in front of a judge.
‘We need to go over why you installed the grille on Albert Grenfell’s behalf,’ Isaac asked.
‘It was a favour. Albert asked me.’
‘He could have dealt with it.’
‘Dealing with tradesmen? Not Albert’s style.’
‘Beneath him?’ Wendy asked. She was sitting to the left of Isaac.
‘If he could avoid it. I told you before that Albert was a terrible snob. Admirable in many ways, but he saw himself as above the common man. It may be an outdated attitude, but he was firm in his beliefs.’
‘But you are not from his class,’ Isaac said.
‘The son of a butcher, and not even a gentleman’s butcher.’
‘Then why the friendship?’ Isaac asked.
‘Please. I am an old man.’
‘I’m sorry, but we owe it to Garry Solomon to solve his murder.’
‘I suppose so.’
Wendy organised some tea to be brought in. She also took the opportunity to ask Isaac to ease his interrogating style.
‘The friendship?’ Isaac asked. His manner was less forthright.
‘Albert was behind enemy lines. The Stasi, the East German secret police, had captured him and were holding him on the outskirts of East Berlin. I went in and rescued him.’
‘Dangerous?’ Wendy asked.
‘I killed two men to get him out. We were both lucky to get out alive.’
Isaac had to admire the man, even if his involvement with the death of Garry Solomon was suspected.
‘You said before that you installed the grille as a favour.’
‘Yes.’
‘If you had known that it was being installed to cover up a criminal act?’
‘If Albert Grenfell had told me, I would have still installed the grille.’
‘And been an accessory to murder?’
‘You both belong to a different generation,’ Sullivan said. ‘Albert and I had a long history. What we did all those years ago forme
d a bond that cannot be broken. Whether Albert knew what was in that room or not, is not important to me. I did my duty, as he would have done for me.’
‘Including murder?’
‘We killed in Germany, although it was called political assassination. Over there we received medals for our actions, not prison cells.’
‘Let me get this clear,’ Isaac said. ‘You installed the grille, but you had no part in the placement of the body in the fireplace or his murder.’
‘That is correct. My conscience is clear. I did my duty, and God will be my judge.’
‘Thank you, Mr Sullivan. There are no more questions.’
Isaac concluded the interview. Wendy organised a policewoman to take George Sullivan home.
‘What do you think?’ Wendy asked Isaac outside the police station as they prepared to drive back to Challis Street.
‘Albert could have killed Solomon. He had the motive.’
‘How do we prove it?’
‘We can’t. The truth, if he knows it, lies with Sullivan.’
‘Do you intend to question him again?’ Wendy asked.
‘No. That is the last time we will see George Sullivan,’ Isaac said. ‘As long as he denies any involvement in the murder, there is nothing we can do.’
Chapter 35
Isaac made the trip up to Penrith House to meet Lord and Lady Penrith. He took Wendy with him. They were met at the front entrance to the house by Lady Penrith.
‘Pleased to see you,’ the former Emma Hampshire said.
‘It came as a surprise,’ Isaac said. He had to admit she looked resplendent. Around her neck she wore an emerald necklace.
‘Family heirloom,’ she said, after noticing Wendy admiring it.
‘I did not see his lordship as the marrying kind,’ Isaac said.
‘Neither did I,’ Lady Penrith said.
‘Then why?’
‘We are both older, and neither of us wants to be on their own.’
‘Malcolm Grenfell was never on his own,’ Isaac said, unsure of her Ladyship’s reaction.
‘The women who kept him entertained were there for a good time, not him. He will never have reason to doubt my motives.’
The DCI Isaac Cook Thriller Series: Books 1 -3 Page 60
