‘Leave it with me. I’ll make a few phone calls.’
Isaac sat down and considered the situation after Windsor had left. He knew that McTavish, the former government whip, had the contacts, could even get him an answer within hours, but he no longer trusted the man. His DCS would know some other people.
Whatever way Isaac looked at it, he could see that obtaining the password had an inherent risk, possibly more damaging than the murders so far. Experience told him that once the security organisations become involved, MI5, MI6, then deaths start escalating. Some of those would become classified as well, possibly the three known murders too.
Isaac phoned his DCS, explained the situation and the need to maintain confidentiality. He assumed that Goddard would contact McTavish, but there was no alternative; they needed a confirmed name for the murderer.
Two hours later, Goddard phoned back with an update. ‘The password’s been removed.’
‘Angus McTavish?’ Isaac asked.
‘I’ve other contacts. Someone owed me a favour.’
‘He’ll keep quiet?’
‘I hope so.’
Isaac walked over to Bridget. He passed on the information, let her log on to Fingerprints as she was more computer savvy than him. ‘Malcolm Woolston,’ she said.
‘Is there an address?’ Isaac asked.
‘According to this, he died eleven years ago. Are you certain this man is the murderer?’
‘Any addresses?’
‘There’s one for where he worked.’
‘That’ll do. And update the all points. Do you have a photo?’
‘It’s old, but I’ll use it,’ Bridget said.
***
Ed Barrow did not appreciate the presence of two police officers in his office. He had just made a phone call to resolve the problem, and now he was being questioned about the same subject. The situation was precarious, he knew that. One wrong word, one incorrect response, and the police would smell a rat. His best response, he thought, was to be as honest as he could while bypassing the details, claiming privileged knowledge, although he wasn’t sure if any of it would work.
And then, what about his wife? What if she found out that her long-dead husband was back and he was killing people? Would she believe him, or would she believe the police? He had seen her looking at her first husband’s photo on more than one occasion; there was even a framed picture in their bedroom of father and daughter. The child had only been six months old then, and now she was married with a child of a similar age. What if the officers questioned her? What would she say? What could she say?
‘I’m Detective Chief Inspector Isaac Cook,’ Isaac said. He was glad to be out of the office. Wendy was chasing up on Malcolm Woolston’s whereabouts, working with Bridget to access bank accounts, driving licence records, anything that could give them a clue as to where the man was. Larry was with Isaac; both had shown their IDs.
‘What can I do for you?’ Barrow asked.
Isaac looked at the man before responding, aiming to get his measure: his body language, perspiration on the forehead, any tell-tale signs that the man was about to lie.
‘Malcolm Woolston,’ Isaac said, watching for the response.
Too measured, too calculating, too calm, Isaac thought as he observed the man.
‘It’s a long time since I’ve heard that name mentioned. The man’s dead; tragic accident.’
‘Accident? I thought it was suicide,’ Isaac said.
‘You’re right, a suicide. They only ever found his clothes and a clear indication that he had swum out from the beach.’
‘But no body?’
‘Why the interest? It’s been ten, eleven years.’
‘You should know; you married his widow.’
‘There’s a few years separation between the two events. Malcolm had been declared legally dead before we married.’
‘With no body?’
‘It’s all in the judge’s summation. The water temperature was close to freezing, the man would have succumbed to the cold within a short period of time, and there was an outgoing tide. The evidence was not disputed.’
‘And his wife?’
‘She was upset for a few years, but time moves on.’
‘And then you married her?’
‘You make it sound indecent. Malcolm and I were good friends, as was Gwen, my wife. It only seemed natural that I should be there for her; I even walked their daughter down the aisle some years later.’
‘Tell us about Malcolm Woolston,’ Larry said. He’d taken the opportunity to look around the office. It all seemed functional: a desk, Barrow’s chair with its back to the window, a bookcase in one corner, a computer terminal and a printer on another desk. The man apparently appreciated the finer things in life. On the wall was what appeared to be an original oil painting.
‘What do you do here?’ Isaac asked.
‘We’re a small government-funded research department.’
‘What type of research?’
‘Some of it’s classified, but what’s this got to do with Malcolm?’
‘He’s still alive,’ Isaac said.
‘Impossible,’ Barrow said, standing up from his chair.
‘We have proof.’
‘How?’
‘He murdered George Arbuthnot and Harold Hutton. You do know both of these men?’
‘Well, yes. But why? And how do you know he’s alive? We’ve all believed him to be dead for years.’
‘Fingerprints.’
‘They can be faked, can’t they?’
‘You’re the scientist, you tell us,’ Isaac said.
‘I suppose so, but why?’
‘The evidence pointing to this department is indisputable. Whatever the reason for Arbuthnot and Hutton, whatever the reason for Woolston returning, the answers lie here.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. This is all too much for me to take in.’
‘We came here first. Woolston’s wife and daughter need to be told.’
‘Please, not yet. You can imagine the effect this will have on them. It may be best if I tell them.’
‘That is your prerogative, but we will need to talk to your wife soon.’
‘Give me two days.’
‘Coming back to Malcolm Woolston,’ Isaac said. ‘Why did he disappear?’
‘What do you know about the man?’ Barrow asked.
‘At this present moment, not a lot. We’re compiling a dossier. We know he was brilliant, with many academic papers to his name, and engineering and mathematics doctorates.’
‘The man was impressive. He was the smartest man I knew, and I’ve met a few over the years.’
‘Anything more?’
‘You’ll find this out soon enough.’
‘What?’
‘Malcolm Woolston was brilliant, and as with all brilliant men, he was subject to eccentricity.’
‘What sort of eccentricity?’
‘He was a genius level intellect bordering on madness. He’d been hospitalised a few times in the past. You’ll find that out if you check. He had a persecution complex, and he could be violent.’
‘Any instances here?’
‘He tried it on me once; suspected me of strangling his research budget.’
‘Were you?’
‘The department was being subjected to another financial audit. I had to clamp down on expenditure to make the books balance. It wasn’t aimed at Malcolm, although he saw it that way.’
‘What was he researching?’
‘Classified. Way above your level.’
‘I could get clearance,’ Isaac said.
‘You must understand, I’m subject to the Official Secrets Act. It would be a criminal offence for me to reveal what he was working on.’
Isaac did not believe the man, but he had been forced to sign the Official Secrets Act, as had Larry, when they had been looking for a missing woman in a previous case.
However, Malcolm Woolston did not appea
r to be involved with the security organisations, but was purely a man out for revenge, and if he had killed Arbuthnot and Hutton for that reason, then Barrow was a clear target as well.
The first thing that Isaac intended to resolve was to get the necessary security clearance. He was sure he would be back in Barrow’s office after that, and as for his wife, he would not wait for Barrow to inform her that she had two husbands, both alive and well.
Isaac knew he’d take Wendy on that occasion.
Outside in the street, Larry asked, ‘What do you reckon?’
‘Scientific research, an arms dealer. What do you think?’
‘I’d say they were researching advanced weaponry. That would explain the security rating.’
‘Maybe,’ Isaac said. ‘These people all tend to be neurotic.’
‘Ed Barrow?’
‘Until he’s been checked out, he remains suspect. Whatever happens, he’s a prime target.’
Inside the building, Barrow picked up his phone. Sue Christie was sitting alongside him. ‘The police have identified Malcolm Woolston.’
‘We’ll implement damage control. You were right to doubt his disappearance all those years ago, but, where was he?’
‘The question is not where he was; the question is where he is now,’ Barrow said.
He hung up the phone and turned to Sue Christie. ‘This is going to get dirty. Are you prepared for the flak?’
‘I’m prepared,’ she said as she leant over and kissed him firmly on the lips.
Chapter 16
Malcolm Woolston, no longer using the name of Big Greg, realised that he was navigating a tricky path. On one side, the need to protect the results of his research and to extract his revenge. On the other, the need to be with his family again. He knew why he had killed Robertson; he had had enough of living a lie, hiding in the shadows, pretending to be someone he was not.
A methodical man, he laid out the plan on his laptop. He had dealt with those who had tortured him, and he had lined up his wife’s second husband as another person who had to die. He assumed that the man, callous as he knew him to be, would not have told Gwen, that her first husband, Malcolm, was alive and well, and close by.
He had given the police a warning, not that he had ever expected them to take heed. He had seen the black police inspector with the woman from the hostel that he had spoken to on the bench. Very friendly he had thought when he had seen them, but then, he knew her history, had seen her selling herself.
It was strange, he thought, that when he had been disreputable and on the street the thought of the soft touch of a woman had not entered his mind, although it did now, but it was always the same woman: his wife. And she was safely ensconced with Ed Barrow, one of the men he had decided to kill. Maybe if he explained all that had happened, all that must occur, then she would transfer her affections back to him.
He knew that was unlikely. Too much water under the bridge, too much anguish and sorrow, too many deaths, and after he had disposed of Ed, there would only be revulsion, bitterness, recriminations. They had been happy years with his wife and their daughter, but they were in the past, and now there was only the future. A future that looked bleak and empty.
***
Ed Barrow knew that the situation was tenuous. For almost fifteen years he had held the position of director of the research department. With that had come an appreciable salary complete with benefits: the car, the superannuation, the budget to continue with the projects that interested him. Regardless of how Malcolm Woolston saw him, he knew that he was a decent man who had been placed in a difficult position. There had only been one option that fateful day when the two men had visited him: he agreed to the military men’s demands, or they’d ensure the department was closed down and he would be evicted from the building.
It was as if it was only yesterday, when he and Sue, Malcolm, and Gwen would spend most summer Sunday afternoons barbequing or taking trips to the sea for the day. He had envied his friend with his perfect wife and his perfect child.
He knew he could never have what Malcolm had, it was not possible medically, and Sue, an attractive woman in her thirties then, a lot of fun, physically very demanding, was not interested either. They had discussed marriage, but she was not overly keen. ‘I like to keep my options open,’ she had said.
Ed knew that what she meant was that she liked the freedom to date other men, to sleep with them, to discard them. Sue was an independent woman, he knew that, and he had always realised that she was not wife material, but he had asked her anyway. They had been together two years by that time, and the openness had been more on her side than his.
He knew that he had been disturbed that day when they had grabbed Malcolm as he was preparing to leave the building, after he had made it clear to everyone that he had solved the final problem and that he was able to create energy at minimal cost, limitless energy in his estimation.
He had watched Arbuthnot and the other man laying into his friend the following day until he had become too sickened to watch. He had seen Harold Hutton countersign the documents with him on behalf of his government for the treatment to continue, and now Hutton and Arbuthnot were both dead. And now Malcolm was coming for him and, no doubt, for Sue.
He loved Gwen, he knew that, and with Malcolm’s death, the field had been clear for him to press his suit with her. He remembered how Gwen had reacted that first time, six months after Malcolm had disappeared. That had not been a good day when he confronted her in the kitchen of her house, told her how he felt. She had reacted with a gentle rebuke, then with soulful sobbing for the husband who was not coming back. He had tried to put his arms around her to comfort her, but she pushed him away.
He had left that house that day with her in tears, telling him not to come back. It was another three months before he saw her again, and the tears had stopped. As she said, she had to remain strong for their daughter. For nearly two years, they kept in touch, his helping as he could, sometimes acting as a substitute for the child’s father, sometimes babysitting while Gwen ventured out into the world of dating again.
One night when she had come home late, complaining that her date had drunk too much, made too many offensive remarks, they had ended up naked on the floor. The young child, by that time thirteen going on fourteen, was fast asleep upstairs. It was only the second time that he had told Gwen that he loved her, and he wanted to be with her and Malcolm’s daughter. They married two months later, a quiet ceremony in a local registry office, a reception back at the house, a honeymoon in the Canary Islands, the daughter accompanying them.
And now Malcolm was back, and to complicate matters, he knew about Sue. If he knew how to access Ed’s laptop and to switch on the camera, he must have seen them making love in the office.
Ed knew he had tried, and for three years he had resisted the advances of his former lover, but she could not be dissuaded. ‘I need to be loved,’ she had said.
Eventually, he had given in and slept with her once again. In the years that followed, their coupling would be an accepted routine every Thursday night when the office was quiet, and everyone else had gone home. Once back home, later than usual, his dinner would be on the table, Gwen smiling, happy to see him, never suspecting, never questioning.
***
The cameras at Harold Hutton’s house had been effective. For the first time, the Homicide department had a clear picture of the man who had knocked on the door. Not only that, the man had not been wearing a cap.
‘Malcolm Woolston,’ Bridget said. ‘I’ve compared the old and the new photos, they match.’
‘Good work,’ Isaac replied, temporarily distracted by DCS Goddard on the phone.
‘Are you certain?’ Wendy asked.
‘Ninety-five per cent,’ Bridget’s reply.
‘Did you get that, sir?’ Isaac said into the mic on his phone.
‘Keep me posted. I’ll make sure the commissioner knows.’
‘Best of luck.’
‘With that man!’
***
Sue Christie was the first to see them as they entered the building. She was soon in Ed Barrow’s office. ‘It’s the police,’ she said.
‘Again. They were here yesterday,’ Barrow’s reply. ‘How do we handle this?’
‘Act natural.’
Sue left Barrow’s office, giving him a few minutes to prepare himself. She walked out to the landing on the second floor of the building. ‘Can I help you?’ she said.
‘I’m DCI Cook, this is my colleague, DI Hill. We’ve a few more questions for Mr Barrow.’
‘He’ll be free in a few minutes. Can I help you in the interim? I’m Mr Barrow’s personal assistant.’
‘You weren’t here on our first visit. We’re interested in an employee that used to work here,’ Isaac said.
The three moved to a room outside Barrow’s office.
‘Maybe I can help,’ Sue Christie said. Isaac had to admit she was a fine-looking woman, a little older than him but dressed well, capable, judging by her orderly desk and the files at the back of it neatly labelled A to Z.
‘This man left here eleven years ago, suddenly.’
‘I’ve been here for fifteen, almost the same length as Mr Barrow.’
‘Malcolm Woolston, do you remember him?’
‘It’s a long time, but yes. I was friends with him and his wife. Why do you ask? He died a long time ago.’
‘He died under mysterious circumstances.’
‘Yes, I know. We were all so shocked when he died. They never found his body, but I assume you know that. Why is it so important?’
‘Malcolm Woolston is not dead,’ Larry said.
‘Mr Barrow told me what you had said to him yesterday, but it’s not possible; we all attended his funeral.’
‘But with no body?’
‘They called it a remembrance service in his memory.’
‘We have proof that he is still alive,’ Isaac said. ‘We need to contact him immediately.’
Sue Christie laughed, a nervous laugh, Larry observed.
The DCI Isaac Cook Thriller Series: Books 4 - 6: Murder (The DCI Isaac Cook Thrillers Series Boxset) Page 34
