It seemed ironic to Isaac, that for once Farhan was getting more action than him. He knew full well that he had been sleeping with his woman again, the look on his face - evidence to the fact.
Chapter 34
Wendy pleased for once that the weather was more agreeable, had staked herself out at the first place of interest, a small two-storey terrace in Twickenham. She could see that Richard Williams liked his investments well-maintained: the small garden at the front was neat and tidy, the paintwork on the exterior façade in remarkably good condition related to the other houses in the street. She assumed it had been freshly painted. Compared to her house, a dreary run-down property close to the docks, it was beautiful. Her husband had never been into home repairs, and she did not have the skills to do the work. William’s terrace was the sort of place she would have loved to own, knew she never would.
She parked her car across the street. For three, close to four hours, she watched the house from inside the car. The only people she saw, a young couple pushing a child’s stroller. They were clearly the tenants. Bridget had already ascertained it was rented out to a couple with one child. Wendy realised the missing woman was not at this location.
After a short lunch - not in a pub as the previous day with Bridget - she drove out to the next location, a flat close to Hackney. She would have chosen the apartment down by Canary Wharf as her second choice, more upmarket than Hackney, but it was early afternoon, and the traffic was building. Even so, it still took her the best part of ninety minutes.
It was clear that the second property was not as salubrious as the first. It appeared to be on the third floor in a drab red-brick, ex-council property. There were two problems on arriving: one, she couldn’t see the immediate entrance to the property, only the front window, and two, parking restrictions on account of the late afternoon rush hour were about to apply. She could only stay for thirty minutes.
She took the opportunity to phone Isaac. She found his manner a little off-putting – as if he had something on his mind. Disregarding his curtness with her, she told him about the house in Twickenham and the flat in Hackney. She also let him know that she regarded Canary Wharf as a better possibility She made it clear that tomorrow, she would drive out there.
Farhan, meanwhile, had phoned Robert Avers to ask if he had heard from his wife.
The man’s response surprised Farhan. ‘I’m not going to sit at home waiting for her to knock on the door. She screwed around enough, now it’s my turn.’
Farhan understood where he was coming from, careful not to let on that they believed his wife was alive and somewhere in London.
***
The next day, Wendy drove out to Canary Wharf, a massive redevelopment on the site of the former West India Docks. Now, a major financial centre, comprising major banks, financial services and media organisations, it was also the home of some very impressive upmarket real estate, primarily high-rise executive apartments.
She was convinced that it was the most likely location to find the woman: comfortable, secluded; an ideal place to hide out if you could afford it. No need to trudge down to the local supermarket to buy some food, just phone and one of the expensive restaurants would deliver to your door, along with a good bottle of wine. And, from what Wendy had heard, Marjorie Frobisher enjoyed the good life, despised the poverty of her childhood.
It was clear that the flat, on the thirteenth floor, was too high to see anyone from ground level unless the occupant forced themselves against the window.
The concierge at the front door, she felt would not offer much help. Besides, she did not want to alert the missing woman to the presence of anyone looking for her. The easiest way was to enter the building unseen.
Observing the concierge, a smartly dressed man, in his late twenties, she waited until he was distracted by a car pulling up at the front. A frumpish woman exited from the driver’s seat. Wendy assumed her to be in her early fifties, obviously well-heeled judging by the shopping in the back seat of the vehicle. As the concierge went out to help, Wendy slipped past and into the building.
The elevator showed that it was on the twentieth floor and descending. She hoped it would arrive at the ground floor before the concierge saw her – it did. Quickly, she pressed thirteen on the row of buttons, the speed of the elevator surprising her.
Exiting the elevator, she moved swiftly to Flat number 1304. She pressed the button, a woman came to the door. Wendy apologised, said she had mistaken the numbers, and it must be 1340.
The concierge barely noticed her as she brazenly exited the elevator on the ground floor and walked out of the building. He did not notice the broad smile on her face.
***
Isaac could see that the situation had changed. Marjorie Frobisher was clearly alive and well; the evidence, indisputable. Wendy had been sure, and she did not make mistakes. As she had stated, when she phoned him from Canary Wharf, ‘I know that woman as well as my own mother.’
How to proceed concerned him. If he confronted her, what could he say? She had been missing, presumed dead for a long time, but she had not committed any crime. What would he ask her? Who was this mysterious child? Who killed Sutherland and Sally Jenkins? Why did she choose to stay missing?
If the woman decided to remain mute, there was no a lot he could do. And then, if she ran scared again, she could disappear without a trace. She had done it once successfully; she could do it again.
And, if he was being watched, those interested in the woman could follow him out to Canary Wharf. Could she end up dead if he acted inappropriately? He wasn’t sure how to proceed, not sure who he could trust. Farhan, as good as he was, was not sufficiently experienced to advise on the matter. Sure, he could offer valuable advice, but what if it went wrong. Who would take the blame? He knew the answer without asking - it would be him. Richard Goddard, his Detective Superintendent, was the ideal choice for advice, but he was looking for a promotion, obviously very friendly with Angus MacTavish. Could either of them be trusted?
The questions outweighed the answers, and now there was the disturbing information about Linda Harris, apparently sleeping with Richard Williams for Queen and Country, on official orders.
Angus MacTavish had phoned some hours earlier; said that he had been advised that Linda Harris was involved and that she was a very smart woman - devious, the word, he used.
But who was MacTavish? Did he genuinely believe that no political party, even his, deserved to be elected if it sanctioned government approved murder?
Isaac felt that he had to make decisions based on his own sense of decency and to see how it turned out.
Richard Williams, the executive producer, somehow seemed integral to solving the murders. He reasoned the best approach would be to meet with him. He still felt that of all the people involved, he was probably the most innocent, but then there were doubts there, Sally Jenkins being the most obvious.
What if Linda Harris was giving an alibi for Williams, purely to ensure that when Marjorie Frobisher reappeared, she would be able to report to her superiors? Was she sleeping with Williams, and if she wasn’t, why did she go along with his statement that she had?
Isaac could see that first, he had to confront Linda Harris, hope that Marjorie Frobisher was safe, at least, for a couple of days. He had already asked Wendy to stake herself out at Canary Wharf and see if she could keep the missing, now found, woman safe. She agreed immediately, her expense account needed to maintain the pretence, and there were some excellent restaurants in the vicinity. Maybe, she would ask Bridget to join her for lunch one day, perhaps Station Master Broughton another. It only seemed fair for all the assistance they had given her.
***
Farhan and Isaac met again in the office later that day. Farhan to further discuss what Aisha had put forward; Isaac to assess how to handle the situation with Richard Williams and whether he could be involved or not in his former PA’s death.
Farhan was in a good mood, his regular conversation
s with Aisha were doing him a world of good and his wife was no longer talking about a reconciliation. Apparently, her parents despairing of her ‘no good’ husband had suggested a divorce from Farhan and marriage to a cousin of hers, someone she genuinely liked: a devout Muslim and a good provider, considering that he owned a number of shops close to the family home.
He knew the cousin, liked him, and knew him to be a good man. He should have been distraught at his children being taken from him, but he was a practical man, moderated by his years in the police force. Life, he had come to see was not black and white, right or wrong, good or bad. Life was about compromises, not absolutes and his children being with a good man and a good woman, even if the man was not the biological father, was better than being in the conflict zone of a liberated man and a pious woman. He would accept the decision and wish them all well.
He felt relief - as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulder. Aisha still remained a problem - an irresolvable problem.
Isaac wanted to sound out Farhan as to what they had. It was clear to both of them that the situation was coming to a head. Too much was going on not to have a breakthrough in the near future. Richard Goddard had been pleased when Isaac had phoned him thirty minutes earlier and let him know that he felt certain it was all coming to fruition. He failed to mention that Marjorie Frobisher had been discovered.
The detective superintendent had always been a mentor to Isaac, and it upset him that he could not be totally honest with his boss, but there remained some variables. The detective superintendent was in line for a significant promotion; Angus MacTavish could have some bearing on that promotion, and he was a definite uncertainty. Isaac could not be sure about his boss at the present moment, although nothing in his history had indicated a subversive, dishonest nature.
‘Farhan, let’s come back to what your friend said before.’ There was to be no jesting from Isaac this time about the girlfriend.
‘Sally Jenkins?’
‘Richard Williams appears to be an obvious candidate, but why? Isaac asked.
‘It’s illogical. Apart from being a former lover, she seems to be of little importance.’
‘What if she knew something?’
‘We’re clutching at straws again,’ Farhan said. ‘It’s possible, if it was somehow related to Marjorie Frobisher, but murder? Would Williams be capable of committing such an act?’
‘I can’t see it.’
‘Neither can I?’
‘Who else then?’
‘Linda Harris? She was around at the time.’
‘She’s providing an alibi for Williams. If she left him and went over to Sally Jenkin’s place, wouldn’t he have known?’
‘Almost certainly.’
‘How far from Williams’ place to Sally Jenkins’?
‘Twenty minutes, no more.’
‘So, it’s possible,’ Isaac said.
‘What do you intend to do? Who do you talk to first?’
‘Linda Harris. If she’s the murderer, she may have acted under orders.’
‘And if she did?’
‘Then she’s a very dangerous woman. If Sally Jenkins murder was premeditated on what she may have known, what about Marjorie Frobisher?’
‘She’s dead and neither you nor I will be able to protect her.’
‘A disturbing reality.’
‘A true picture, though. If her death is sanctioned officially, then she is a dead woman.’
***
Isaac phoned Linda Harris. Offered his apology, asked to see her again.
‘What was the response?’ Farhan asked on Isaac’s return from the corridor outside of their office. He had heard Isaac ingratiating himself to the woman.
‘Tonight, same restaurant as before.’
‘Any idea how you will bring the matter up?’
‘As to whether she killed Sally Jenkins or not?’
‘I don’t think the evening will go too well if I do.’
‘Do you intend to sleep with her?’ Farhan asked.
‘If it’s necessary.’
‘If she can sleep with Williams, and murder another woman, what chance do you have of finding out the truth?’ Farhan saw a danger in Isaac’s approach.
‘We can’t do nothing.’
‘Devil or the deep blue sea. There’s no other option for us, although it looks as if you will at least be having some fun.’
‘As you did with a witness.’ Isaac could not resist a little jest.
‘A witness on our side. Yours could as easily kill you as make love. It’s not an exciting prospect.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll be fine,’ Isaac said.
Farhan was not so sure. His boss was possibly becoming involved with dangerous people, government-sanctioned people. He only hoped he knew what he was doing.
***
Linda Harris was undeniably friendly when she met up with Isaac. ‘How are you? Good to see you.’ She had gushed. Isaac forewarned, was not convinced.
‘I’m fine. Sorry about last time,’ he said. He had to admit she was stunning, dressed in a floral dress, short as she preferred, and a pair of red high-heels.
‘I dressed especially.’
‘You look great.’
‘Good enough for dessert?’ Her comment seemed a little too forward for Isaac. He had to admit that she was.
‘Main course, even.’
‘I think we should at least have something to eat first, don’t you?’ To Isaac, it all seemed a little too orchestrated, a little too teased. He knew some details about the woman, which caused him to be a little too wary. Sure, he wanted her for dessert, although he would have preferred Jess O’Neill. Apart from a couple of occasions in a pub out near where she worked, he had not seen her for some time.
He had lambasted Farhan for his indiscretions, although he had not been blameless. However, with Jess, it had remained platonic. He knew he wanted her; knew she wanted him, but so far it had not progressed beyond a passionate kiss on a couple of occasions. The memory of the murdering au-pair he had slept with still remained in his memory.
Regardless of Jess, Isaac knew that Linda Harris would be dessert if the evening progressed well enough. How that would affect his relationship with Jess, he did not know?’
First, there were some questions about Richard Williams’ alibi. Not answers veiled by confusion and outright denial; answers openly given once he had broached the subject of her true employer. And even then, would she be open and truthful? He knew he was heading into dangerous territory, knew full-well that he had no option.
They chose a sit close to the back of the restaurant. Isaac ordered pork, Linda chose the veal. A good Chardonnay complimented the meal. Isaac drank sparingly; Linda with more enthusiasm.
‘Linda,’ Isaac knew he had to speak.
‘Don’t ruin the evening.’ She sounded genuine.
‘I hope I’m not.’ He knew he was also genuine in how he wanted the evening to end. Personal Assistant or not, lover of Richard Williams or not, secretive government employee or not, he intended to bed her if the opportunity arose.
‘I’m aware that you have received some information about me,’ she said.
‘I have.’
‘And you want to know more?’
‘There’s been two murders, probably more if we don’t find the killer, killers?’
‘Killers? Could there be more than one?’
‘It’s possible. We still don’t have a clear motive for either.’
‘Isaac, I honestly don’t know about the murders.’
‘So, why are you sleeping with Williams?’
‘You sound jealous. Are you?’
‘Should I be?’ Isaac obliquely failed to answer her question.
‘You know I work for the government, MI5.’
‘That’s what I had been told.’
‘My superiors have given me authority to reveal certain facts if the situation came up.’
‘Has it?’
‘I believe it has.
You are the lead policeman into the investigation of the two murders, although initially, you were looking for a missing woman.’
‘Marjorie Frobisher.’
‘Precisely. That’s whom I’m looking for,’ she said.
‘But why? Why is she so important?’
‘I’m assigned a task to find the woman, spy where I need to, do whatever is necessary to find her.’
‘And sleep with Williams?’
‘Yes, sleep with Williams if it helped with the investigation.’
‘Has it?’
‘Not really, but he’s a decent man, a little older than normal. I’m still a healthy liberated female. I need to be laid on a regular basis.’
‘That’s a stunningly frank admission.’
‘And you’re a modern virile man who needs to get laid on a regular basis as well. Am I correct?’
‘That’s correct.’
‘And you’re not getting much action lately. Jess O’Neill is definitely off the menu.’
‘You know about her?’
‘It’s my job to know. Besides, the two of you are not the most discreet. I saw the two of you in a pub the other week, very cosy from what I could see.’
‘Why is Marjorie Frobisher so important?’ Isaac asked the most important question.
‘I’m assigned to find her. As to why? I’ve no idea. That’s the truth. Obviously, it’s something important, but I don’t know what.’
‘I don’t know either.’
You probably know more than me. Can we change the subject?’
‘Are we having dessert?’ Isaac asked.
‘I hope so, but not here. We’ll only frighten the other diners. Your place or mine?’
‘My place,’ Isaac replied. ‘It’s closer.’
Chapter 35
Wendy’s time out at Canary Wharf had been pleasant. Bridget Halloran had been down for lunch one day; Station Master Broughton, another. She felt some guilt over the Station Master. Both were past their prime and neither was looking for a quick roll in the hay, but she found his company more congenial than her husband. The Station Master’s wife, it turned out, was showing the early signs of dementia. Subsequently, their lunchtime conservation focussed on the medical options, and the long-term care of the afflicted.
Murder is a Tricky Business (DCI Cook Thriller Series Book 1) Page 30
