DCI Isaac Cook Box Set 1

by Phillip Strang

  ‘This is serious. You can’t tell anyone yet. Can I trust you to keep this quiet?’

  ‘I won’t say a word.’ Wendy knew that as soon as the waitress got home, she would be telling everyone. There was hardly any way they could silence her, and she was the team’s first concrete lead for several weeks.

  ‘Did she look happy?’

  ‘She seemed pleased to be with the man.’

  ‘Is there any more you can tell me about him?’

  ‘As I said, he was polite. In his late fifties, I suppose.’

  ‘Fat or thin?’

  ‘He certainly wasn’t fat. He seemed a nice man.’

  ‘How long did they stay?’

  They stayed for about twenty minutes. As to where they went, I don’t know. They just walked down the street. Apart from that, I’ve no idea.’

  ‘Thanks, you’ve been a great help.’

  ‘Is there a reward?’

  ‘No reward. How would a fifty pound tip sound?’

  ‘Great. They don’t pay much here.’

  Wendy realised on leaving the café that her pains had subsided, and there was no need to continue plodding the streets.

  ***

  Isaac felt the need to follow up on a matter that had been giving him some concern. It had only been a casual remark by Ian Stanley, the irritating series producer and nemesis of Jess O’Neill, but it had raised some questions.

  Linda Harris’s earlier comment that her relationship with Richard Williams was just a bit of fun had seemed too frivolous at the time. Ian Stanley’s statement about her competency had reaffirmed his suspicions. After his senior’s indication that MI5 was interested in Marjorie Frobisher, Isaac’s suspicions about Williams’ PA seemed all the more relevant.

  He bit the bullet and invited her out for dinner, socially this time. She accepted readily, too readily for Isaac, as Sophie was clearly out of the picture, not even returning his phone calls, and Jess was still off-limits.

  The next day, close to seven in the evening, he met Linda Harris at a discreet restaurant close to the city centre. She ate chicken; he ordered beef. Two bottles of a particularly good wine were drunk with gusto by the two, though Isaac wasn’t usually a drinker.

  ‘Why are you working for Williams?’ he asked.

  ‘I needed a job.’ She had dressed for the occasion: a short yellow skirt with a white top. Isaac had come from work and was still wearing a suit.

  ‘You look too smart for the job.’ Isaac realised he was heading into dangerous waters.

  ‘Why do you say that?’ she asked. Isaac could read the signals: the alluring smile, the closeness of her chair to his, the holding of his hand across the table.

  ‘Sally Jenkins.’

  ‘You’re using her as the standard as to what is competent?’

  ‘I suppose so,’ Isaac replied.

  ‘I’m competent, suitable for the job. She wasn’t. But as we’ve agreed, she was not there for her administrative skills.’

  ‘She was there because she was an easy lay, you said that yourself.’

  ‘Are you insinuating that I’m an easy lay as well?’

  ‘You told me that you were sleeping with him.’

  ‘I told you that he was with me, in my bed.’ She reminded him of their previous conversation when she had provided her boss with an alibi.

  Isaac sensed some pulling back from her – she was no longer holding his hand. He excused himself to go to the toilet. He took the opportunity to splash some water on his face, hoping to revive himself a little.

  Returning to his seat, he decided to stop sounding like a policeman and to enjoy the evening. The woman was attractive, too attractive, and she was great company.

  Why not just enjoy the moment? he thought.

  ‘I’m sorry. I’m acting as a policeman.’

  ‘That’s okay. I understand the pressure you’re under.’

  ‘Tell me about yourself. You said you came from Devon, but what are your plans for the future?’

  ‘Find a better job,’ She was holding his hand across the table again. Both had ordered dessert. ‘I’m capable of a better job, but I’m not in a hurry.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I’d rather find myself a decent man, settle down, have a few kids.’

  ‘Williams?’

  ‘Not at all. I don’t need a sugar daddy.’

  Isaac, slightly more sober after easing up on the wine, took stock of the situation. On the one hand, he was here in the company of a beautiful, desirable woman, available if he was reading the signals right. On the other, as a policeman he knew there were questions that needed asking.

  ‘The disappearance of Marjorie Frobisher concerns a lot of people,’ he said.

  ‘Newspapers, fans, you mean?’

  ‘In higher quarters.’ Isaac still had his suspicions about the woman sitting opposite. She seemed too smart; as if she was directing the conversation, ensuring he didn’t probe too much.

  ‘Political, is that what you mean?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I wouldn’t know,’ she said. ‘I’m just a humble personal assistant who’s screwing the boss.’ Her remark was a little too curt for Isaac.

  ‘Linda, who are you?’

  ‘Linda Harris, humble personal assistant. That’s all.’

  ‘We’re aware that Marjorie Frobisher is somehow significant, although we don’t know any details. Do you?’

  ‘Why should I?’ Her manner was frosty.

  ‘You may have overheard something in the office.’

  ‘You realise that you’ve spoilt a lovely evening by your suspicions.’

  ‘I realise that, but it’s my job.’

  ‘I thought we were meeting outside of working hours, both off duty.’

  ‘Off duty, that is not a term I would have expected a PA to use.’

  She stood up, put on her coat, the weather outside not as frosty as the atmosphere inside the restaurant. ‘DCI Cook, I’ll bid you goodnight. In future, our meetings will be at your police station or my lawyer’s office.’

  Standing outside, as she walked briskly down the road, he could see her in an animated conversation on her phone. Whatever she was, he remained convinced she was more than Williams’ bedtime companion and office administrator.

  ***

  As Farhan was preparing for an early night, at his cold and lonely house, his phone rang. It was Olivia calling him from South Africa. She was not in a good mood; her cover had been blown.

  Still thankful that he had tried to help, she had been forced to take the children out of school as the playground teasing was becoming objectionable, and it was not their problem, only hers. Also, her husband was having trouble accepting that she only sold herself for the family. Farhan was truly sorry, but Olivia still had the advantage of distance, and one or two inquisitive reporters in South Africa would soon be distracted by another, more important story.

  Farhan knew he had to help Aisha. He knew he couldn’t protect her if the news organisations picked up any clue as to who she was and where she was. She had told him earlier in the day about someone suspicious in her office and a couple of late-night phone calls to her house, no voice at the other end.

  Farhan could only see one solution. ‘You’ve got to leave,’ he said.

  She protested. ‘My career, it’s so important to me.’

  ‘And your family, what about them?’

  They had met at a small café in Regent Street, not far from her office. They had been pleased to see each other, although neither had made a move to embrace the other. Farhan could see she was upset.

  ‘If they find out, it will kill them.’

  ‘I suppose you should have thought about that before you started selling yourself.’ He wasn’t sure if his comment had been overcritical.

  ‘You’re right of course, but I needed to survive, ensure I passed my studies with honours. It all costs money, and my parents don’t have that sort of money.’

  ‘It’s history n
ow. Anyway, we would not have met if you had been working in a café.’

  ‘At least there has been one good thing to come out of it.’

  Farhan felt like leaning over the table and giving her a kiss. He decided that it was best if he did not. The future for them as a couple looked bleak. It was up to him to think clearly for both of them. She was obviously the better educated, but she was about to be outed as a prostitute. All that she had strived for, lost in an instance.

  They had ordered coffees. Farhan drank his; Aisha barely sipped at hers. He could see in her face the sign of worry. She said it was due to the pressure of work, a particularly challenging case, involving a man accused of insider trading on the stock market.

  She had tried to explain the intricacies of the case, as a diversion from the reason they were meeting. Something to do with the man’s position as the financial officer for a major insurance company in the city, subject to a takeover from a larger, more aggressive company.

  It was Aisha’s first major case, although she was acting as a junior. It was a great compliment for her to be entrusted with the responsibility, but now it looked as if it was falling apart.

  Farhan had ordered two more coffees. ‘Aisha, the only chance is if you disappear. Caroline’s being hassled now.’

  ‘Is that Olivia’s real name?’

  ‘Yes, but it’s best if you forget it.’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘We should be meeting at the police station.’ Farhan had run it past Isaac first, told him the approach he was going to take. Isaac had advised him to take great care, and not to go rushing off to a hotel room with her. Farhan had said that he would be careful, but sitting with Aisha now, he wanted to forget his promise. He had to keep reminding himself that he was a serving policeman on duty, and she was a witness.

  ‘Is there no hope?’ she asked.

  ‘If they can find Olivia, they can find you.’

  ‘But how? You said that Marion Robertson had given Olivia’s phone number to the two men who had visited her, but she didn’t have mine.’

  ‘That’s true. Are you certain they are looking for you?’

  ‘I’m pretty certain, but how?’

  ‘Who would know where you work, where you live?’

  ‘Only you.’

  ‘I’ve kept it to myself. I received a severe dressing down from my boss for keeping you and Olivia secret.’

  ‘If there’s a court case, will I be required to be a witness?’

  ‘You’re the lawyer, what do you reckon?’

  ‘It will depend on whether he pleads guilty or not.’

  ‘Or she,’ Farhan reminded her.

  ‘Could it be a she?’ she asked.

  ‘Why not? The man was found naked. From what we know, he was certainly heterosexual.’

  ‘Perversely so,’ she replied. On a personal basis, Farhan did not want to know the details. On a professional basis, he had to ask.

  ‘I must ask what you mean by that comment. Officially, unfortunately.’

  ‘Can’t you forget what I just said. I don’t want to think back to that night.’

  ‘Give me a generalisation, then.’ He realised that maybe it was not relevant. If it became so, he would persevere with the question at a later time.

  ‘He wanted us to put on a show first, toys, that sort of thing.’ She kept her head low, avoided eye contact.

  ‘We’ll leave it at that.’ He didn’t want to hear more.

  ‘What must I do?’ she asked.

  ‘Ideally, you should leave immediately.’

  ‘The country?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I can’t do that.’

  ‘You’d better let me know who’s on to you. Every time you’re contacted, every time there’s a silent voice on the end of a phone line, let me know. We’ll decide as it occurs. If I tell you the situation is impossible, then you must leave immediately. Is that clear?’

  Aisha finally drank her coffee and left. She could not resist the opportunity to kiss him before she walked out the door. Farhan hoped she would be safe.

  Chapter 31

  Late afternoon the next day, and all three were in the office. Wendy had finally got the message not to keep moving Farhan’s desk; not the other one about exhaling the smell of stale cigarettes over the other two.

  She should have taken the hint with the window behind Isaac being open, even though it was cold outside. She preferred a room to be warm and cosy, just like Station Manager Broughton’s office at Paddington Station.

  A good-looking man, plenty of women, she thought. Twenty years ago, I would have made a play for him myself.

  Isaac brought their meeting to order. ‘Wendy, can you update us, please.’

  Before she replied, Isaac leant over and closed the window.

  ‘The person she met is almost certainly a friend.’

  ‘You’ve had some luck?’ Farhan said. Wendy noticed the look of the man had taken a turn for the worse since she had last seen him. He looked worried, and his clothes looked as though they could do with a good iron.

  The look of a recently separated man, she thought. She thought back to ten years previously, to a rough patch in her marriage when she had moved out of the marital home. It had only been for three weeks before he apologised and she had forgiven him. She nearly left again on entering the front door of the house. The dirty dishes in the kitchen sink were disgusting, the waste paper bin was overflowing, the washing machine refused to work due to severe overloading and the place stank.

  It had taken her two days to clean up the mess, two days when she could have easily have walked out of the door again. She finally calmed down, but the anger remained for months, tense months, where they barely spoke to each other.

  ‘Luck! Good old-fashioned police work. Out on the street, talking to people.’ She could sometimes be acerbic. How many times, when she had found a missing person, had she heard the word ‘luck’ mentioned.

  It wasn’t luck that had found the café; it was a case of placing herself in the right environment. The rain had helped and directed her towards the café, but if it had not, she would have kept walking the area, asking questions. Eventually, she would have stumbled upon the waitress, although it could have been days, maybe weeks. She was pleased it had been sooner rather than later, as her arthritis was giving her trouble, even though she had not walked far the previous day.

  ‘Wendy, please continue,’ Isaac said. He had worked with her before, knew she could be a bit touchy – the reason why he had not broached the subject of the stale cigarette smell.

  He was aware that it would lead to a lecture about civil liberties, freedom for a person to decide whether they were damaging their health or not.

  ‘She knew the person she met,’ Wendy said. ‘The waitress confirmed it was Richard Williams from a photo that I showed her the next day.’

  ‘He knows that obstructing the course of justice, especially in a murder investigation, is a serious offence. His fancy Queen’s Counsel will not be able to protect him.’

  ‘I’ve not met Richard Williams. Is he the sort of person to risk imprisonment?’ Wendy asked.

  ‘Not at all,’ Isaac replied. ‘He’s a sharp operator. If he is protecting Marjorie Frobisher, there must be a reason.’

  ‘But meeting in London? Surely they realised the possibility of being seen. We’re not the only ones looking for her,’ Farhan speculated.

  ‘Maybe they’re not thinking straight. Maybe the woman is irrational. The waitress said she didn’t say much. Williams may have been compromised into helping.’

  ‘I agree with Wendy,’ Isaac said. ‘We’re aware of the special relationship between the two of them.’

  ‘It’s up to you, Isaac,’ Farhan said.

  ‘I need to go and see him. It would help if Wendy keeps checking, tries to find out where she is.’

  ‘I’ll start on it tomorrow,’ Wendy said, glad to be out of the office again. She only hoped a long soak in a warm bath and
some medicine would reduce the pain in her legs.

  ***

  Isaac felt his time the following morning would be best spent with Richard Goddard. He had set up a meeting for nine o’clock. He sensed that his superior officer was not looking forward to a visit, but it was important.

  At 9 a.m. Isaac was outside his senior’s office. Ten minutes later, Goddard appeared. As he was a man who was a stickler for punctuality, it seemed odd to Isaac. He chose to make no comment.

  ‘What is it, Isaac?’ There had been none of the customary ‘sit down for a chat’ welcome. Isaac was disturbed. He had not seen his boss like this before, and they had worked together for some years.

  ‘Marjorie Frobisher.’

  ‘Have you found her?’

  ‘We think she’s alive.’

  ‘But have you found her?’

  ‘Not yet. Soon, I imagine.’

  ‘It would have been best if she had stayed missing. Isaac. It’s become complicated.’

  Isaac chose another line of questioning. ‘Is there anyone else looking for her currently?’

  ‘Why do you ask? You and DI Ahmed had people following you at one time. Is that still occurring?’

  ‘We’ve not seen them for some time, but I still feel they’re watching us.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘I suspect someone’s been planted.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘A woman working with Richard Williams may be more than she seems.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘She’s smarter than she pretends to be; definitely not the sort of woman Williams would typically employ.’

  ‘Attractive?’

  ‘Very.’

  ‘There’s your answer. He chooses them attractive, easy to lay. That’s what your reports have indicated.’

  ‘She doesn’t seem the type that would be an easy lay, certainly not for Williams.’

  ‘Is he sleeping with her?’

  ‘Apparently. She gave him a cast-iron alibi when Sally Jenkins was murdered.’

  ‘And you think she’s a plant? Do you fancy her?’

  ‘A plant, it’s possible. Fancy her? I suppose I do, but I’ve kept my distance.’