‘At first, but he loved Helen as much as she loved him.’
‘And your reaction when your father died?’ Wendy asked.
‘We were shocked and upset. We blamed Helen, called her some wicked things, but then came the autopsy, and the pathologist stating our father had a brain tumour and it could have been responsible for his aggression. They did find bruising around Helen’s neck.’
‘Did you speak to Helen before her trial?’
‘I did,’ Abigail said. ‘She was contrite, emotional, and sorry for what she had done.’
‘Did you believe her?’
‘I wasn’t sure what to believe. She had killed our father, the result of a violent confrontation. At the trial, the first trial, the experts for the defence and the prosecution were arguing as to whether a brain tumour could have been responsible for our father’s aggression.’
‘And what did you believe?’
‘We all wanted to believe that Helen was innocent. She was family, she was important to us.’
‘At the first trial, you, Archie, made a plea on behalf of the family.’
‘It was obvious Helen was going to prison, but the experts were in conflict. We just wanted it to be known we did not hold any blame against her.’
‘It’s an unusual reaction,’ Isaac said. ‘Normally, the family of the deceased are vehement in their condemnation. Why are you so different?’
‘Because we knew our father, we knew Helen. If it had been us, we would have acted in the same way.’
‘Had it happened before?’
‘Once or twice. He hit me once for no reason,’ Abigail said.
‘And when was this?’
‘When I broached the idea of him visiting a specialist.’
‘Was anyone else present?’
‘It was only me.’
‘Had Helen raised the subject with him?’
‘On one occasion. He didn’t like it, but he didn’t hit her. She was afraid to talk to him again, that’s why I tried.’
‘Your stepmother was in jail. What did you do?’
‘Archie’s a lawyer. He put together a team to examine the evidence. That’s when we came across James Holden.’
‘You knew the man?’
‘We all did. He visited Helen in jail. I went with him the first time,’ Abigail said.
‘After that?’
‘He’d go on his own, once or twice a month. We could see whenever we visited her that she was becoming enamoured of Holden, not that we discouraged it.’
‘It was Holden who managed to get her out of prison,’ Isaac said.
‘He approached us, asked us to write a letter stating our non-objection, and in time she was released. Six months after her release, new evidence from another expert showed that more research had been done in America on the effect of a brain tumour pressing on certain parts of the brain. It was accepted, and the conviction against Helen was quashed.’
‘Did you keep in contact after her release?’
‘We did, not often though. Helen seemed to want the past behind her, and we understood. She was always welcome here though, and she’d phone occasionally. I doubt if we saw her more than three or four times since her release.’
‘And now, to find out that she has been in bed with Holden?’ Isaac said.
‘We knew of her affection for the man, but he was married,’ Abigail said. ‘We reserve our judgement on Helen, but we’ll never waiver in our support for her. She was an important part of our father’s life.’
Outside the mansion, as Isaac and Wendy were preparing to leave, he asked ‘What did you make of what they said?’
‘Helen Langdon is either due for sainthood, or we’ve been fed nonsense.’
‘They did support her at the trials. For Helen’s benefit, or was there an ulterior motive?’
‘You don’t buy their holier than thou attitude?’ Wendy said.
‘Too good to be true,’ Isaac said. ‘Get Bridget to dig in the dirt, find out what she can about the Adamants.’
Chapter 5
With Helen Langdon, née Mackay, identified as the woman who had been killed with James Holden, as well as the woman who had killed Gerald Adamant, public sentiment towards her vacillated. Some saw her as the callous murderer of an old husband; others, as the falsely maligned and loyal wife of a man who had gone mad. Her parents’ home was surrounded by the press and gawping onlookers when Isaac and Wendy arrived. Barricades had been erected in the street, a uniform stationed at the front door.
‘It’s been madness,’ the uniform said. ‘The poor parents inside are doing their best to cope, and the mongrels outside are making it into a party. We even had an ice-cream van parked on the other side of the road. It was doing sterling business until we moved it on.’
Isaac had seen it too many times. A murder, someone’s misfortune, and the bizarre, the plain nosey, were incapable of showing any compassion for those trying to deal with the emotions and the raw nerves. Mr and Mrs Mackay seemed to be two such people.
‘Helen, she was a good daughter,’ her father said.
‘I’m sorry,’ Isaac said, ‘but I must ask you certain questions.’
‘We understand,’ her softly spoken mother said. ‘We’ve not slept since it happened, not certain if we will ever again.’
Wendy could see the emotions on their faces. She felt as if she should go over and put her arm around the mother but decided not to. It was a formal interview, and the parents may have some information that would not be revealed if there was overfamiliarity.
‘When did you last see your daughter?’ Isaac asked.
‘The day she died. She popped in for a cup of tea, unannounced.’
‘Her mood?’
‘She was cheerful, enjoying being unknown.’
‘She would be known around here?’ Wendy said.
‘Not here. We moved from our previous house. The notoriety was too much, the parents of a murderer, not that we ever believed it.’
‘Why? Your daughter married an older man. If I’m not mistaken, Gerald Adamant was older than you, Mr Holden.’
‘He was. He wanted to call me Dad. I wasn’t having any of it. It was always Gerald and Frank whenever we met.’
‘Was that often?’
‘Not often. Helen, she was busy with Gerald’s philanthropic pursuits, but she phoned every week. Once we had got over the initial shock of the age difference, we accepted them as a married couple.’
‘Did Helen have a penchant for older men?’
‘Do you mean, was she wiggling her arse to seduce them? Is that what you’re saying?’
‘Frank, she’s our daughter. You can’t say that about her,’ Betty, Helen’s mother, said.
‘It’s what they said in the newspapers. It’s what the two police officers here want to ask, but they’ll be polite. Am I correct, Inspector Cook?’
‘I would have used different wording, but yes.’
‘You know of Helen’s history. It was the same when she was young. Fourteen and then she starts filling out. The local youths can’t handle it, but Helen’s not like that. She was studious, always got good marks at school, and then she goes to university, a good degree, but what happens? The boss is after her, the men in the office fancy their chances, but all Helen wants is to do her job, meet a nice man, and settle down. She tried it once, lived with him for a few months, the date is set for the marriage, and then he takes off. After that, she’s upset, so she appears onstage at a club.’
‘We’re aware of this?’
‘Bare breasts, plenty of flesh. Not that Helen liked it, but she had become tired of using her brain, only for men to see below her neck. Anyway, after a year or so, Gerald walks into her life. We warned her about older men, but she said she was fine with him, and she was. At least, up until that fateful day when he tried to kill her, and she hit him with the hammer.’
Wendy could see the mother sobbing. She relented and went and put her arm around the distraught woman; Isaac understood why she did
so. He had once had to tell the parents of a young man of seventeen that he had blown himself up and twenty others in a terrorist attack. The memory of the mother’s reaction still haunted him, even after so many years.
‘Your relationship with the Adamants?’
‘The younger son could be surly, but he was decent enough, the same as his brother and sister.’
‘Surly?’
‘He fancied Helen, more her age than his father was, but she was committed to Gerald, and the younger son, a smart man by all accounts, wasn’t her kind of man. She told us he reminded her of all the men she had met before. She offered them companionship and an intelligent woman. All they saw was a quick lay. Apologies for my speaking about my daughter like that, but with us, Helen was very open. It was the way we liked it with her. She wasn’t only our daughter, she was also our friend.’
‘The Adamants supported her at her trial.’
‘They did, and very commendable of them, but with so much publicity, and Helen looking the way she did, the sentiment of the jury was against her. We used to visit her in prison at every opportunity, and then, there was James Holden.’
‘Did you meet him?’
‘On many occasions. Another decent man, the same as Gerald.’
‘Older?’
‘Helen had enjoyed being married to Gerald. He treated her well, never flaunted her, and he always included her in his conversations, entrusted her to help with his philanthropic work. She told us that James Holden was the same as Gerald and he was going to get her out of prison. We could see she was becoming close to the man, and even though he was married, and we warned her, the heart doesn’t know such boundaries.’
‘After her release?’
‘She went to work for Holden, although the salary wasn’t much. Not that Helen needed it. The Adamants ensured she had an apartment and some money.’
‘I must ask this,’ Isaac said. ‘Helen, as you say, was a good person, so was Holden, yet they ended up in a hotel together.’
‘We’ve tried to understand why,’ Betty Mackay said, temporarily revived by Wendy’s ministrations. ‘As much as she may have loved James, he was still married. She would not have considered it for one moment, not our Helen.’
‘But she did. The facts are clear, and we need to know why. Mr Mackay, do you have any thoughts?’
‘No more than my wife. Helen would have only agreed if it was for James’s well-being, but he was older than me. The passion doesn’t run as strong, the need to rush off to a hotel for a little romance doesn’t seem plausible. That’s more the folly of teenagers in love, not an old man and one of his employees.’
‘Regardless, it did happen,’ Isaac said, ‘and not only that, we know that James Holden had been there with another woman in the past.’
‘Then we are lost as to why Helen was there with him unless it was important. Are you sure they were involved?’
‘We’re sure. There’s proof.’
***
Two men waited in the reception of the hotel in Bayswater. Neither man was comfortable with the other: the concierge because his money-making venture, his time with one of the whores instead of payment, would be curtailed, and the other man, Police Constable Trevor Greenock, because he was fastidious about personal hygiene, and the concierge stank.
‘What time does this woman come in?’ Greenock asked.
‘It depends. Some nights she doesn’t come in at all.’
‘Attractive?’
‘I’d say so,’ the concierge said, although not as attractive as the murdered woman had been, he knew that. He had seen them through the peephole, seen the old man’s attempt at lovemaking, imagined it was him, young and virile, with her. If it had not been for the bell on reception, another whore bringing her mark in, he would have stayed watching Holden and the woman; he would have seen who shot them.
‘It’s not much of a hotel is it,’ Greenock said. He was a tall man with black wavy hair. Two years with the police, and his first stakeout. He had changed his police uniform for an assistant manager’s at the hotel. Tomorrow he’d have a talk to Homicide and see if he could move over on a more permanent basis.
‘Some of the women who come in here aren’t much either.’
‘Then why was Holden here?’
‘You’d better ask him.’
‘He’s dead, that’s why I’m asking you,’ Greenock said. He could sense the unpleasant man knew more than he was letting on.
‘Sometimes men like a bit of the rough, a woman off the street. Men like Holden, I see them in here occasionally. They spend their lives being respectable, law-abiding citizens, when all they want to do is rebel, the same as all of us. But it’s not possible, you know that, not in the long term anyway. They come down here. One was even a vicar, not that he realised that I knew.’
‘How did you know?’
‘My father, he was keen on the church. Every weekend we’d be there. Everyone gives away what and who they are by the way they walk, their mannerisms.’
‘Regular Sherlock Holmes, aren’t you?’
‘Not me. I’ve read all his books, and he’s right. You watch the next one that comes in.’
Soon after, a woman, dressed in a white blouse with a red skirt, walked in through the door. The man was dressed casually, an open-necked shirt, a pair of jeans.
‘The usual, Joyce?’ the concierge said.
‘I’d say by the way he walked he was a police officer,’ Greenock said.
‘I’d have him down as an army officer. Why the police?’
‘I’ve seen him around, not that I’ve ever spoken to him, and he didn’t recognise me.’
‘Any problem for him?’
‘Not if he’s off duty.’
A forty-five minute wait, another woman. ‘It’s her,’ the concierge said.
‘Excuse me. I’m Police Constable Greenock. I’ve a few questions if you don’t mind.’
The man she had come in with attempted to rush out of the hotel. Greenock had pre-empted him by remotely locking the entrance door. ‘You’ll not get out of here. And besides, it’s the lady that interests the police, not you.’
‘I’ve not done anything,’ the woman protested. ‘I’m registered, legal, even pay my taxes.’
‘I’m here about a man you brought in here in the past.’
‘I’m like a priest. I don’t tell on anyone. They pay their money, they have their fun, and that’s it.’
‘Your name, sir?’ Greenock said, turning to the flustered man.
‘It’ll ruin me.’
‘Were you here on the night of the murder?’
‘I read about it, James Holden. This is my first time here.’
Greenock looked over at the concierge. He shook his head, indicating the man had lied.
‘Okay, I’ll tell you what we’ll do. If you provide me with evidence as to who you are, you can leave now. I’ve got your photo, and I’ll check your phone before you leave. I’ll just take a few contacts off it, phone them up if we can’t contact you, tell them that we’re looking for a man who had been with a prostitute in Bayswater. I’m sure we’ll find you soon enough.’
‘Conrad Evans, I’m a builder in the city. I was on my way home. It’s been a long day, and I see Daisy here, and she beckons me over. That’s the truth, believe me.’
‘I do. Your identification and your phone.’
Greenock picked up his phone while the man fumbled in his wallet. ‘Send a car,’ he said. ‘You’ll need to come to the station with me,’ he said to the woman.
‘What for? Business has been quiet. You’ll have to feed me if you want to talk.’
‘Pizza?’
‘That’ll do.’
Her client left, a police car arrived. ‘I’ll look past your taking backhanders from the whores this time,’ Greenock said to the concierge.
‘Don’t worry. Your Inspector Hill fixed it with the management. I work with you; he’ll protect me.’
‘The long arm of the law
protecting the villains. Whatever next?’
‘It was the long arm of the law that put me inside in the first place.’
‘You’ll be here tomorrow?’
‘I hope so. It’s a lousy job, but it does have benefits.’
‘Joyce?’
‘You’ve got it.’
‘You’re a foul man,’ Greenock said. ‘Don’t think tonight has been a pleasure for me.’
‘I’ve got a thick skin. Nothing you say will affect me.’
‘No doubt it won’t. I hope you enjoy your time with Joyce.’
‘More than you will with Daisy.’
Chapter 6
At Challis Street Police Station, the prostitute sat quietly in one corner, eating a pizza. ‘Not much to look at,’ Wendy said.
Isaac thought his sergeant was harsh in her criticism. He could see the woman had the look of the street and the needle marks on her arms were not the best, but considering the life the woman had led, she had fared better than most.
‘What are you looking at?’ the woman said, lifting her head away from the pizza.
‘Nothing,’ Isaac said. ‘When you’re ready.’
‘Are you going to charge me?’
‘There’s no charge. We’ve just got a few questions.’
‘Okay, let’s get on with it. I’ve lost enough money tonight because of you.’
Inside the interview room, Daisy sat on one side, Isaac and Wendy on the other. ‘Could we have your correct name, please?’ Isaac said.
‘Elizabeth Wetherington.’
‘Miss Wetherington…’
‘Call me Daisy, everyone else does.’
‘Daisy, we are interested in a man you took to the hotel several times in the past.’
‘How do you expect me to remember. I go there, they have what they want, and then they leave. I don’t get to study them, not even talk to them most of the time.’
‘According to the concierge, you took this man to the hotel two weeks ago on a Thursday. Can you remember back to that day?’
‘My memory’s not so good.’
‘What does it need to help it?’
‘Money would help.’
Wendy studied the woman: peroxide blonde, heavy on the make-up, bright-red lipstick, a drawn face.
Murder in Room 346 Page 4
