Murder of a Silent Man

by Phillip Strang

  Murder of a Silent Man

  Phillip Strang

  BOOKS BY PHILLIP STRANG

  DCI Isaac Cook Series

  MURDER IS A TRICKY BUSINESS

  MURDER HOUSE

  MURDER IS ONLY A NUMBER

  MURDER IN LITTLE VENICE

  MURDER IS THE ONLY OPTION

  MURDER IN NOTTING HILL

  MURDER IN ROOM 346

  MURDER OF A SILENT MAN

  MURDER WITHOUT REASON

  DI Keith Tremayne Series

  DEATH UNHOLY

  DEATH AND THE ASSASSIN’S BLADE

  DEATH AND THE LUCKY MAN

  DEATH AT COOMBE FARM

  DEATH BY A DEAD MAN’S HAND

  Steve Case Series

  HOSTAGE OF ISLAM

  THE HABERMAN VIRUS

  PRELUDE TO WAR

  Standalone Books

  MALIKA’S REVENGE

  Copyright Page

  Copyright © 2018 Phillip Strang

  Cover Design by Phillip Strang

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed by a newspaper, magazine, or journal.

  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  All Rights Reserved.

  This work is registered with the UK Copyright Service.

  Author’s Website: http://www.phillipstrang.com

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  Dedication

  For Eli and Tais, who both had the perseverance to make me sit down and write.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 1

  No one gave much credence to the man when he was alive. In fact, most people never knew who he was, although those who had lived in the area for many years recognised the tired-looking and shabbily dressed man as he shuffled along, regular as clockwork on a Thursday at seven in the evening, to the local off-licence. It was always the same: a bottle of whisky, premium brand, and a packet of cigarettes. He paid his money over the counter, took hold of the plastic bag containing his purchases, and then walked back down the road with the same rhythmic shuffle. He said not one word to anyone on the street or in the shop.

  Apart from the three-storey mansion where he lived, one of the best residences on one of the best streets in London, with its windows permanently shuttered, no one would have regarded him as anything other than homeless and destitute. Just a harmless eccentric, until the morning when he was found dead in his front garden.

  ‘Never spoken to him, and that’s the honest truth,’ Jim Porter said. He was a lean man with a pronounced chin, and a strong Cockney accent. ‘I’ve been delivering letters down this street for the last twelve years. Seeing him lying there was the first time I’d ever seen him. Down at the sorting office we called him Ebenezer, no chance of a tip at Christmas, not so much as a thank you. No doubt we shouldn’t have, but he’s lived in that place for over thirty years, and not one word to my predecessor or me. Weird, if you ask me.’

  Detective Chief Inspector Isaac Cook looked at the postman. ‘You found the body?’ he said. Tall, the son of Jamaican immigrants, and the first in his family to go to university, the first to join the police force, Isaac Cook was an impressive man, as well as a good police officer. Others had told him so, but he was not a man susceptible to flattery, even if he had to admit there was a modicum of truth.

  ‘More by chance. I could see the letterbox was full, the letters no longer going through the slot, and I couldn’t take them back with me,’ Porter said.

  ‘What do you do when that happens?’

  ‘I can’t remember it happening before. Mind you, not many people get letters these days, only bills. I knew about the man inside, so I thought I’d look around, see if I could find a stick or something to push the letters through. Otherwise, he could have been lying there for God knows how long.’

  ‘The lawns are mowed regularly,’ Larry Hill, Isaac’s detective inspector, said.

  ‘You’re right, but it’s winter. Once a month would be sufficient. Strange, isn’t it?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The neglected house, the garden neat and tidy.’

  ‘Is it neglected?’

  ‘I’d say so. I was here once, and I looked through a crack in one of the shutters. There was a single light in the ceiling and some old furniture, decay everywhere. It gave me a cold shiver, almost like one of those horror movies that you see on the television.’

  Isaac Cook was not sure about the man. He looked over at the letterbox, noticed that the slot was clear. If the man had found a body, why would he have cleared the letterbox? Isaac decided to say nothing. Once back at Challis Street Police Station, he’d ask Bridget Halloran to check out Jim Porter, the postman, as well as the mansion’s owner, Gilbert Lawrence.

  ***

  ‘Never a word, not Mr Lawrence,’ Molly Dempster said. She was a small woman with a slight stoop.

  Isaac Cook and Larry Hill were standing in the hallway of her house. The only information they had about the dead man had been a note to Molly, and an invoice in her name with her address as well.

  ‘That’s how Mr Lawrence liked it. I’d come in twice a week, iron and press, not that there was much to do. I’d tidy around the few rooms at the back, make him food for the next few days and put it in the fridge.’

  ‘He never spoke?’ Isaac asked.

  ‘The last time I heard him speak was over twenty years ago, and then it was only for a couple of minutes.’

  ‘What did he want?’

  ‘A toothache. The man was in agony, and he wanted me to find him a dentist.’

  ‘And you did?’

  ‘I did. But he was generous, at least to me. And you can’t understand how good it was to have an employer who never complained, always paid on time.’

  ‘It’s still unusual,’ Larry Hill said.

  ‘You must have formed an opinion of the man,’ Isaac said.

  ‘I’ve been cleaning for Mr Lawrence for over fifty years. Back when I started, his wife was still here, a lovely woman, although she plastered on the make-up, but always beautifully dressed. Quite the picture she was.’

  ‘She’
s dead?’

  ‘There were some, gossip mongers, who said he killed her, buried her in the garden, but I don’t believe that. I’d seen them together, always loving, never a cross word.’

  ‘Was there an inquiry?’

  ‘One day she disappeared, all her clothes left in the house. Mr Lawrence, he was frantic, and the police dredged the river, organised search parties, put up posters, but nothing.’

  ‘Did they eventually find her?’

  ‘Never. She was a delicate woman, subject to going a little crazy sometimes, but don’t we all. Well, not as crazy as her. Two weeks confined to her room, and then she’d be fine. In time, Mr Lawrence came to accept that she had come to some harm due to her craziness, and that was that. And such beautiful children, two of them, although I’ve not seen them in a long time.’

  ‘We’ll check the records,’ Isaac said. ‘It’s before our time.’

  ‘What about the bolted door in the house?’ Larry said.

  ‘You’ve seen how he lives?’ Molly Dempster said.

  ‘We’ve seen it.’

  ‘After Mr Lawrence’s wife vanished, he started to become morose. Can’t blame him, but before that he had been sociable, and always generous at Christmas. I had a room out the back of the house, above the garage.’

  ‘You were permanent?’

  ‘They needed someone full time.’

  ‘After his wife disappeared?’ Isaac said.

  ‘He changed. As though he could never get over it, that close they were. I started to see him less and less, and when I was in one room, he would be in another.’

  ‘Did he go out?’

  ‘Rarely. And then one day…’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘It was five, maybe six months after Mrs Lawrence had gone. There were men in the house, builders.’

  ‘Doing what?’

  ‘They were installing the bolted door and converting the dining room into a bedroom. There was already a toilet and a small bathroom off to one side of the kitchen. The men were there for five days, and then they left. That was the last time I went past the bolted door.’

  ‘But you still work there.’

  ‘There was a letter on the kitchen sink when I arrived one day. I opened it.’

  ‘What did it say?’

  ‘It was from Mr Lawrence. He thanked me for all that I had done for the family, but he no longer needed a full-time housekeeper, although he needed someone twice a week to clean and tidy up, and to prepare meals for him.’

  ‘Your reaction?’

  ‘Stunned. But what could I say? The man had always been generous to me, and his family were my family. He gave me the address of his solicitor and a time to visit him.’

  ‘You went?’

  ‘Mr Dundas, a stern man, I never liked him. Well, he was polite, asked me to sit down, and made sure I had a cup of tea. Earl Grey, not my favourite.’

  It was clear to Isaac and Larry that the woman was glad of the company and wanted to talk. They had a body waiting to be transported to Pathology and a crime scene team at Lawrence’s mansion. They wanted to be elsewhere.

  ‘What did Mr Dundas have to say?’

  ‘He was acting under the instructions of Mr Lawrence. I was to be given a house to live in for perpetuity. It was to be furnished to my satisfaction, and I would not be required to pay for anything. Also, I would continue to receive my salary.’

  ‘You accepted?’

  ‘What else could I do? It was all a little strange, but Mr Dundas explained that Mr Lawrence wanted a life of solitude and that he wished to retire from the world. From that day on, I’ve never paid anything for my house, my salary has been paid weekly, and I’ve only ever communicated with Mr Lawrence by messages on the kitchen sink.’

  ‘He used to go to the off-licence. You could have seen him there.’

  ‘I never attempted to talk to him, and if I saw him outside the house, I walked the other way.’

  ‘Did anyone visit him?’

  ‘Mr Dundas would come, but it was sporadic. He was in the house three weeks ago.’

  ***

  Back at Gilbert Lawrence’s house, the crime scene investigators were still busy. Isaac and Larry arrived back to see the body of the dead man being removed.

  ‘Not much to tell you,’ Gordon Windsor, the crime scene examiner, said.

  Isaac knew that Windsor would tell him as much as the pathologist, but without the detailed report.

  ‘It’s murder, but I suppose that’s obvious with a knife protruding from his back.’

  ‘Fatal?’ Larry said.

  ‘Not immediately, but the dead man was in his eighties, not in great health. The cold ground would have finished him off.’

  ‘He was reclusive. We’ve just spoken to the housekeeper.’

  ‘We’re checking where he lived. Functional, but not very agreeable. Beautiful building,’ Windsor said, looking up from where he was stooped over a broken pot in the garden.

  Isaac and Larry had to agree. It was unique for the area in that the mansion was detached and it had a substantial garden.

  ‘There’s a couple of cars in the garage, although neither has moved for a long time.’

  ‘What type of cars?’

  ‘Expensive. We’ve opened the door that was bolted inside the house. Be careful of the dust and the cobwebs when you go in.’

  ‘According to the housekeeper, it’s been unused for thirty years,’ Isaac said.

  ‘All that money, and mad as a hatter,’ Windsor said.

  ‘Was he?’

  ‘What else could he have been. How did he make his money, any idea?’

  ‘We’re off to see his solicitor, no doubt he had an accountant. We’ll find out, but it appears to be property speculation.’

  ‘We found a filing cabinet inside.’

  ‘We’ll need to check it out.’

  ‘We’ll leave it where it is for now. Apart from that, the main part of the building hasn’t been used, although Lawrence had been in there.’

  ‘Proof?’

  ‘Upstairs, you’d better have a look before you leave.’

  Chapter 2

  There were not many sights that Isaac and Larry could not deal with, but a dead body propped up in bed, as though it was watching the old television in the corner, was definitely one of the most bizarre.

  ‘My God,’ Isaac exclaimed as he entered the room.

  Grant Meston, Windsor’s number 2, stood to one side. ‘Mrs Lawrence, we’re assuming,’ he said.

  ‘How long?’

  ‘If he bolted the door over thirty years ago, then I’d say she’s been here that long.’

  ‘But she’s just a skeleton,’ Larry said.

  ‘That’s what happens to the human body. The hair is still there, so are the teeth, but not a lot of skin. There are relatives, I assume.’

  ‘A son and a daughter. We’re contacting them now.’

  ‘How do you tell them that their father has been keeping the dead body of their mother in the house?’

  ‘We’ve dealt with worse.’

  Isaac walked around the bed. There appeared to have been no attempt to clean the body or the bed, not even the room. A lone flower in a vase by the side of the bed was the only sign of any attempt at sanctifying the area, and it had been placed there years before.

  ‘It’s a first,’ Meston said.

  ‘For all of us. That clarifies whether Gilbert Lawrence was mentally unstable or not.’

  ‘He’s been in here,’ Meston said. ‘Probably not in the room for several months. But outside on the landing, we found his footprints.’

  ‘You’ll remove her body?’

  ‘Eventually. The body outside is more important. Mrs Lawrence, what’s her history?’

  ‘We’re still checking. What we know from the housekeeper is that Mrs Lawrence just upped and vanished one day. Apparently, she had issues. After that, the husband slowly retreated from the world.’

  ‘Makes you wonder, doesn’
t it?’ Meston said.

  ‘Wonder about what?’

  ‘Whether all this money’s worth having. Did you see the cars?’

  ‘No. Windsor said they were special.’

  ‘Two vintage Rolls Royces.’

  ‘They’re not really important, are they?’

  ‘No. The two bodies are.’

  ‘Then I suggest you concentrate on them,’ Isaac said.

  ‘Point taken, DCI.’

  ‘The rest of the house?’

  ‘There has been movement throughout the house, but not much.’

  ‘Gilbert Lawrence?’

  ‘It appears to be only the one person. Any suspects for his death?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ***

  ‘My father and mother were very close. Sometimes my brother and I felt left out, not that we were ever badly treated, on the contrary,’ Caroline Dickson, née Lawrence, said. Isaac could see that compared to her father’s mansion where she lived was smaller, but it was immaculate. The interior walls of the house in Chelsea were lined with paintings, and most of the furniture looked antique.

  ‘It would be better if you took a seat,’ Larry said.

  A confident and strong-willed woman, Caroline Dickson remained standing. ‘I’ve already been told about my father,’ she said.

  ‘Who told you?’

  ‘Molly phoned, the first time in many years.’

  ‘How long since you’ve seen him?’

  ‘We saw him for a few weeks after our mother disappeared, but then he would walk away from us and lock himself in another room. After that, we haven’t seen him since, my brother and I.’

  ‘Not even when he was walking to the off-licence?’

  ‘Once or twice, but it was difficult. I never spoke to him, and I don’t think Ralph, my brother, did.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Our father was such a dynamic man. You know what he achieved?’

  ‘Property speculation?’

  ‘Speculation is when you played the game, took a chance. With our father, there was no risk-taking. He bought property, fixed it up, and rarely sold it. He was not a man to show off, though.’