‘How’s Gertrude?’ Grenfell asked.
‘You’ve not spoken to her?’
‘I phoned. She said she was all right.’
‘But you’re not sure?’
‘Not totally, but she was always harder to read than her sister. Mavis is an open book, what you see is what you get. With Gertrude, you could never be sure what she was thinking.’
‘Constable Gladstone said she took the news as well as could be expected.’
‘Ambiguous statement, don’t you think?’
‘My constable thought the woman looked sad. That’s why she offered to stay the night with her.’
‘In that awful house?’
‘There’s a room upstairs that’s in reasonable condition.’
‘Your constable can keep asking questions.’
‘Her reason to stay is compassionate, no more.’
‘True, true,’ Grenfell said.
‘Coming back to the reality,’ Isaac said, ‘what don’t I know that I should?’
‘I’m not sure where to start.’
‘Let’s start with the women’s childhood.’
‘I’ll make some tea first,’ the lawyer said. Five minutes later he returned. Isaac noticed that his hands were not trembling.
‘They came up to our home, you would call it a stately home, every summer for two weeks. I am ten years younger than Mavis, twelve years younger than Gertrude. They treated me well, made sure I was fed and bathed as a baby. They were like sisters to me, and we were all fond of each other.’
‘Gertrude and Mavis, good friends?’
‘They were inseparable until their late teens.’
‘What happened?’
‘The inevitable. Gertrude was the more promiscuous of the two, although Mavis was far from perfect.’
‘Were there many opportunities in those days for promiscuity?’
‘Amongst the aristocratic and the idle rich? A different set of values for the upper classes to the proletariat. I was as much a part of it as anyone back then. I was ignored by them after they reached the age of seventeen. My chance to play up came later.’
‘Did you see them much after they reached adolescence?
‘Just family occasions: weddings, deaths, the occasional baptism.’
‘And then what?’
‘I never saw them for many years, heard about them in the gossip columns. Both of them were regarded as beauties, and they were always popping up at Ascot for the races or at some club or another. Invariably squired by the son of a lord or a duke, sometimes in the company of a minor royal.’
‘So why did Gertrude marry Michael Solomon?’
‘Beauty fades, and a royal wants a virgin, and the son of a lord wants someone reasonably chaste. Gertrude did not qualify on either count. Rumours of an abortion at one stage, but I don’t know if that is true or not, never asked either.’
‘Was Michael Solomon wealthy?’
‘Successful in trade. I suppose he was. Remember, their father was still alive then, so they only had an allowance. From what I know, Gertrude fell heavily in love with Michael, and they married within a couple of months. Her father disapproved until he met him, and then he was quickly charmed. Finally gave them his blessing and a house in Twickenham.’
‘Mavis?’
‘She travelled in Europe for a few years after the war.’
‘And her husband?’
‘I never liked him.’
‘Any reason?’
‘Irish.’
‘Is that sufficient?’
‘She met him in Italy. He wooed her, bedded her, and eventually married her once he realised that her father was on his deathbed, and she was about to get a half-share in a substantial fortune.’
‘Did she?’
‘It was substantial. I handled the legal paperwork, assigned each sister their proportion.’
‘And the husband?’
‘He lasted for a few years, until he realised that Mavis was no fool, and that his good life came with limitations, but no claim to the fortune.’
‘Back then, the husband would be entitled, wouldn’t he?’
‘Not according to their father’s last will and testament. He knew that Gertrude was susceptible to unscrupulous men, and that Mavis had made an unfortunate choice in a husband. As I said, I dealt with the legal aspect to protect the women.’
‘But it didn’t protect Gertrude?’
‘Legally and financially, it did, but there were other problems.’
‘Michael Solomon?’
‘Not at all. He had his problems, but he always came back to Gertrude. He would never have taken advantage of her.’
‘Was there someone else?’
‘Some years later there was an issue.’
‘What kind of issue? Why did Solomon leave and take up with another woman in Fulham?’
‘It’s best if you talk to Gertrude on this one. Otherwise, I’ll need her permission to tell you.’
‘I could make it official.’
‘It doesn’t need that. Give me a day or so to clear the way. In the meantime, look after Gertrude. She has had a rough time over the years.’
***
Garry Solomon’s body was still with the forensic pathologist. Apart from a desiccated shell, some hair and the tattoo, there were no other identifying marks. Isaac checked to ensure that the body would be available, to ensure there was some clothing, and that an attempt would be made to make the corpse’s face acceptable to view. They stated that it would be impossible, and the best they could do would be to ensure a darkened room, and a veil covering the face. He ran it past Wendy, who spoke to the mother.
Two days after the mother’s request, both Wendy and Gertrude Richardson found themselves outside the address where the body was stored. It was the first time outside the mansion in Richmond for five years for the old woman.
‘Are you sure?’ Wendy asked.
‘I’m sure.’
They entered the building, met a well-mannered laboratory assistant who escorted them to the viewing area. The corpse rested in a coffin which the laboratory had secured for the viewing; the lid was open. The mother approached the casket timidly and looked in. She slowly pulled the veil from the face to look at her son. It was not a pleasant sight. Wendy approached and looked in as well; it upset her greatly. She saw what looked to be an Egyptian mummy. Gertrude Richardson could only see a son; her mind drifted back to him as a child, then a boy, then an adult of nineteen, which was the last time she had seen him alive. He had died at the age of thirty-six. If he had lived, he would have been in his late sixties, drawing his pension, presenting her with grandchildren. She was very sad, although she did not show it.
‘Thank you,’ she said to Wendy. ‘I always wanted to see him again, if only for a minute. I am exhausted. Would you please take me home.’
Wendy drove her home, put her in a bed upstairs, promising to feed the cats. She then went downstairs to make the old woman a cup of tea, and prepare some food for her. When Wendy returned twenty minutes later, the old lady was lying on her back, her eyes wide open, her mouth slightly ajar. She was dead.
***
‘You did well, Wendy,’ Isaac said on her return to the office several hours later. As sad as it was, Gertrude Richardson had died of natural causes. There would be an autopsy, as she was an integral person in a murder investigation, but Wendy saw it as a formality. The woman, old and frail, had held on to see her son. She had died soon after as a result. Wendy had stayed at the mansion until the body had been removed. She then phoned the Battersea Dogs and Cats Home to come and take care of the cats. She counted twenty-three. Larry said he would take the one that kept sitting on his lap. Wendy decided on two that would provide company for her when she got home at night. The rest she surmised would be adopted out, more likely euthanised.
‘It doesn’t feel that way at the moment, sir,’ she said.
‘It will in time. Are you free to talk about the case?’
&nb
sp; ‘It will help to take my mind off what happened. No wonder she died after what she saw in that casket.’
‘You said she was used to dead bodies.’
‘She never explained why. It was her son she was looking at, but she stood there showing no emotion.’
‘Her lawyer said she concealed her feelings well, never knew what she was thinking. Mavis, he said, was the opposite.’
‘Where’s DI Hill?’
‘He went out to inform Mavis Richardson. Apparently, the woman became quite emotional. Larry’s still there.’
‘Maybe I should go there as well, sir.’
‘Not necessary. Larry took her to a formal identification of her sister. He will be here within the next hour.’
Bridget, sensing that Wendy was grieving, took her under her wing. She settled her down on a comfortable chair and gave her a strong brew of tea and a couple of chocolate biscuits, as well as some cake she had brought from home. Ten minutes later, Wendy was much better.
‘She identified the body,’ DI Hill said on his return to the station.
‘Where is she now?’
‘Back at her house. Her lawyer is with her.’
‘We should go out there,’ Isaac said to Larry.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I’ll go as well,’ Wendy said.
‘Go home and take it easy for the rest of the day,’ Isaac said.
‘She’s coming home with me,’ Bridget said. ‘I don’t think she wants to be on her own tonight.’ Wendy thanked her.
It took forty-five minutes to make the trip out to Mavis Richardson’s house. Larry reflected that it would only have taken twelve on the train. Isaac could only agree.
They saw Montague Grenfell’s car in the driveway of the house on their arrival, a late model Mercedes. They knocked at the door.
‘Come in,’ Montague Grenfell said. ‘Miss Richardson is composing herself. She will be down in a minute.’ Isaac reflected that the man seemed at home in the house.
The woman joined them soon after. She was relaxed and agreeable, although there were signs of crying around her eyes.
‘I’m sorry about your loss,’ Isaac said.
‘Thank you, DCI Cook. We didn’t always see eye to eye, but she was still my sister.’
‘There are questions to be asked, answers to be given. Is this an appropriate time?’
‘There will never be an appropriate time.’
‘Are you able to elaborate?’ Isaac asked.
‘Another time would be better,’ Grenfell said.
‘The truth will come out sometime. It is best to clear the air now,’ Mavis Richardson said.
She went to make tea for everyone. Isaac accompanied her to assist. She appeared to appreciate the gesture.
Upon their return, Isaac placed the tray in the middle of the coffee table. Everyone helped themselves to the tea and the small cakes. ‘Baked them myself,’ she said.
‘They’re delicious,’ Larry and Isaac said in unison. Everyone knew that it was small talk, the sparring before the main event. There was a secret, possibly secrets that were crucial to solving the murder of Garry Solomon aka Solly Michaels. The person most likely to know had died. Isaac was hopeful that those remaining knew as much.
‘Miss Richardson, were you aware that Garry Solomon was in London during the 1980s, and possibly the years preceding?’
‘I never saw him again, but he knew that he would not be welcome.’
‘Did your sister know of your ambivalence?’
‘Yes.’
‘Can you elaborate?’
‘Must I?’
‘Yes. This is a murder enquiry.’
‘Very well.’ She sat down, perched herself on the edge of a chair. She looked unsure of herself. ‘Garry had always been a disruptive child, even when he was very young. A cruel streak as well. Gertrude always made excuses; Michael always forgave. We were sharing the mansion in Richmond. It was the sixties, the swinging sixties, free love.’
‘You were part of that scene?’ Isaac asked.
‘We were still young enough to enjoy it. We were promiscuous, always screwing around when we were in our teens, and it had carried on as we got older. It was what the elite used to get up to, although most everyone will deny it. We used to have some wild parties. Mainly alcohol, but some drugs, and often people would pair off, car keys in a bowl, that sort of thing.’
‘Gertrude was married,’ Isaac said.
‘So was I, but it didn’t seem to matter. I would pair off with her husband or someone else. She would do the same. No one appeared to be affected by it, apart from Garry. It was our mistake really, too interested in our pleasures at the expense of a minor, although he was in his early teens by then. We always ensured he was at boarding school during the week when we had the parties. Whenever he came home, it was just one happy family: picnics on the lawn, games around an open fire. Even then, he would quickly lose his temper if the game did not go his way.’
‘Why your ambivalence towards him?’
‘He came home early while we were having one of our parties. Supposedly, he had picked up an infection in the school swimming pool. Usually, someone would have gone and picked him up, but for some reason it had not happened this time. It was a long time ago, and I forget the details. He comes into the house; those who are not upstairs paired off are out for the count on alcohol and drugs. Not finding anyone that he knows, he climbs the stairs and enters the first room he finds.’
‘What did he find?’ Larry asked.
‘Two naked bodies entwined.’
‘Who were they?’
‘His father and me, who else?’
‘And then?’
‘He goes crazy, starts hitting me with an iron poker used to stoke the fire. I was on top. Eventually, my husband comes in and restrains him, and I’m taken off to the hospital.’
‘Serious injuries?’
‘Bruising, black and blue for some weeks, but I recovered.’
‘And your husband? What did he say finding you with Michael Solomon?’
‘Nothing. He was off with someone else. Gertrude was with Montague.’
‘So why the ambivalence? It seems he had every right to be upset.’
‘Of course, but then he gets back to his school, and tells all his friends who tell their parents. It is just bad breeding. The upper classes keep their dirty laundry to themselves, but then Garry never understood that. Just common, I suppose.’
Isaac saw clearly that Mavis Richardson was a snob who saw breeding and class as paramount. He decided that he did not like her, regardless of how polite and friendly she had been towards him.
Chapter 9
Mavis Richardson’s husband continued to be an enigma. The name of O’Loughlin did not automatically conjure up thoughts of aristocracy and breeding. Isaac realised that he needed to be found. He was the one person missing out of the key group.
There was also the question of what happened to Garry Solomon, or Solly Michaels as he seemed to have been known. He had come from a privileged background, but police records showed behaviour not akin to influence and importance. There were police reports available, indicating that a Solly Michaels had been picked up for drug trafficking, occasional violence, and receiving stolen goods.
Isaac felt it was necessary to find out more about him. And then the question remained, why a fireplace in a house belonging to the Richardson sisters? It was evident that the body would be found at some stage and an identification secured. Too many variables, too many unanswered questions. He needed Larry and Wendy out and about, aiming to reduce the unknowns. Wendy seemed best placed to find the missing husband, Larry better placed to find out if anyone knew the story of Garry Solomon. From all indications that would require him entering the underbelly of society, going into places where a woman might not be welcome.
‘Surely Garry Solomon is more important,’ Larry Hill said at the evening meeting.
‘Outline your thought process,’ Isaac said.
‘He disappears for all those years, and then he ends up in the fireplace of the house in Bellevue Street.’
Bridget wanted to say something. Isaac waved his hand at her, a gesture to keep quiet for the moment. Wendy had questions to ask, but she knew Isaac’s style. He was a team player who did not steal someone’s thunder when they were on a roll.
Larry continued after taking a quick sip of his coffee. ‘Garry Solomon is here in London, a petty villain. There’s a fortune to be had, yet he decides not to come forward to claim any of it.’
‘What about the antagonism from Mavis Richardson?’ Wendy asked.
‘What about it?’ Larry replied. ‘Garry Solomon was a villain, and by all accounts a nasty piece of work. Do you think he would care who he upset?’
‘Probably not, and then there is his mother. Why didn’t he contact her at least a few times over the years?’
‘Maybe he did, but we’ll never know now as both mother and son are dead,’ Isaac said.
‘I’ve obtained his full criminal record. It may help to fill in some of the blanks,’ Bridget said.
‘Great,’ Larry said. ‘Let me finish first.’
‘It looks as if we’re in for a long night. Do I need to phone for some food?’ Isaac asked.
Bridget and Wendy were quick to raise their hands. Isaac knew his keep fit regime was to suffer. Jess had left a message, wanting to meet up. He quickly sent her a message stating that he was busy until ten that night. Her reply was curt.
Larry took the floor again. He stood up and leant against the wall. ‘We know he’s a villain, but why does he end up dead in a fireplace? The address would indicate that his murder was committed by someone he knew, someone who had access to the house.’
‘But why?’ Isaac asked. ‘Hiding a body in a fireplace, hoping it would not be disturbed, makes no sense.’
‘It must have been temporary, and for some reason the person never returned.’
The DCI Isaac Cook Thriller Series: Books 1 -3 Page 40