Murder in Hyde Park

by Phillip Strang

  ‘I never saw him again. Not that I didn’t want to at first, but then he changed. No longer was he with a woman by choice; now he was selling himself.’

  ‘A male escort?’

  ‘It upset his mother when she found out, and I vowed never to allow his name to be mentioned again.’

  ‘Your wife?’

  ‘She wanted to forgive him, but I forbade it. It would have been too much emotional stress for her to deal with. I did it to protect her.’

  ‘Were you ashamed of your son?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Matilda?’

  ‘Her mother would meet her. I paid all her bills. I hoped that one day she would find a good man, settle down, and then we could have reconciled, but now…’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Montgomery,’ Isaac said. ‘I don’t think we have any more questions for now. Sorry, only one. The shared house, do you have its address?’

  Montgomery wrote the address on a piece of paper and left the room. The two police officers could see a broken man; a man who had confronted his demons, a man who through his actions had sent his two children on a path from which there was no return.

  Chapter 16

  There was no doubt in anybody’s mind that bringing Stanley Montgomery into Homicide had been a good move. For once they had a new avenue of enquiry that would take them away from the current suspects, and into hitherto unconsidered areas.

  Wendy could see the need to meet with Christine Mason again. If, and it seemed clear that it was true, Barry Montgomery, alias Colin Young, alias whoever else, had been selling his services, then had the accounts manager at the Fitzroy Hotel been a client or a paramour? Had the man’s feelings for her been genuine, had hers for him? And was the manager, the unpleasant man that Wendy instinctively didn’t like and Christine was afraid of, not the villain of the piece, but merely a man who had seen the truth?

  ‘What do you reckon?’ Larry asked.

  Wendy was still trying to digest all that she was being told, trying to put the pieces together, aiming to identify inconsistencies in Christine Mason’s story, her hesitancy, her need to look away at certain times. ‘We need to know who paid the bill at the Fitzroy,’ she said.

  ‘The credit card, we know it was valid and in the name of Colin Young,’ Bridget said.

  ‘If the man was a male escort, then where did he operate from? How do the women make contact with him? And why the Fitzroy?’

  ‘As good a place as any to make contact with his clients,’ Larry said.

  ‘Not if Christine Mason was there, it wasn’t,’ Wendy said. ‘We know her to be a jealous woman, and if she had seen anything…’

  ‘Anything what?’

  ‘She would have had her proof. But we know the story about the taxi near to Paddington Station is correct. Why tell us that story if she had known the truth about him before?’

  ‘Unless she was blinded by love,’ Isaac said.

  The team was in Isaac’s office, the investigation was getting hot, the culprit was not far from being discovered, hiding behind a thin disguise. It was the time that DCI Isaac Cook liked the best: the adrenaline rush, the quickening heartbeat, the added passion in the office. Days spent sifting through unknowns, finding solutions, clues, avenues of inquiry, people to interview, and then…

  One recalcitrant and disagreeable man who under pressure had revealed a hitherto unknown secret. One so awful that he could not bring himself to say the word, let alone allow his son’s name to be spoken again.

  ‘If Christine saw Barry Montgomery with a young and beautiful woman in the taxi, it could have turned her,’ Wendy said. ‘In the hotel, the man could have been discreet, a sideways glance, a phone number on a piece of paper. And even if Christine had seen him in the hotel talking to other women at the bar, what would she have thought? She was so enamoured of the man that she wouldn’t have been able to make the connection. But with Matilda, she didn’t know that she was his sister.’

  ‘In the back of a taxi? What would she have seen?’ Larry said. ‘They’re hardly made for a bystander to see inside.’

  ‘Larry’s right,’ Isaac said. ‘If Christine Mason had seen any affection between Montgomery and his sister, it couldn’t have been in Paddington.’

  ‘Maybe in Pembridge Mews,’ Bridget suggested.

  ‘If that were the case, then she would have known she was his sister,’ Wendy said.

  ‘Why? To her, he was Colin Young, not Barry Montgomery. She could have found out Matilda’s name, not so difficult to do. And then she could have seen him with Amelia, realised that the man was not only cheating on her with one woman but two.’

  ‘Wendy, focus on Christine Mason. Larry, find out what you can about Barry Montgomery’s secret life,’ Isaac said. ‘I still don’t get the reason for the Fitzroy. It’s a reputable hotel, not the sort of place to condone such behaviour. What would happen to their reputation if it became known as a place for well-heeled and lonely women to meet up with attractive young men?’

  ‘Its clientele’s demographic would change,’ Larry said, appreciating the humour.

  ‘Get your mind out of the gutter,’ Wendy said. ‘We’re not all desperate, and don’t go standing around in the foyer of a fancy hotel looking for someone to pay you for your time. You’ll go hungry if you do.’

  ‘Okay, team, to work,’ Isaac said. ‘Bridget, work with Larry, check the classifieds. We need a complete history of Barry Montgomery by tomorrow. And why the Fitzroy?’

  ‘What about the shared house where Barry and Stanley Montgomery came to blows?’ Larry asked.

  ‘According to Stanley Montgomery, there were no blows, just an argument, some jostling. Is it the most important line of enquiry?’

  ‘It depends on whether the girl Barry was dating can tell us more.’

  ‘Very well. Check it out. But let’s be clear, Barry Montgomery was, according to his father, selling himself. So that brings into account jealous women, angry husbands. And unfortunately, more suspects, some in this country, some possibly overseas.’

  ‘It’s closer to home than that,’ Wendy said.

  ‘How can you be sure?’ Isaac said.

  ‘Instinct. It’s what Amelia Bentham said about the foxhunting that still continues. Once the hounds have got a sniff of the fox urine that they use, they’ll not give in until they’ve killed something. We’ve got the smell now, the smell of success.’

  To Larry, they were no closer than before.

  ‘Wendy’s right,’ Isaac said. ‘The sixth sense tells me that we’re close. Amongst those we have in our sights, one of them is guilty.’

  ***

  Christine Mason did not take kindly to the aspersion that she had known all along what Colin Young was, and that she had been complicit in his prostituting himself to lonely and wealthy women.

  ‘He loved me, I know that now,’ she had protested. Too strongly, Wendy thought when she had put the possibility to her. It wasn’t as if her approach had been harsh. On the contrary, the two women had met in a park close to the Fitzroy.

  Wendy was fully cognisant of the grilling given to Stanley Montgomery, the intimidating surrounds of Challis Street. Not that Isaac and Larry had any intention of holding the man, but fear had been a factor in getting him to open up. Not appropriate for Christine Mason, Wendy had insisted when it had been suggested by Larry.

  ‘I’ll do it my way,’ Wendy had said.

  ‘Results, no letting the woman slip out from under,’ Isaac had said.

  ‘When have I let you down?’ Wendy replied. Not that her DCI and DI were wrong. She knew that Christine Mason knew more than she had let on, but what had she seen in the taxi?

  And there was another thing that concerned Wendy. She had heard ‘beautiful’ used twice to describe Barry Montgomery, the first time by Christine, the second by Amelia. Could any man be that beautiful? A description reserved for Adonis, the spouse of Aphrodite, the goddess of beauty and love; for Eros, the god of attraction; for Achilles, the Greek
hero of the Trojan war, the son of King Peleus and Thetis, a sea nymph; and for Paris, who had stolen Helen away from Menelaus, the King of Sparta. Not for a man from London, not for someone who was not Greek and not a figure from ancient mythology.

  A friendship of sorts had been built up between Sergeant Wendy Gladstone and Christine Mason. She recognised in Christine the effects of age starting to show, the vulnerability that no longer was she a young teen savouring adolescent love, nor a newlywed with a husband who spent all his time with her, and then the children, growing up, forming relationships of their own, grandchildren even, and the stark realisation that life was slowly ebbing away.

  Wendy had felt all of these emotions, although they had not affected her to the same degree as the woman she sat with, the woman who dressed younger than she should, applying makeup to cover the imperfections, the possible plastic surgery.

  ‘Christine, I should haul you into Challis Street, give you the third degree.’

  ‘But you haven’t. Why?’

  ‘Level with me, please. We know more about your Colin Young than before. There’s no doubt that he was sleeping with another woman, younger than you, his age. He was, and we are still trying to prove this, selling himself. Now, that may have been in the past, but we can’t be sure. What we do know is that he focussed on vulnerable women, and you are, don’t deny it, a classic case. The disinterested husband, the belief that time is passing you by, the need to be convinced that you are still desirable, attractive, able to find another man.’

  Christine sat mute, not sure what to say. Tears were starting to form in her eyes. She attempted to speak, a garbled muttering.

  ‘What is it, Christine? The truth this time.’

  ‘I knew what he was doing in the hotel,’ she said.

  ‘When? Colin?’

  ‘The first time that he came to the hotel, the way he moved around the bar at night and in the foyer, picking his mark.’

  ‘But why the hotel? There must have been other places, lonely hearts clubs, that sort of thing.’

  ‘I’m not sure he was truly comfortable with what he did. He told me later that he abhorred tricking vulnerable and lonely women out of their money, solely for spending time with him. He was a moral person who knew wrong from right, but a selfish father, an abused childhood, had left him with only one skill.’

  ‘And you believed this nonsense?’

  ‘It was true, don’t you see it? With me, he was honest and caring, nothing like you portray him. I was the person he relied on, the person who accepted him for what he was, who forgave him.’

  ‘Apart from being delusional, what else is there?’ Wendy said. ‘Each time we meet, more comes out. Christine, where is this going to end?’

  ‘You will never understand the pure love that existed between us.’

  Wendy could see that, yet again, the woman displayed a detached take on reality, as if her senses had deserted her. But that couldn’t be true, Wendy thought. The woman was smart, smart enough to separate truth from make-believe. But then a lot of people watched the programmes nightly on the television where a good-looking man has a group of women vying for his attention, professing love, falling out of love, eventually choosing one, a wedding with all the attendant glamour. Even Wendy and Bridget would sit down of a night and watch, having a good laugh, sometimes a tear, but never believing that it was anything more than a scripted programme acted out. Yet Christine Mason seemed to think that life was like that.

  ‘Christine, my patience is wearing thin. I have been advised to bring you into the police station. I resisted because I thought this would work better, yet you’re still fobbing me off with sugary rubbish. The truth, please, or I’ll declare you a hostile witness.’

  ‘But it is the truth. I must get back to work, the accounts. The manager will be angry if I don’t complete my work for the day.’

  ‘To hell with him,’ Wendy said, raising her voice.

  ‘He loved me.’

  ‘One more time, the truth. Colin Young is there in your hotel. He’s casing the joint, looking for his mark. What time of the day, the first time?’

  ‘Four in the afternoon. I’m standing by the lift, and he comes up to me.’

  ‘He sees you standing there, looking rich and lonely, is that it?’

  ‘I suppose so. We get talking.’

  ‘The smooth talk, how he’s been looking for a kindred spirit, and how younger women leave him cold?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘And then, the time in the bar, the sweet words, the “let’s go to my room”.’

  ‘Tony was away, three weeks that time, but yes.’

  ‘You’re an easy lay, you know that?’

  ‘I always was, but he was charming, and I couldn’t resist. Don’t you understand?’

  Wendy could to some degree, but it wasn’t the time to talk about her frustrations, it was the time to solve a murder.

  ‘I’m not the person being questioned, you are. You’ve spent time with him, no mention of money at this time?’

  ‘He told me he was struggling to pay the hotel bill.’

  ‘How much?’

  ‘I gave him five hundred pounds.’

  ‘What has your life consisted of? Didn’t you get out as a teenager, didn’t you play around with the local boys, doctors and nurses, that sort of thing?’ Wendy said. ‘You believe the man’s story, not for a moment thinking that he’s a hustler and that you’ve just had sex with a male prostitute.’

  ‘I never thought that.’

  ‘He leaves the hotel, returning a few weeks later, and checking in again, correct?’

  ‘Yes. I had no idea where he had been, and he never told me.’

  ‘Not some cock and bull story about him being a secret agent?’

  ‘No, nothing. I was in love, I trusted him.’

  ‘He returns to the hotel. Does he chase after other women?’

  ‘Not at all. We’re careful in the hotel, never talking to each other in public.’

  ‘And then, up to his room whenever you got the chance. And?’

  ‘I paid his hotel bill. He’d use his credit card, but I’d give him the money in cash.’

  ‘Embezzlement? You’re using the hotel’s money by this time. How much?’

  ‘Over twenty thousand pounds.’

  ‘Does anyone know?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Carry on, let’s hear the rest.’

  A plane flew low overhead, the conversation momentarily halted; a baby cried nearby. An old man sat on the bench beside the two women. Eventually, he walked away, and the conversation resumed.

  ‘I managed to hide the theft. But if there’s an audit, then it will be picked up,’ Christine said, her face red, her voice clear, her hands steady, as if the unburdening was good for the soul. Wendy knew that her soul may be better, but the woman would face criminal action once the hotel found out.

  ‘You said someone else knew,’ Wendy said.

  ‘The manager, that horrible toad of a man, figured it out.’

  ‘He saw you with Colin Young?’

  ‘He saw me coming out of his room. Not that I knew at the time, and he said nothing. After that, he checked the financial records, figured out how I was hiding the theft.’

  ‘Blackmail?’

  ‘Not at the time.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘He came to me one Thursday. Colin had not been in the hotel for some time. He sat across from me in my office, with those leering eyes of his. He took hold of my arm, hurting me as he squeezed. I was frightened, unsure what to say, what to do.’

  ‘The man’s a pig, I’ll grant you that.’

  ‘He sat there, his grip getting firmer. He leant forward, his breath had the smell of alcohol. “I know all about you and your fancy man”, he said. I was frightened, not sure what to say.’

  ‘What happened after he had confronted you?’

  ‘He said nothing for a few minutes, or maybe it was seconds. I can’t remember
, and then he said, “You’ve also been fiddling the books, giving the money to him, admit it.”.’

  ‘You’re in trouble. If he follows up on your crime, it’s prosecution, a possible custodial sentence.’

  ‘That’s not what he wanted.’

  ‘Confession’s good for the soul,’ Wendy said. ‘The full sordid details, please.’

  ‘He could see that I had a talent for embezzlement. He wanted me to take money for him as well.’

  ‘How much?’

  ‘Over ten thousand pounds now.’

  ‘Is that it?’

  ‘There’s more. You remember when we were sitting in the hotel café, and he came over and spoke to me?’

  ‘The time I told him that you were helping the police with their enquiries?’

  ‘It wasn’t the accounts he wanted reconciling.’

  ‘He’s blackmailing you for sex?’

  ‘That was part of the agreement, or he’d tell my husband.’

  ‘You agreed?’

  ‘What could I do? I had to have Colin under any conditions. He wouldn’t come to the hotel if I couldn’t pay for his room, and my husband is an angry man.’

  A sad case, Wendy thought. A pathetic woman who had allowed feigned love to put her into intractable positions from which there was no way of extricating herself.

  ‘Firstly, the manager is complicit in the crime,’ Wendy said. ‘We don’t want to jeopardise you if we can avoid it. However, the man is clearly a parasite preying on the weak and stupid, and you qualify on the stupid. There was never any need for any of this to happen.’

  ‘That’s the full story,’ Christine Mason said.

  Chapter 17

  Bridget had checked out the address of the shared house where Matilda had lived, obtained a copy of the lease agreement from that time.

  ‘Matilda, we heard, all of us,’ Amanda Jenkins, the lessee name on the agreement, said when she and Larry met at her house in Tottenham. She was a plain-looking woman with an angular face, blue eyes, a cheery disposition. She was also very pregnant. ‘Two weeks,’ she said. The house, a two-storey semi-detached, had nothing to recommend it; the garden was neglected, and the house looked as if it could have done with a fresh coat of paint. A dog, no more than something that moved under a matted coat, took one look at Larry and resumed its sleep.