Murder in Hyde Park

by Phillip Strang

  ‘Christine Mason doesn’t give the impression that she’s a cheating wife, either,’ Wendy said.

  ‘Anyone else?’ Isaac asked.

  ‘There are more, we just need to prioritise.’

  ‘Amelia Bentham?’ Bridget said.

  ‘She made out that the relationship was casual, but she’s at the settling down age, not the one-night stand. It could have been serious from her side,’ Wendy said.

  ‘And she could have said something to Matilda, the reason that the woman committed suicide.’

  ‘We’re clutching at straws,’ Isaac said. ‘Where are the solid facts? Wendy, you’ve spent time with Amelia Bentham. What do you think? And none of that “I hope it isn’t her”.’

  ‘She comes from a stable family background. She’s successful, attractive, and she’s got a lot going for her.’

  ‘But not ruled out.’

  ‘No. But we have violent men that we need to exclude first.’

  ‘The death of Colin Young didn’t require too much strength.’

  ‘Hitting him hard on the head, ensuring that he fell into the water doesn’t automatically ensure death, though,’ Larry said.

  ‘We’ve been through this before. The blow was of sufficient force to render the man unconscious, and there was no attempt to rescue him. The water in the Serpentine’s not that deep; cold, though.’

  ‘The person who hit him panicked, left the area quickly. It would have been half light, misty, and maybe they were frightened, regretting what they did,’ Wendy said.

  ‘You’re not a defence lawyer for Christine Mason,’ Isaac said. ‘You’re a police officer. If she hit him and he fell into the water and drowned, it’s still murder.’

  ‘I’m not trying to get her off. I’m just stating facts. Stanley Montgomery’s not the sort of person to leave the man’s death to chance. He would have waited around to be certain that he’d been successful. Terry Hislop would have hit the man hard, but why would he kill him, rather than Christine or Gwen? And why now? After so many years, he comes to London and kills the lover of the woman who had once carried his child? And how would he know about the man?’

  ‘Only if he had been keeping a watch on Christine for some time,’ Larry said. ‘We’ve checked his movements on the day of the murder. He’s still a low bet for this.’

  ‘He phoned Gwen Hislop, got angry with her, started threatening,’ Wendy said.

  ‘Not good enough. He wouldn’t have appreciated us dragging him into the local police station, giving him the third degree when we went up there yesterday. He kept his cool with us, but Gwen, she’s an easy mark. Unless you’ve got anything better, he was just venting his spleen, voicing his anger.’

  ‘Stanley Montgomery’s a methodical man. He doesn’t leave anything to chance. And Terry Hislop’s anger is impulsive. Judging by his business, he’s not methodical, not much of anything really.’

  ‘Amelia Bentham?’

  ‘An alibi for the day of the murder.’

  ‘Solid?’

  ‘Solid enough,’ Wendy said.

  ‘Which brings us back to who?’

  ‘Tony Mason, he’s the only person with a possible motive that we’ve not spoken to.’

  ‘Sorry, Wendy. He’s got to be interviewed,’ Isaac said.

  ***

  Three women sat down in the front room of Gwen Hislop’s house. There had been an attempt at making the place homelier: some flowers in a vase, rearranging the furniture.

  Wendy could never ascribe to herself the title of home decorator, yet her house was loved, and she had a family who visited regularly, the grandchildren always bringing a crayon painting for her or a handicraft they had made at school. On her mantelpiece, the framed photos of her two sons when they were young, the buckets and spades on the beach, building sandcastles, her and her husband reclining on deckchairs. And then, over the years, photos of the sons’ marriages, the grandchildren soon after birth. But in Gwen Hislop’s house, there was not one photo, no sign of anyone else but herself. Wendy thought that it was a sad house, a house that had not known love for many years.

  ‘Sergeant Gladstone, Wendy,’ Gwen said. ‘Shouldn’t we be meeting at the police station?’

  ‘I need to talk to you two. I need you both to know what we must do.’

  Gwen had prepared snacks for the three of them, as well as a pot of tea, three cups. Nothing was said while the women ate and drank. The air was heavy in the room, the atmosphere reflecting the fear etched on Christine’s face, the importance on Wendy’s about what she had to say.

  ‘What is it?’ Gwen said, breaking the silence.

  ‘Christine,’ Wendy said, looking over at the woman, ‘we have interviewed all those with a reason to have wanted to harm Colin Young, or as we know him now, Barry Montgomery.’

  ‘You’re evading what you want to say,’ Gwen said.

  ‘We must bring in Christine’s husband. He needs to be interviewed.’

  ‘But you said you’d protect me,’ Christine said. Her face showed panic. Archibald Marshall was threatening her, although he wouldn’t get far, as Wendy wouldn’t allow that, but Tony Mason was another issue.

  ‘I always told you that I could only do my best.’

  ‘It was always going to happen,’ Gwen acknowledged.

  ‘But Tony? You promised,’ Christine said. She was shaking. ‘I don’t know what he’ll do.’

  ‘Let’s be honest here, amongst us three,’ Wendy said. ‘Colin Young wasn’t the first man you had had an affair with, was he?’

  ‘Yes, no…’

  ‘We’re trying to help you here.’

  ‘No. He wasn’t the first,’ Christine admitted. She had already told Wendy on a previous occasion that was the case. Wendy had not wanted to remind her of her earlier admission.

  ‘You were always a slut,’ Gwen said. Wendy wasn’t sure if she was being critical of her sister, or saying it for effect, light-hearted teasing.

  ‘But Tony?’

  ‘Did your husband ever find out about the other men?’ Wendy asked. She knew she was treading lightly, trying to protect a woman who might still be a murderer.

  ‘I never gave him reason to believe there were other men.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘You know how. You don’t need me to elaborate, do you?’

  ‘Sergeant Gladstone doesn’t,’ Gwen said.

  ‘You continued to sleep with your husband, or did you overdo your affections? The candlelit dinner, the soft music, the lingerie, the early night? Any of that when there was another man,’ Wendy asked.

  ‘I may have.’

  ‘And your husband said nothing?’

  ‘Never.’

  ‘Let’s assume the man’s a complete moron, not that I believe he is. Did your husband receive the same special attention when you were with Colin Young?’

  ‘We’re not as young as we were.’

  ‘And he still didn’t figure it out. Christine, you’re a sensual woman, and you’re not that old. Your husband’s busy with work, he comes home late at night, or he’s away for a few weeks, and there you are, cold, passionless.’

  ‘I wasn’t cold. I did my duty.’

  ‘Your duty? The man would know you were up to something. He probably knew about the others, but as you said, he’s entertaining clients, laying on women for them, taking one or two for himself. You knew when he was, and do you think he didn’t sense the change in you?’

  ‘He never said anything.’

  ‘You’re there giving him the works. He lies back and thinks of England or something like that. He’s got a good thing going, he knows that. He weighs up the options. He can have you eager and willing, as well as other women overseas, whores out of Ukraine, the women that frequent the bars in Dubai and throughout the Middle East. He’s got it made, so he makes a decision, but by your own admission, Colin Young comes along. You fall in love, you change towards your husband.’

  ‘I might have, but he never said anything.’

/>   ‘He’s had his fill overseas. You’re the icing on the cake, and he’s tired, and it’s been a long trip. He lets it pass, but he’s suspicious.’

  ‘Could he have found out, Christine?’ Gwen asked.

  ‘I might have had a phone number on a piece of paper, another phone in my handbag.’

  ‘Your husband has to be told about Colin Young. He needs to convince us that he’s not involved in murder,’ Wendy said.

  ‘Does he have to know?’ Christine said, her voice almost a whisper.

  ‘Either you tell him, or we do.’

  ‘I must, but not on my own. What will happen to my marriage, to me?’

  ‘I don’t know. All I know is that we must pursue this investigation. Where is your husband now?’

  ‘At home. He arrived last night.’

  ‘Candlelit dinner, the lingerie, the early night?’

  ‘He was tired.’

  ‘Did you try?’

  ‘No, I couldn’t.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I’m certain he killed Colin.’

  ‘And when did you come to this conclusion?’ Gwen asked. She was not looking at her sister with love.

  ‘Who else would have wanted him dead?’ Christine said.

  ‘That’s not good enough. Colin Young brought out strong emotions in people. We’re going to give them all the third degree, including you before this is finished. I hope for your sake that your conscience is clear and that you are innocent,’ Wendy said.

  ‘I will be with my sister,’ Gwen said.

  ‘We are going to Christine’s home now. Will you be coming?’

  ‘Yes. Christine cannot talk to him alone.’

  Chapter 22

  Amelia Bentham, freshly returned from a photo shoot overseas, did not mind the visit from Isaac Cook to her house in Pembridge Mews. She was not so keen on him being accompanied by his detective inspector.

  Wendy, who had formed a friendship of sorts with the Bentham family, was otherwise occupied with Christine Mason and her sister, and now, Christine’s husband.

  ‘Miss Bentham,’ Isaac said as the three sat in the main room of the mews house, ‘there are still unanswered questions.’

  ‘I’ve told you all I know,’ Amelia replied. Isaac could see that she was an attractive woman, a little on the skinny side for him, but then all top models were. And for someone who had just spent three days in the Caribbean, her skin was still pasty white.

  ‘We know that you’ve spent time with Sergeant Gladstone and that she’s been up to your family home, met your family. Wendy’s been thorough, but now we’re in the wrap-up stage. It’s the time to re-interview all those who might know something more, to re-examine the original statements, to look for the minutiae, the unimportant detail that was not picked up, or which the witness deemed of little relevance or just plain forgot.’

  ‘Nothing to worry about,’ Larry said, although he wasn’t sure if that was entirely correct.

  ‘You were friendly with Barry and Matilda Montgomery?’ Isaac said. He was sitting directly across from Amelia, Larry was off to one side. The decision to interview her in her house rather than at Challis Street Police Station was to keep her calm and relaxed, to gently entice whatever they could from her.

  ‘Matilda was a friend; as much of a friend as she could be.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘We’re going over old ground here. Your sergeant knows all this. She must have written a report for you,’ Amelia said.

  ‘She has, but humour us. As I said, the minutiae often get missed.’

  ‘There was a barrier with her. Sure, she’d tell you about her family, her life, growing up, but it was only if you asked, and then her replies were short. None of the memories, the anecdotes that a child carries into adulthood.’

  ‘Did you press the point with her?’

  ‘No. Why should I? She was a friend, someone to spend time with, someone I trusted and respected. There’s no need for me to know of her past, no need for her to know of mine.’

  ‘According to Sergeant Gladstone, you had a happy childhood, loving parents.’

  ‘I was fortunate. I took Matilda to meet them once when we were in London, a good restaurant in Knightsbridge. They had met her before, but this time it didn’t go well.’

  ‘We didn’t know about this before,’ Larry said.

  ‘It didn’t seem important,’ Amelia said.

  ‘We’ll be the judge of that.’

  ‘Very well. It was a Thursday night, eight in the evening. Matilda and I grabbed a taxi and headed over to the restaurant. She wore a dress, I was wearing jeans and a white blouse. We’re a casual family, the Benthams, when I’m not modelling, or my parents aren’t flaunting their title.’

  ‘Wendy said they didn’t do that,’ Isaac said.

  ‘Never if they could, but sometimes there’s a charity function that they need to attend. My parents do what they can to help the less fortunate. Not that it’s as much as they’d like, but every little bit helps.’

  ‘Let’s come back to the restaurant,’ Larry said. ‘What happened?’

  ‘We were into the second course, and my mother asks Matilda about her childhood, starts talking about how I had a pony when I was six, and then a horse, and the places I’d been and how much they loved me.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘The more my mother spoke, well-meaning you understand, the more morose Matilda became. It was as if a wall was descending. My mother’s a one glass of wine person, but because the atmosphere was so congenial, she was onto her second, and she was talking more than she should have, not reading the signals.’

  ‘How did Matilda respond?’

  ‘That’s it, she didn’t. She made an excuse about not feeling well, thanked my parents and left the restaurant. It was surreal, her leaving like that. I hadn’t warned my parents beforehand that Matilda had a dark side, but with my mother, slightly tipsy, it wouldn’t have made any difference.’

  ‘Did you speak to Matilda about it afterwards?’

  ‘I let it pass. I knew her well enough to leave well alone.’

  ‘Barry Montgomery, friend?’

  ‘Wendy’s told you, hasn’t she?’ Amelia said without emotion.

  ‘We know that you were lovers, shared the same bed on occasions.’

  ‘It wasn’t a relationship, no declarations of love.’

  ‘Now, this is where we have a problem,’ Larry said. ‘Everyone that he’s been involved with has described him as beautiful, and some have professed love for the man.’

  ‘Your sergeant has told me of some of it. Not that I ever knew. He wasn’t in Matilda’s house all the time, but when he was, he was the brother; and if I were free, then we’d get together. We didn’t talk about much, certainly not about his childhood, and I had no intention of introducing him to my parents.’

  ‘Why not your parents?’

  ‘They’d make a fuss, tell me what a lovely man he was, and how I’d not find better. My mother’s keen on grandchildren, someone to maintain the family line.’

  ‘Did you learn anything about his sister and his childhood?’

  ‘Not really. I knew there was a problem, he told me that much, but he didn’t elaborate, and I certainly didn’t push the point. I suppose I should have some shame telling you this, but I don’t. When Barry was here with me, conversation was the last thing on our minds.’

  ‘A good lover?’ Isaac asked, slightly envious of the dead man.

  ‘The best,’ Amelia said, a grin on her face – aimed at Isaac, not Larry.

  ‘Did Sergeant Gladstone tell you about his time as an escort, his involvement with a married woman?’

  ‘I’m not sure that she told me everything.’

  ‘What she told you, and we’ll go over this in a minute, were you shocked?’

  ‘My view, as well of that of my parents, is not to pass judgement on people. If they mind their own business, don’t interfere in ours, and don’t offend or commit crimes
against others, then I don’t have an opinion.’

  ‘A broad statement,’ Larry said.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Amelia said. ‘You asked a question, I gave you an answer. Tell me this, did Barry commit any crime?’

  ‘There are some who believe that prostitution, the selling of sexual favours, should be a crime, but no.’

  ‘Then why should I be concerned? If he made some women happy and he was paid in return, then that was his business, not mine.’

  ‘And if he was doing this while sleeping with you?’

  ‘If I had known, then he would have been sleeping in his own bed. As I said, our relationship was casual, and if I needed someone…’

  ‘You have a few you could phone?’ Isaac said.

  ‘I wouldn’t have, though. I’m not that easy, but Barry not telling me about the others would have been an issue. It’s the deception that I would disapprove of, not the act.’

  ‘We know that he was also contracting himself out through an escort agency. Did you know about this?’

  ‘Wendy told me.’

  ‘It wasn’t only women,’ Larry said.

  ‘While I was sleeping with him?’

  ‘We have no proof of his homosexual activities after he met you.’

  ‘If he was still alive and I knew of this, then I would have been upset with him. But he’s dead, and he’s not coming back. I have no intention of slandering the dead.’

  ‘The homosexual act offends you?’

  ‘Not in itself. My only concern is my health. I trusted him, and he didn’t use a condom. I could have caught something from him.’

  ‘Have you checked yourself out?’ Isaac asked.

  ‘The first thing I did after Wendy told me some of the details. I’m fine, nothing to worry about.’

  Isaac looked around the room. He could see that she was not a cold woman emotionally: photos of her family, an enlarged picture of a horse on the wall, mementoes from her trips overseas.

  ‘Let us come back to your time with Barry,’ Larry said.

  ‘I believe we’ve exhausted the subject. He was a good man, an even better lover,’ she said. ‘No emotional entanglements, no discussing the state of the economy, climate warming or whatever. We met, here or once in Matilda’s house, and that was it.’