He saw her soon enough, obviously in conference with a group of production people. She soon concluded the meeting and came over to him: too friendly, too close. He pulled back a little, she came forward. The safest approach was for him to take a seat and then her seat would, at least, maintain a professional distance. It did not as she leant forward and adjusted the position of the chair.
Isaac saw no reason to attempt to move again. He felt embarrassed, hopeful it did not show, although blushing on a black man is not the same as on a white man.
‘Jess, there are just a few questions.’
‘Yes, Isaac.’ Too pleasantly said, he thought. He endeavoured to sit back on his chair. It did not help.
‘We’re concerned about Marjorie Frobisher’s disappearance. We need to cast our net wider.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘I will be moving out of London, travelling for a few days.’
‘Does that mean I won’t be seeing you?’ Too agreeable for Isaac, too tempting.
‘That’s correct. Before I leave, there are a couple of questions.’
‘You’ve already said that,’ she said. Isaac realised that she was on to him. She knew he was embarrassed, and she was clearly enjoying it. ‘Just ask me straight. I’m certain I know the question.’
‘Richard Williams…’
‘You want to know whether I slept with him?’
‘It’s a loose bit of information that needs clarifying.’
‘Not that it’s relevant, but I know that Ian Stanley brings it up every chance he gets. He doesn’t like it that a woman is his superior.’
‘He was fine with me.’
‘He’s against anyone and anything that’s not white and male. I’m surprised he was so pleasant to you.’
‘He wasn’t until he saw my badge.’
‘For the record, and I do not see this as relevant, I did go out with Richard Williams a few times. He was good company and very generous, but I did not sleep with him.’
‘Ian Stanley was just making mischief?’
‘On one of the occasions, there was an exhibition of production equipment up north. We spent the night there, separate rooms.’
‘I assume he tried it on?’
‘Yes, of course, but I wasn’t buying it.’
‘Thank you for clarifying.’
‘Now, Detective Chief Inspector Isaac Cook, was that question entirely professional?’ She smiled as she made the comment.
‘Purely professional.’ Isaac tried to maintain a serious face, but couldn’t. He smiled as well.
‘For the record, I’ve made my choice.’
‘Choice on what?’
‘You did not make detective chief inspector by being naïve, did you?’
‘Not at all, but we are treating this as a murder investigation.’
‘And you can’t be seen to be fraternising with a potential suspect?’
‘That’s about it.’
‘I can assure you, I’m not guilty, but she could be a bitch. Not a difficult person to dislike.’
‘I’ll keep in touch.’ He prepared to leave.
‘If you want to phone and tell me you fancy me, professionally of course, then that will be okay, won’t it?’ She came near. She kissed him on the lips. Compromised, Isaac left soon after, but not before he had kissed her back. As he walked back down the main street on the production lot, he only hoped she was not involved.
Chapter 11
Isaac first noticed the car as he left the production lot. At any other time, he would have regarded it as inconsequential, but the situation had changed. As he weaved through the traffic, he noticed that the car kept reappearing. He wasn’t sure how, as his car was a lot more powerful and he wasn’t a slow driver. The car behind was pushing hard. He phoned Richard Goddard.
‘Let it follow. Don’t let them know you’ve seen them.’ That was precisely what Isaac had intended in the first place. It was an unwelcome intrusion into the investigation, and a sour conclusion to an otherwise pleasant day. He failed to mention he had just kissed one of the people close to Marjorie Frobisher. He could only imagine his boss’s reaction if he told him.
Isaac had planned the remainder of his day carefully. Jess was still off-limits, Sophie wasn’t. He had planned to pick her up from her workplace, but decided against it with a car on his tail; better if she found her way to his apartment. She understood when he told her it was the pressure of work that prevented the pickup. As she said to him later: commitment-free and no obligation on either party to look out for the other. Pickups were not part of the deal; however, good company and good sex were.
With the car following, Isaac headed back to the office at Challis Street. Farhan was in the office. ‘How’s your day been?’ Isaac asked.
‘I told her husband that we believe his wife is dead.’
‘How did he take it?’
‘Better than expected. I believe he was prepared for the news.’
Farhan was not looking too well. Isaac asked the reason.
‘My wife wants a separation. She believes I’m married more to this job than to her.’
‘Is that possible in your religion?'
‘It occurs, and besides this is England. She can do what she likes,’ Farhan admitted.
‘I always imagined she was a conservative woman.’
‘She’s certainly more pious than me. It’s her mother, no doubt, who put her up to this, aiming to force me to make a choice.’
‘Choice between what?’ Isaac had come over to Farhan’s desk, bringing a chair with him.
‘Between her daughter and the police, what else?’
‘But you need to make a living.’
‘They believe I should be running a corner store.’
‘You would be working more hours than you do now.’
‘They have this idea that the shop will be downstairs and the family up.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘It’s the children, not my wife. They are my primary consideration.’
‘Are you saying if she goes, she’ll deny you visiting rights?’
‘No, she can’t do that. I’m worried they’ll be susceptible to being radicalised.’
‘Do you need time off to figure this out?’ Isaac asked, although he could not see how he could accede to such a request, or how he could refuse.
‘No. We’ve got a murder to solve, and besides, if those guys following us decide to take us out, then it's theoretical.’ It was an attempt at lightening the sombre mood in the office. It did not work.
‘Let’s ignore those following us for the moment. We need to find a body, assuming she’s dead.’ Isaac was pleased that Farhan was staying on board. He was also glad that so far he had remained single. Sophie White had the right idea, he thought, but one day he could see stability and marriage and children, and in that order.
‘Where’s the first triangulation off her phone?’ Farhan seemed to pick up in spirits after he had offloaded some of his burdens onto Isaac.
‘Central Birmingham,’ Isaac replied. ‘Not much use to us, too many buildings, too much traffic. We need somewhere isolated.’
‘We need a rural area, preferably with few buildings. A small village may be best. Even then, it will be like trying to find a needle in a haystack.’
‘What else do we have?’
‘Malvern, Worcestershire.’
‘Too big, too many houses,’ Isaac said.
‘Not if there is a camera on every other lamppost.’
‘That’s true. What’s the best way to check this out?’
‘I’ll go there,’ Farhan offered.
‘No, best if you stay here. See if you can draw a trace on any vehicle following you, and then talk to our boss. His contact may be able to help with identification.’
‘You don’t need to leave me here just because I’ve got family problems. My staying here won’t change the situation, and besides, I’m not resigning from the police force. This is
more than a job, it’s a vocation. She doesn’t understand. People sleep calmly in their beds at night because of us. What to do about my children? That’s another story.’
It was later in the afternoon, after their discussion in the office, that Farhan left early to pick up his children from school. Isaac could see he was concerned, and he was making a special effort. He wondered for how long.
Police work, especially with the Murder Investigation Team, did not come with a nine to five schedule. Hours were flexible, forty a week according to the book, but most weeks more like sixty to seventy, sometimes eighty to ninety, and then there were the weekends. Saturdays, often working, Sunday, more times than he cared to remember. Sophie was flexible, Jess O’Neill may not be, but he’d take her in an instant. He put her out of his mind and left early as well.
Richard Goddard had organised a contact in Worcestershire, about three hours west, or it should be, but there was the London traffic to clear first. Isaac decided to leave early, before seven in the morning.
He wanted to call Sophie, although he didn’t want her endangered. Those following him earlier in the day were unknown, possibly dangerous. Just as Isaac was leaving the car park his phone rang, hands-free.
‘I’m being tailed,’ Farhan said.
‘Number plate?’
‘I’ll SMS it to you. Can you forward it to Detective Superintendent Goddard?’
‘That’s two to give to him.’
‘You’ve got a tail as well?’
‘Yes.’
‘We’d better hope these guys are harmless. I’m heading to my home.’
‘If they are who we suspect, they’ll know your address already.’ Isaac realised they would also know where he lived, probably knew about Sophie as well. There seemed no reason to worry. He called her. She would be over later.
***
Charles Sutherland was enjoying his redemption. The magazine had been suitably impressed, continued to be, as he revealed little snippets ‒ enough to keep them dangling.
He was not a stupid man; he knew the value of a legally drawn up contract signed by both parties. He also knew the worth of some cash up front and the remainder when he delivered the dirt. If he gave too much, too quickly, their offer would reduce or evaporate. He was not willing to let that happen.
The mention of an open marriage titillated the magazine’s editor, an attractive middle-aged woman constantly on the television offering advice on how to be successful as a female in a man’s world, how to power dress, how to be like her. Sutherland found her obnoxious and overbearing, full of the smugness that comes with a portrayed persona and an inner bitchiness. He didn’t trust her one bit. Sure, she was pleasant to his face, but he could see the sideways glances, the raised eyebrows when she looked over at her deputy ‒ he had no idea what her function was in the office, didn’t care either. They were paying the money and he wasn’t going to upset the apple cart with a snide remark.
‘You’ve given us very little.’ The editor pressured for more.
‘I’ve given you plenty,’ Sutherland replied. The room he sat in, one of the best at one of the best hotels in the town, came with a well-stocked drinks cabinet, and the cost to him was zero. He was already halfway to drunk, and he was not going to let them get between him and the euphoria he was looking forward to. He had already phoned for a couple of high-class whores, and they were on the magazine's expense account.
Sutherland saw himself as Lazarus rising from the dead. He intended to milk it for all it was worth, and to hell with the bitch magazine editor and her girlfriend. The contract, legal and very tight, was well underway; some minor clauses to iron out, some significant money to be handed over, and then he would dish out the dirt. The magazine wanted more than salacious tittle-tattle, although it was such nonsense that drove the sales. They wanted names and events, and the more important, the more titled, and the more likely to fall from grace with a major embarrassment, the better.
‘Look here,’ Sutherland said. He was slurring his words, making suggestive glances at Christy Nichols, who had rescued him from obscurity. ‘This will bring down the government. I guarantee you that.’
Christy Nichols, now on a suitable retainer from the magazine, had been assigned to ensure that Sutherland did not go blabbing his mouth off indiscriminately in a bar or elsewhere. She had been given a room next to his. She did not want to be there, but the retainer, the possible lift up in her career, in an industry that was full of casualties who did not make the grade, kept her firmly rooted.
She had agreed reluctantly, although she found Charles Sutherland to be a crude man with a debatable style of lovemaking. She had walked in on him when he was in full fettle with a couple of whores, all naked on the carpet in the main room. It was an innocent mistake on her part, as it was all quiet and they were hidden by the sofa. Upon seeing her, he had stood up, waved his insignificant wares at her and demanded that as he was her meal ticket, she had better strip off straight away and join in the fun.
The whores thought it was hilarious, but Christy Nichols assumed it was because they were being paid. She realised they were tolerating the nasty and unpleasant man for the same reason as her.
It was another two days before the contract was signed, and Charles Sutherland had to come forward with what he knew. He was a troubled man, not because of what he knew, but because the proof was vague. What did he really know? he thought. Certainly, there was plenty of innuendo, some prominent names and some ‒ if it were true ‒ information that would embarrass the government, especially its senior members. That’s all he had, and how the editor and her lesbian friend would take it, he wasn’t sure.
He decided to deal with the issue when it arose. In the meantime, he intended to enjoy the luxury on offer. He would have preferred Christy Nichols, the prudish prick-teaser as he saw her, but as she’d refused to have anything to do with him ‒ he should have put her availability in the contract, he thought ‒ then he would get her to sign for the whores. There was time to while away, and he wasn’t going to sit reading a book, drinking a cup of tea, for anybody.
Chapter 12
It had been a miserable trip to Worcestershire for Isaac, rain all the way and his speed had been reduced as a result. It was close to four hours before he pulled into police headquarters in Worcester, the principal city in the county.
Inspector June Brown greeted him warmly after he had waited for ten minutes in reception at the modern, clinical looking building.
‘Isaac, it’s good to see you.’ It was then he remembered her from his police training days. Then she had been a brunette, slim, with a figure that all the young police cadets had lusted after.
‘June, long time, no see.’ It was clear that he was embarrassed.
‘You’ve forgotten me already,’ she said, half-serious, half-teasing.
‘No, of course not.’ He had not forgotten her. The others cadets may have lusted, but it was only he who had sated the lust. She had latched onto him in the second week of training, only to let him go when the training concluded.
‘Isaac, it was a good time, and you helped me through, but that’s the past.’
‘I never forgot you.’
‘Don’t talk rubbish,’ she joked. ‘Two weeks, and I guarantee you were shacked up with another female charmed by your obvious attributes.’
‘That’s not true,’ he protested, not sure if she was serious or not.
‘Look at me,’ she said. ‘I’m married with two kids, and the body not as you remember. I married an accountant, not as charming as you, but you’re not the settling-down kind. You weren’t then, I suppose you still aren’t.’
Isaac had to admit that she had changed. Back then in training, she had a figure that could only have been described as sensational. What he saw now was a very attractive woman, but the weight had gone on, and the face had aged. He assumed he had changed as well, but he thought it could not be as much as her.
‘Three,’ he said.
�
�Three what?’
‘Three weeks.’
‘Okay, I was out by a week, but what woman is going to resist a man like you? You were gorgeous to women back then, still are. Am I correct?’
‘I’m not sure about that, but so far I’ve not settled down. Tried to. A couple have moved in with me, or I’ve moved in with them, but it’s not seemed to last for long.’ He wondered if Jess O’Neill might be the one. He discounted the thought. He inwardly smiled, when he thought of the passionate embrace and the kiss when he had left her the last time.
With so much history between them, June and Isaac spent the next hour chatting about their lives. It was June who finally brought them back to the present situation.
‘What’s important about this woman?’ she asked.
‘I’m not sure I can tell you. Besides, I don't know too much myself.’
‘I suppose it doesn't matter.’ She resigned herself to the fact; she knew him well enough not to press for more.
‘It’s a directive from senior management to find this woman.’
‘I know who she is, of course. The sad life of a married woman and mother, when watching the television becomes a nightly highlight.’
‘It comes to us all, I suppose,’ he said.
‘Suburbia and raising a family has its drawbacks. I’m not complaining, though.’
Isaac felt the need to change the subject. She had become melancholy; better to focus on the missing woman. ‘We know Marjorie Frobisher’s phone was used there.’
‘Are you certain she was though?’
‘Cameras, surveillance, security may have picked her up.’
‘I’ve already had someone looking at any there, although it’s not London. There will not be so many. How long are you staying?’
‘Until I get some answers on her whereabouts.’
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