DCI Isaac Cook Box Set 1

by Phillip Strang

  ‘I am aware that revealing the father will almost certainly bring down the government. Revealing the child is potentially catastrophic.’

  ‘How serious?’

  ‘My life for one, and I don’t know the full details.’

  ‘What do you want me to do?’ Richard Goddard felt sympathetic towards Angus MacTavish; fear for himself and his team.

  ‘Find out who killed Sutherland and find Marjorie Frobisher, dead or alive.’

  ‘One more question. Does Marjorie Frobisher know who the child is?’

  ‘It’s possible.’

  ‘Could it be why Sutherland was killed?’

  ‘Yet again, it’s unknown. My contacts think it’s unlikely that he was murdered by an official assassin, but then again, who really knows?’

  Detective Superintendent Goddard knew that telling Isaac and DI Ahmed was going to prove difficult. They needed to find Marjorie Frobisher, and they needed additional help.

  ***

  Farhan had drawn the short straw. That was how he saw it when he met the editor of the magazine that had been paying Charles Sutherland’s bill.

  ‘I paid plenty out for him, including his whores. God knows why that Christy Nichols approved them.’

  He had barely entered her office before she started with the invective, barely had a chance to introduce himself and explain the reason for his visit. A formal introduction, cut short, about how it was a murder investigation and that he would be recording the conversation.

  He had set up the meeting for three in the afternoon. Her personal assistant had made it clear any earlier was not possible. He had reminded her that it was a murder investigation, and his demands had precedence over the magazine’s deadline. The personal assistant made it clear that it was non-negotiable, and if he wanted to take it up with her boss, then he could. At the end of their conversation, she had quietly advised him that it was best not mentioned if he didn’t want to be on the end of an ear-bashing.

  As he sat there, increasingly agitated, listening to the editor, he heeded her personal assistant’s words.

  ‘What do you want to know? My time is precious.’ Victoria Webster, the editor, as well-known on the television as off, was a tall woman, certainly taller than Farhan.

  Close up he could see that the beautiful skin, wrinkle-free whenever she was on the television, was a result of the makeup people.

  In the confines of the office, she spoke in an aggressive manner. On the television, a different persona with charm and decorum. Farhan realised that the woman that millions admired was no more than a street fighter, brought up on the street, fighting tooth and nail to be where she was, and she wasn’t going back.

  Her background was well-known. The illegitimate daughter of an Irish housemaid and a Roman Catholic priest. How she had risen from obscurity and despair in an austere orphanage. How she had put herself through university, worked three jobs to do it, and then at the age of twenty-two had joined the magazine. The first position, in the basement mail room, and after that, year after year, she had worked her way up the corporate ladder, until she occupied the top office, on the top floor, with the best view overlooking London, overlooking her loyal readers.

  It was a good story, although not entirely accurate. Victoria Webster never intended the truth to get in the way of her ambition. Irish, she was, but it was middle-class suburbia and parents who were married. The orphanage after they had been killed in a car accident when she was eight years old, but it was not austere. University and the three jobs in part truthful, although the jobs were short-term. She was a brilliant student and many a student, and some lecturers, had succumbed to her charm and assisted in her financial viability, even sometimes with the reports and the papers she had to submit. The basement at the magazine, correct, but it was not all hard work. There was no doubt that she was brilliant at her job ‒ the circulation attested to that fact ‒ and her public persona was flawless, but the rise from the basement was in part due to competence and hard work, and in part due to her seducing whoever she needed to, invariably on the floor above. There were a few who, once seduced, found out that she had taken their job. She made sure that they were evicted from the building quickly, and with minimal fuss, with a generous redundancy package to ensure their silence. A few had tried to inform the owner of the magazine what she was, but he did not care as long as it was not illegal, and as long as she delivered the results.

  ‘Miss Webster.’ Farhan attempted to get a word in.

  ‘Mrs Webster.’

  ‘Mrs Webster, it is understood that you were willing to pay Charles Sutherland a substantial amount of money for information that he possessed, information you would print in your magazine. Is that correct?’

  ‘That is correct.’

  ‘I assume you are aware of the nature of this information.’

  ‘Your assumption is incorrect.’ She looked at her watch and glanced over at the man sitting next to her. She had not formally introduced him, other than to say that he was her legal adviser.

  ‘Why is that?’ Farhan asked.

  ‘Mrs Webster is answering your questions in a spirit of goodwill,’ Victoria Webster’s legal adviser said.

  ‘And you are?’ Farhan had not come to Victoria Webster’s office to be intimidated.

  ‘My name is William Montgomery. I am the senior legal adviser for the magazine.’

  Montgomery had been sitting on the far side of the editor’s desk when Farhan had entered. Farhan thought it strange at the time that he had not risen to shake his hand. He then saw why. Montgomery was in a wheelchair.

  ‘Mr Montgomery, Mrs Webster, I would like to remind you that this is a murder enquiry. It is fully understood that you may both be very busy, but my questions take precedence.’

  ‘We realise that,’ Montgomery said.

  ‘Get on with it,’ Victoria Webster said. ‘I don’t have all day for you two to have a social chat.’ It was clear that Montgomery was in fear of his boss.

  ‘This information, Mrs Webster?’

  ‘How the hell would I know?’

  ‘You wouldn’t pay him until he had given it?’

  ‘Do you think I’m stupid?’

  Farhan found her an incredibly rude woman ‒ nothing like her personal assistant who was sitting outside. He wondered how anyone could work for such a woman, but then with egregious abuse probably comes great reward for those who can handle the situation. Montgomery probably could, Farhan thought, even if he appeared to be a mild-mannered man, obviously under the controlling thumb of a difficult woman.

  Farhan returned to the conversation. He chose to ignore the ‘Do you think I’m stupid’ comment. ‘He may have been killed for that information. It may place you at risk. Have you considered that possibility?’ It seemed to have the desired effect. Farhan hadn’t considered it before, but it seemed plausible. Temporarily quietened, Victoria Webster sat down and whispered in the ear of her legal adviser.

  ‘We would request a few minutes to discuss this, before Mrs Webster answers. Will that be acceptable?’ Montgomery said in a more agreeable tone.

  ‘Fine, I’ll wait outside. Call me when you are ready.’

  ***

  Outside the personal assistant organised coffee for Farhan and a sandwich. He reflected on his wife. How is it that every woman I meet is exceedingly kind and generous to me, whereas she is hostile and unpleasant; everyone that is, apart from Victoria Webster? he thought.

  He decided to give the editor the benefit of the doubt. She sat supreme in the publishing industry. She had taken a lame-duck of a publication devoted to knitting patterns and handicrafts and transformed it into the premier publication in the country devoted to celebrities and movies and music. Every corner store, every newsagent, every street vendor carried the magazine, prominently displayed. He realised that she had not got to where she was without being tough when she needed to be, gentle when needed. He assumed he was not going to see that side of her today.

  Twenty
minutes later, his sandwich finished, his chat with the PA not ended, he was invited back into the editor’s office. He noticed that this time it was an invitation, not a begrudging opening of the door.

  Montgomery had moved to another part of the office, closer to some comfortable chairs.

  ‘Detective Inspector, we will sit here if that is okay with you.’ Farhan had been wrong. He was to see the gentle side of Victoria Webster.

  ‘Fine by me,’ Farhan responded. Two minutes later, the personal assistant walked in with some more coffee. He had already drunk two cups outside, but it would have seemed impolite to refuse.

  Montgomery was the first to speak. ‘Do you believe that Sutherland died as a result of the information he was willing to give to us?’

  Farhan felt it necessary to clarify. ‘It is only a supposition at this time. We have established no clear motive.’

  ‘Are you saying there is nothing for me to worry about?’ Victoria Webster asked.

  ‘On the contrary. I will be open with you. Charles Sutherland was not the most pleasant of men. He had a tendency to argue with people and to behave in a manner outside of the acceptable norm, especially when drunk or under the influence of drugs.’

  ‘He was a horrible toad of a man,’ Victoria Webster interjected. ‘I didn’t like him at all.’

  ‘Please let me finish.’ Farhan needed her to be concerned, not frightened. He was choosing his words carefully. He did not want to reveal the attempted rape of Jess O’Neill as an example, but it was in the back of his mind. He also did not wish to reveal the attempt to draw Christy Nichols into Sutherland’s threesome.

  ‘Victoria, it would be best if we let DI Ahmed continue uninterrupted,’ Webster said.

  ‘You’re right, William. My apologies.’

  ‘I can understand your apprehension concerning the matter.’ Farhan could see the veneer of invulnerability cracking. She appeared more than a little nervous. ‘We are aware of some gambling debts, a predilection for prostitutes, usually high-class and expensive, and the occasional abuse of drugs, cocaine mainly. None of those activities as far as we can ascertain made him a candidate for murder.’

  ‘Do you know why he was killed?’ Montgomery asked.

  ‘Am I correct that you were willing to pay him up to half a million pounds for the story?’ Farhan asked.

  ‘The final price was dependent on what he gave us,’ Victoria Webster said. ‘If it were only that she played around, slept with some influential men, then he would not have received the full amount, maybe one hundred thousand.’

  ‘What were you expecting to receive?’ Farhan asked.

  ‘An illegitimate child.’

  ‘Is that worth the full amount?’

  ‘He said it was.’

  ‘Did he tell you?’

  ‘Only hints. I was going to give him another week at the Savoy, allow him to drink himself under the table, screw as many whores as he wanted, then I was going to throw him back on the street. Before throwing him out, I would have given him one more chance.’

  ‘Do you know the name of this child?’ Farhan asked.

  ‘No idea, that’s the truth. Am I at risk?’

  ‘It is uncertain, but it would be best to take extra precautions.’

  ‘I could make a statement in the media.’

  ‘I would not advise that as a course of action,’ Farhan said. ‘Mr Montgomery can advise you. You are just focussing attention on yourself.’

  ‘DI Ahmed’s correct. It’s best to keep a low profile on this.’

  Farhan left soon after. Victoria Webster thanked him for his consideration. William Montgomery shook his hand.

  Chapter 18

  Richard Goddard was in a verbose mode when he met Isaac and Farhan. ‘What do you have? he asked.

  ‘It’s not what we have, it’s what you have,’ Isaac said. Farhan would not have been as direct.

  ‘I’ve met with my contact.’

  ‘And?’ Isaac said.

  ‘There’s a child.’

  ‘We know that. That appears to be the clue to this whole sorry mess.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Charles Sutherland was using it as a bargaining chip with Victoria Webster,’ Farhan said.

  ‘Did she know who it was?’

  ‘No, but she’s scared that she may be a marked woman.’

  ‘Is she?’

  ‘Potentially,’ Isaac said. ‘If this is dynamite, then anyone even remotely involved is at risk.’

  ‘Including us,’ Detective Superintendent Goddard said.

  ‘We’ve considered it.’

  ‘Any more tails on your cars?’

  ‘Not recently.’ Isaac said.

  ‘Detective Superintendent, your contact. What’s he got to say for himself?’ Isaac asked.

  ‘He’s not willing to reveal who the child is. I believe he doesn’t know.’

  ‘Did Marjorie Frobisher, and if so, how?’

  ‘My contact did reveal that the child is looking for the mother. They can’t hold him off for much longer.’

  ‘Are we looking for a male?’ Farhan asked.

  ‘A slip of the tongue. The assumption is male, but there’s no reason to believe that it could not be female. Marjorie Frobisher would have known.’

  ‘And the father, presumably.’ Isaac said.

  ‘Maybe, maybe not. The birth could have been hushed up, remote location, remote hospital, probably private. Even the adoption records could have been falsified.

  ‘Let’s come back to your contact, sir,’ Isaac said. He was sure there was something else, something vital.

  ‘You want more information, correct?’

  ‘Correct.’ Isaac stood up. He aimed to hover close to his senior until something more definite was revealed.

  ‘I believe my contact is being honest when he said that the person he is reporting to would not condone murder – even if the child could be responsible for the collapse of the government.’

  ‘Are we saying that Charles Sutherland was not a sanctioned murder?’

  ‘Not at all. My contact stated that revealing the existence of the child would have more severe repercussions than a change of government.’

  ‘And he doesn’t know who it is?’ Isaac persisted.

  ‘I don’t believe he does.’

  ‘Someone does.’

  ‘Who then?’ Farhan asked.

  ‘The father would be a fair assumption,’ Richard Goddard admitted.

  ‘Then why don’t we talk to the father?’ Isaac suggested.

  ‘I’m not sure who he is.’

  ‘You’ve a fair idea.’

  ‘I’m pretty certain who it is.’

  ‘Then why don’t we make an appointment, and go over and meet with this person.’

  ‘Not so easy.’

  ‘Why not?’ Isaac asked.

  ‘He doesn’t answer his phone, at least, not to us. It would need to be the Commissioner.’

  ‘Then ask him.’ Isaac saw no issue. He had met Commissioner Shaw on a couple of occasions; thought him a reasonable, approachable man.

  ‘If we tread on too many toes, we could find ourselves back on the street directing traffic.’

  ‘If we don’t tread a little harder, we may as well let a murderer get away free and easy. Is that what you want?’ Isaac asked.

  ‘Okay, I’ll talk to the commissioner, ask him to coordinate.’ The detective superintendent could see his career plateauing, just as he started on the ladder to the commissioner’s office. He wanted the top job in the Met, although it was still ten years away at least. He had no great wish to broach the subject with the commissioner, and he certainly did not relish confronting the father of the illegitimate child.

  ***

  Marion Robertson had been on the phone to Farhan. The other escort was ready to meet him. He scheduled the meeting for the next day at four in the afternoon. Marion said that would be suitable, and that Olivia would meet him out in Richmond, close to the park. He
allowed himself forty minutes to get there.

  The next day he was late. She was angry. ‘I agreed to give you ten minutes of my time, and you arrive late,’ she said. Farhan remembered Samantha and how pleasant she had been. He could not say the same about Olivia. She was plainly dressed, her hair pulled back tight. She wore an old raincoat, and clothes that looked neither fashionable nor modern.

  ‘My apologies, traffic.’

  ‘I don’t have much time,’ she replied brusquely.

  ‘This is a murder investigation. You must appreciate that I may need longer.’

  ‘That may be, but I’m the designated mother. I’m picking up my two children as well as next door’s.’

  ‘If we can’t conclude today, then maybe another time,’ Farhan said.

  ‘Secrecy is paramount. You do understand?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. She gave a weak smile, the first sign of friendship. The smile changed her whole persona, so much so that the dowdy clothes and the severe hairstyle faded into the distance.

  ‘You’re not going to ask me why I prostitute myself, are you?’

  ‘I’m not here to offer an opinion. I’m here because a man was murdered. A man you were intimate with.’

  ‘I would hardly call screwing a man for money “intimate”.’

  ‘What would you call it?’

  ‘A financial necessity.’ She kept looking at her watch.

  ‘How long have you got?’

  ‘Twenty minutes maximum. I’ve been working all day, explains the clothes.’

  ‘What type of work?’

  ‘I work in a factory, manual work. It’s dusty and not very pleasant.’

  ‘Why do that if you can work as an escort and make decent money?’

  ‘There you go, the same as the rest, aiming to reform me. Mind you, most want to tell me to work in an office, find a decent husband. At least you’re original.’

  ‘Believe me. I have no intention of reform. I need to find out what I can about the death of Charles Sutherland. Your background is relevant if it removes you from suspicion.’

  ‘Or makes me more likely to be the murderer of that horrible man.’