‘Richard Williams.’
Isaac realised that here, in this one embittered woman, was the motive for two murders: the murder of Marjorie Frobisher, if she was indeed dead, and the murder of Charles Sutherland.
Chapter 21
Wendy had not announced the previous day when checking in at the hotel that she was a police officer. Experience had taught her that people become secretive and guarded once an ID badge is flashed in front of them. Even the innocent start to clam up, check what they say and how they say it. She needed the receptionist free and willing to talk. She was not a difficult woman to recognise as all the staff appeared to be young – in their twenties and thirties – except for her.
Felicity Pearson, in her late forties, maybe early fifties; her photo courtesy of a board in the hotel foyer showing ‘Employee of the month’. She had already been interviewed by the police; she would not necessarily welcome a second time.
Wendy decided the best approach was to engage in idle chatter when the reception was quiet. She waited her time. It came around eleven o’clock in the morning, when those who were checking out had, and those checking in were waiting until two in the afternoon.
‘I was thinking of taking a walk in the hills,’ Wendy said.
‘That’s a good idea. It’s best to take a coat. It can get cold up there at times, even snow in the winter, but not today,’ the receptionist replied.
‘I don’t want to be gone for too long.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘They’re repeating the episode where Billy Blythe dies.’ Wendy thought it a good enough way to direct the questioning towards the missing woman.
‘She was in here, you know.’
‘Who was?’ Wendy, sounding suitably vague, replied.
‘His sister.’
‘You watch the programme?’ Wendy said. A fellow devotee, ideal, she thought.
‘I never miss it.’
‘Nor do I. It’s a shame about his sister,’ Wendy said.
‘I just said before. She was in here.’
‘Edith Blythe?’
‘Yes, his sister.’
‘That must have been exciting. What was she like?’
‘She didn’t say much. She didn’t like it when I recognised her.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘I’ve no idea. She left soon after. I think it was because of me.’
Wendy noticed that Felicity Pearson was ignoring other people standing at the reception. ‘You’d better deal with them first.’ She did not want the receptionist getting in trouble, and then walking out of the door in a huff.
‘Give me five minutes, and then we can chat some more.’ Wendy could tell that the woman liked nothing more than a good conversation.
Five minutes later she returned. ‘Marjorie Frobisher, that’s who it was. Mind you, I wouldn’t have recognised her.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Her hair was a different colour, and she wore large sunglasses.’
‘How did you know it was her?’
‘I only knew it was her when she came to the counter and asked for the linen on her bed to be changed. We only do it every third day, but she was adamant.’
‘What did you do?’
‘I phoned up housekeeping. They sorted it out.’
‘You’ve not explained how you knew it was her.’
‘You remember how she used to look when she was sad. One side of her mouth appeared to droop slightly lower than the other.’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘That’s what she did with me. I was so excited, I asked her for her autograph.’
‘Her reaction?’
‘I could see she wasn’t happy, but she remained polite and signed a piece of paper for me. I framed it, put it next to the television at home.’
‘What happened after she had signed it?’
‘She went upstairs and packed her case.’
‘When she left, where did she go?’
‘I organised a taxi for her.’
‘Do you know the taxi she took?’
‘Bert picked her up. We always try to use him for the guests. He’s been driving for us for years.’
‘Where can I find him?’
‘Up the road, blue Toyota. You can’t miss him.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Why are you so interested in where she’s gone.’
‘Her husband has asked me to find her, bring her home.’
‘You’ve been engaging in idle conversation, making me neglect the guests, pretending to be a fan of the programme…’
‘I am a fan. I also need to find her.’
‘I hope nothing has happened to her.’
‘We’re not sure. We think she may have come to some harm.’ Wendy felt she owed the woman some gossip in return.
‘Is it anything to do with Billy Blythe? I never liked him. The actor who played him, his death.’
‘Yes,’ Wendy replied.
‘Well I never,’ Felicity Pearson said. The last words Wendy heard from the receptionist as she went out to find Bert, the taxi driver, was her telling some guests the latest gossip on Marjorie Frobisher. She could only smile.
***
Isaac had made two appointments that day at Marjorie Frobisher’s house: the first in the morning with the daughter, Fiona Avers. The second in the afternoon with Sam Avers, the son.
Sam Avers, the elder of the two children, arrived drunk. He was unapologetic. He had a five-day beard and his breath smelt, so much so that Isaac was obliged to move chairs to one side to avoid a frontal assault of stale beer.
‘Mr Avers.’
‘Call me Sam, everyone does.’
‘Okay, Sam. We are conducting investigations into the disappearance of your mother and the death of Charles Sutherland.’
‘What’s his death got to do with her?’ Sam Avers responded. He coughed violently as he spoke. He lit another cigarette.
‘We are not sure. I had hoped that you would have some further information that would assist us.’
‘Why me? I hardly knew the man, and as for her…’
‘Your relationship with your mother?
‘Hardly ever saw her, and when I did, she was off out somewhere with her rich friends.’
‘Were they all rich?’
‘Most were, but she hardly wanted them for their money. She had plenty, not that she gave me much.’
‘I am told by your father that they give you a generous allowance and a credit card. Is that correct?’
‘They only give it for me to go away. I’m an embarrassment to them. Did he tell you that?’
‘I understand you live here.’
‘I come and go, mostly go. I don’t want to be around here any more than necessary.’
‘You come here, ensure your money is available and leave.’
‘That’s about it,’ the drunken man said. He had gone to the drinks cabinet and was pouring himself a large whisky. ‘You want one?’ he said. Isaac declined.
‘On duty, is that it?’
‘Too early for me,’ Isaac replied. It wasn’t true but he certainly did not want a large whisky, and he did not want to drink with the man. He did not like him; was being careful not to offend or rile.
‘Suit yourself. I have to give the old man credit, he certainly keeps a good drop of whisky here, only the best.’
‘Before we discuss your mother, let us consider Charles Sutherland.’
‘I only met him once or twice. He could drink ‒ more than me.’
‘Where did you meet him?’
‘Here once, in town another time.’
‘What happened here?’
‘We got drunk.’
‘Nothing else?’
‘Are you insinuating that I’m gay, that I fancy men?’
‘Not at all. This is a murder investigation. It is important that I am thorough.’
‘And besides, he liked women. The more he could get hold of, the better.’
�
�How do you know that?’
‘I ran into him at a club in town once. He had a couple of women with him, real classy.’
‘Can you please elaborate?’
‘I go over to him. He’s drunk. Wants to tell me what a bitch my mother is. He expects me to argue with him. I’m harmless when I’ve been drinking, which is most of the time, but he’s angry drunk.’
‘He insults your mother. What do you do?’
‘I agree with him, of course.’
‘And then?’
‘He invites me to sit down with him. It appears he had paid plenty for these women, and he doesn’t mind sharing.’
‘How long did you stay in the club?’
‘About two hours, and then we went to his place in Mayfair.’
‘With the women?’
‘Of course, what else would I go there for?’
‘Continue.’
‘He took one, I took the other, and then we swapped. Eventually, I fell asleep, and the next I knew it was early morning, and a bird was sitting outside on the balcony railing making a noise.’
‘The women, where were they?’
‘They had gone, so had Sutherland. I left soon after, nothing for me to do there.’
‘Why leave? I understand from your father that you do not work.’
‘Not much.’
‘I spoke to your sister before. She is very fond of her father.’
‘She would be. He always spoilt her, buying her presents.’
‘You were not spoilt?’
‘By him? No way. The most he would give me was a lecture about how to stand up straight, be a man. He was a fine one to give lectures.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘He couldn’t even control his wife. What sort of man allows his wife to fuck anyone she wants to, even in his house?’
‘Did that happen often?’
‘Not often, I suppose.’
How often?’
‘There was that time with Richard Williams. He’s been screwing her for years. Did he tell you that?’
‘I’m aware they were involved in the past, before your parents were married.’
‘They’re still involved. If you want to find out where she is, you’d better talk to him.’
‘Your dislike for your mother, is it a strong enough motive to wish her harm?’
‘Are you accusing me of murdering my own mother?’
‘I need to ascertain the intensity of your dislike towards your mother.’
‘I hated her. Not enough to kill her and she’s the one with the money, not my father.’
‘I thought your father was successful in his own right.’
‘He made some money, but nothing like her. She was the earner in this house. No doubt why he allowed her to screw around.’
‘Are you an earner?’
‘I’m just a drunken layabout. My father must have told you that.’
‘He mentioned you had some issues. Just one more question before we conclude.’
‘Let me get a top up.’ Isaac counted three whiskies consumed by Sam Avers since he arrived. It was apparent that he did not intend to stop until the bottle was drained.
‘Your father. Capable of murder?’
‘Him? I don’t think so.’
***
Wendy Gladstone, armed with the new information, set off to find Bert, the taxi driver. He was not difficult to find. The taxi rank, a five-minute walk up the road, only had places for three vehicles. Bert’s was the second. The one in front was a grey Vauxhall – looked as though it could do with a wash. Bert’s blue Toyota was fresh and clean, and she could see why the hotel used his in preference to the other taxis in the small town.
‘Felicity recommended me,’ she said.
‘From the Abbey?’ he replied. She could see that he was closer to seventy years of age than sixty. He still had a luxuriant growth of hair on his head, a small bald patch just starting to show. He was dressed in a suit with a white shirt and tie. She was impressed.
‘The Abbey, yes.’
‘She should have phoned. I would have come down and picked you up, saved you the walk.’
‘I enjoy walking,’ she said, which had been true enough before arthritis set in. Now she had to take care, not walk too fast. It annoyed her that she was not as agile as she had been as a child, and then as a young woman. She complained little, and certainly to no one except her husband.
‘Where can I take you?’
‘I’ll be honest, Bert. I’ve been asked to find one of your clients.’
‘Are you police?’
‘I was not entirely honest with Felicity down at the hotel. I told her it was her husband who had asked me. My name is Wendy Gladstone.’
‘What’s the truth?’ the taxi driver asked. Wendy could see that he was an active man, quick of mind.
‘We’re treating the woman’s disappearance as suspicious.’
‘You’re from London?’
‘How did you know?’
‘The accent mainly. Some others were asking about her.’
‘I grew up in Yorkshire.’
‘Maybe you did, but it’s a London accent now. Pure cockney, although now you mention it, there’s a bit of Yorkshire in there.’
‘You mentioned some others looking for her?’
‘You never confirmed that you were police.’
‘Police Constable.’
‘I didn’t like them.’
‘Who?’
‘The two who were looking for her.’
‘Did they say who they were? And I haven’t mentioned who the woman is yet.’
‘Felicity was desperate to tell me. My wife was excited when I told her.’
‘And you?’
‘I’ve never taken much notice of her before. I don’t watch the television apart from the sport’s channel.’
‘Are you free to talk?’ she asked.
‘The taxi meter is running. I assume that’s fine by you?’
‘Fine, expense account. You may as well have the benefit of it as well.’
‘Can it stand a decent meal?’ he asked.
‘Yes, why not.’
‘Hop in, we’ll treat ourselves to a good meal up the road.’
Bert, or Bert Collins, his full name for the report she would have to write up later, apparently enjoyed the little luxuries in life. He ordered the best, including the best wine. She knew she should not, and had been promising to go on a diet, but in the end she matched him course for course.
‘She didn’t say much, just mumbled a few words and paid the fare,’ Bert said between gulps of wine.
‘Is there anything you can tell me that will help me find her?’
‘I dropped her off at the railway station in Worcester, which made little sense. We have a perfectly good railway station here which connects into Worcester.’
‘Did she give you a reason?’
‘I saw no reason to ask. She was paying, and Worcester is farther than the local station.’
‘When you dropped her off, did she say where she was heading?’
‘She saw the time and a train coming into the station. She made some comment under her breath and dashed off. I assumed she wanted to catch the train.’
‘Where was it heading?’
‘Paddington. Two and a half hours. I take it myself when Arsenal is playing at home.’
‘She never arrived.’
‘I wouldn’t know about that. She paid my money, and as I said, she dashed off. There wasn’t another train for some time after, so I can’t see where else she could have gone.’
‘The other two men. What can you tell me about them?’
‘They sat in the back of the taxi and asked me to drive them around the area. They said they were up for a business conference and were taking the opportunity of a couple of hours to do some sightseeing.’
‘Did you believe them?’
‘No way.’
‘Why do you say that?’
�
��It was raining heavily, could barely see where I was going, and there were no business conferences that I knew of.’
‘Would you know if there was?’
‘I’m confident I would.’
‘As you’re driving around, what did they ask?’
‘They made small talk, and then they started asking about this woman.’
‘Which one?’
‘This Marjorie Frobisher.’
‘Did that cause you some concern?’
‘It did. How did they know about her? They weren’t staying at the Abbey. I know that Felicity Pearson is a bit of a gossip, but why should two men, business men, be interested in the whereabouts of a woman off a programme on the television.’
‘Did they say why they were interested?’
‘I asked. They made up some lame reason that their wives watched the programme. Then they started offering me money, wanting to take me to the pub for a few drinks.’
‘Did you tell them what you told me?’
‘No. I just said that my shift was coming to a close, which wasn’t true, and dropped them back at the taxi rank. That’s the last I saw of them.’
‘Why didn’t you tell them anything?’
‘You were honest. Bought me a nice meal.’
‘Is that the only reason?’
‘It’s a good enough reason for me,’ he said. There was still half a bottle of a good wine to drink. Wendy thought they might be able to drink another bottle after that. She was sure Bert would not object.
Chapter 22
Richard Williams did not appreciate the official request to present himself at the police station. He was a man used to giving orders, not receiving them. ‘What right have you to demand my presence here? I’m a busy man.’
‘Some new information has come to light. Information in relation to you,’ Isaac said. Farhan, as usual, at his left. Richard Williams, dressed formally in a suit, sat opposite Isaac. He had brought legal representation: Quinton Scott, Queen’s Counsel, of Scott, Scott and Fairlight. To Isaac, he looked landed gentry. To Farhan, he looked like a man who did not appreciate anyone who had not been born with a silver spoon in their mouth, or a white complexion with blue eyes. He had reluctantly shaken Isaac’s hand, made a clear attempt to avoid repeating the same mistake with him.
Isaac commenced the interview, following the official procedure, noting the time of the interview, informing the client of his rights and asking those present to state their names and details.
DCI Isaac Cook Box Set 1 Page 16