‘How much for a suit here?’ Larry asked.
‘Up to four thousand pounds,’ the manager said.
‘A lot of money.’
‘As you say, a lot of money, but the men who come in here don’t look at the price, just the quality.’
‘What type of men?’ Wendy asked.
‘City men, bankers, stockbrokers, the occasional pop star.’
‘Any villains?’ Larry asked.
‘Confidentiality is crucial in our business.’
‘Which means?’ Wendy asked.
‘Everyone who comes in here is treated equally. We don’t ask their politics or where the money came from, only their inside leg measurement.’
‘You would have records from 1986 or thereabouts?’ Larry asked.
‘From 1904, if you need. That’s how long we’ve been here.’
‘Mid to late eighties is all we need. What do you need from us?’
‘A sample of the fabric, a photo of the garment, and a copy of the tag.’
‘We can give you a copy of the label now and a picture of the garment. We will need to get a special release of a sample in a day or so.’
‘What’s so important?’ the manager asked.
‘We need to identify the owner,’ Wendy said.
‘Dead?’
‘That’s correct.’
‘Not the body in the fireplace?’
‘Confidentiality is crucial in our business, the same as yours,’ Larry said.
‘Let me have a look at the tag,’ the manager said.
Wendy handed over the photocopied image.
‘1985 to 1986,’ the manager said.
‘You can tell that from one glance?’
I remember the tag. We had taken on a new supplier of labels in 1985, but they proved unsatisfactory.’
‘Any reason why?’ Wendy asked.
‘The labels frayed after a year or so, especially if someone had put the garment in a washing machine. We ceased using them in late 1986.’
‘And the shirt?’ Wendy handed over a photo.
‘Long slim cotton with double cuffs, white in colour.’
‘Can you give us a name?’
‘It was a popular line, maybe sold three to four hundred in that colour. The best I can do is give you a list of all who purchased it. Any idea as to the age of the person?’
‘Late thirties, early forties,’ Larry said.
‘That helps. I should be able to reduce that number to seventy or eighty.’
‘When can you give us the list?’
‘Ten minutes.’
‘That soon?’
‘Everything’s computerised, and once a customer comes in, we keep him on record. No computers here in the 80s, but we’ve updated since then.’
‘No one after about 1987,’ Wendy reminded the manager.
‘I figured that. It is still about seventy to eighty. Help yourself to a cup of tea while I sort it out.’
Wendy exited the shop with the list on a USB memory stick. Larry exited with a ready-to-wear shirt, which the manager had let him have for fifty per cent off the list price. Both were pleased with their visit to the shop.
Chapter 6
Forensics were taking a long time, too long for Isaac. He phoned them to see how much longer. They said another week at most. He was a man used to being proactive, and for too long he had been waiting for others to do something, rather than himself. His position within the team at Challis Street meant he had to deal with a lot of administrative tasks. Not that he minded usually, but there was just too much. The new commissioner of the Metropolitan Police had brought in additional procedures, and no excuses would be brokered for failing to comply. The previous incumbent, Charles Shaw, had been a great man, streamlining where possible, and it had helped. Now the paperwork was building up, and he was struggling to stay on top of it. Bridget had been helping as she could, but she was weighed under.
Isaac felt the need to leave the office, and besides, he had female trouble again. Jess, his live-in lover, was causing anguish. They had had another argument the night before, and it seemed inevitable that she was going to move out. It was impacting on his ability in the office, and he knew he would have to confront the issues in a few days. It upset him, as she was a woman any man would be proud to have on their arm.
He thought to visit the Richardson sisters’ lawyer again, but it seemed premature, and besides what would he say to him. So far, nothing tied the sisters to the body and their association with the house in Bellevue Street could only be regarded as circumstantial. He could hardly bring the women into the police station based on nothing. He knew that identification of the body was critical, and that lay with Bridget at the present time.
‘What do you have, Bridget?’ Isaac drew a chair up alongside her. She looked flustered.
‘Of the seventy-four on the list, I’ve eliminated thirty-six.’
‘How?’
‘They’re either Arab or African. Our body is white and Caucasian.’
‘That leaves thirty-eight. Can you eliminate more?’
‘There’ll still be seven or eight left.’
‘We can get Larry and Wendy on to searching for them. Any luck with the two women’s husbands?’
‘Last known addresses. I’ve passed them on.’
‘Is there a name for Gertrude Richardson’s husband?’
‘Michael Solomon.’
‘What do we know about him?’ Isaac asked.
‘German, of Jewish ancestry.’
‘Any ideas where he is now?’
‘I gave Wendy the only address I could find, but it’s old, and he would be ninety-five. Unlikely that he’ll still be alive.’
***
Wendy and Larry decided to visit the last known address of Michael Solomon. The husband of Mavis Richardson, Ger O’Loughlin, was proving elusive. Bridget was struggling to find an address, other than one that was twenty years old, and Google Street View had shown that the building no longer existed.
Michael Solomon had arrived in England in 1945, the only survivor of his family from a concentration camp in Germany. Bridget had managed to find out that he had prospered over the years, and by the time of his marriage to Gertrude, he was successfully running his own jewellery business. The last piece of valid information was when he had sold the business thirty years previously. If that was correct, then the dates did not agree with what Gertrude Richardson had said. Her statement was that she had not seen him for over forty years, but there he was, running a shop not more than three miles from where she currently lived. Wendy saw another visit to the woman.
Wendy and Larry arrived at Solomon’s house in Fulham at around four in the afternoon. The house was not as palatial as Gertrude’s mansion, not as well maintained as her sister’s house. It looked occupied. Wendy rang the doorbell. A woman in her sixties came to the door. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘Detective Inspector Larry Hill, Constable Wendy Gladstone,’ Larry said as they both showed their ID badges.
‘Is this about Daniel?’ she asked. Wendy observed that she appeared to be a woman worn down by the stress of life. Her hair was showing grey roots with no attempt to conceal them. She wore a drab dress, unironed and apparently unwashed. She wore no makeup.
‘Daniel?’ Wendy queried.
‘My eldest. A grown man and still he acts like an irresponsible child. Your people were always around here, bringing him home, or taking him down the police station. What’s he done this time?’
‘We’re not here about Daniel.’
‘Then what are you here for?’
‘We’re looking for Michael Solomon. This is his last known address.’
‘Maybe it is, but he’s not here now.’
‘Any idea where?’
‘Five-minute walk.’
‘Can we have the address?’ Larry asked.
‘You can, but it won’t help you much. He’s been dead for eight years.’
‘And you are?’ Wendy
asked.
‘Mary Solomon. I was married to him for thirty-five years, until he died and left me with his children.’
‘He was older than you when you married?’
‘He was twenty-seven years older than me, but he was affluent and a good-looking man. Seemed a good catch at the time.’
‘And now?’
‘I miss him sometimes, but he was not a good husband.’
‘Can we come in?’ Wendy asked.
‘If you like. Excuse the mess. I’m babysitting Daniel’s son, and my daughter has dumped her two on me while she is gallivanting up in the city. No idea what she does up there, although I can imagine. They say “like father, like son”, but with Michael, it’s both of our children.’
Let into the house, Larry and Wendy found themselves in a small room, neat and tidy, with a television in the corner. Obviously, the one room in the house out of bounds to anyone else. Wendy could only feel sorry for her.
‘What do you want to know?’ the woman asked.
‘What do you know of your husband before you married?’ Wendy asked.
‘He was married before, if that is what you are intimating?’
‘Yes. Do you know any of the history relating to the woman?’
‘Only that she was a bitch who kicked him out of the house after he caught her in bed with another man.’
‘That we did not know,’ Larry said. ‘Our information is that he vanished over forty years ago, and went overseas.’
‘He may have, but I met him not far from here. Fell for him straight away. Married him within six months, gave birth to Daniel three months later.’
‘Tell us about him,’ Wendy asked. The woman seemed relieved to have someone to talk to, although the baby crying in the other room was distracting.
‘Let it cry. It will stop in a minute. Born with the mother’s drug addiction. I’ve only got warm milk, not what it wants.’
‘And your husband allowed your children to grow up like this?’
‘Not much he could do, and besides, he was no better.’
‘Drugs?’
‘With him, it was alcohol and other women, although he always denied it. I could see the smirk on his face, the lipstick on his collar. They may have screwed him, but I was the one who had to clean up after them.’
‘The children weren’t disciplined?’
‘By me, but then he’d come home drunk and forgive them. And then once they reached adolescence, they’re out there following in his footsteps.’
‘What did he die of?’ Larry asked.
‘I wake up at six in the morning, and he’s lying next to me, dead. Gave me quite a shock. Besides, he was nearly ninety.’
‘Are you saying he was still chasing women at that age?’
‘He gave up on the women in his seventies.’
‘Any violence?’
‘Michael? Not at all, although I could have hit him sometimes for his behaviour. As I told you, he was a charmer. I always forgave him.’
It was evident to Wendy and Larry that pursuing Michael Solomon had come to a conclusion. However, they both realised that he could still be the murderer.
***
Bridget, meanwhile, had been ensconced in the office, working through the list of buyers that the manager of the tailor’s in Savile Row had supplied. Of the seven that she had focussed on, two were confirmed alive and well. With five left, she started to phone around. She found two more who had answered their phones: one, a successful businessman, the other, a musician. There were three left that she had been unable to confirm; they would need to be handled by Wendy and Larry.
Isaac busied himself in the office, although he wanted to be out on the street. His senior, Detective Chief Superintendent Goddard, was keeping his distance, other than to phone at regular intervals for an update. Apparently, Trevor and Sue Baxter had been complaining about not being able to return to their house, even after the crime scene investigators had concluded their examination. It was still a crime scene, Isaac had tried to explain when they had confronted him at the police station, and as such, the crime scene tape across the front and the uniformed policeman were to stay. He thought they had understood, but there they were on the television complaining and no doubt getting paid, as Sue Baxter continued to come up with little titbits for the media.
Not true, Isaac thought every time she made an unsubstantiated complaint or comment.
Gordon Windsor had phoned to detail the pathologist’s final report. It was murder, and a minor blow to the head had occurred before asphyxiation. A second more severe blow had taken place after, although the suffocation had probably killed the man, who would have almost certainly been unconscious. Also, a small tattoo in the shape of a dragon had been found on the right forearm. It appeared to have been skilfully executed.
It was clear that the body needed to be identified. Chasing after missing husbands, delving into the two sisters’ relationship was fine, but if they were proven not to be involved, then it was not relevant.
Isaac called the team together for a hastily convened meeting. It was going to be a fateful evening for him, both personally and professionally. He had finally received an ultimatum from Jess O’Neill. She was to make one special effort to put on a romantic meal that night; his non-attendance would signal an end to the relationship. He would have preferred it to have ended on a pleasant note, but he was a senior police officer with a major crime. He could not just leave when it suited him.
***
It was seven in the evening before everyone was assembled back at Challis Street. Isaac had ordered pizzas for everyone. ‘We need a name for this body. John Doe is no longer sufficient.’
‘We found Gertrude’s husband,’ Larry said.
‘What did you find out?’ Isaac asked.
‘He’s been dead for eight years.’
‘We’ll discuss this later. For now, we need to identify this body.’
‘I’ve given three names to Larry and Wendy,’ Bridget said.
‘Fine. When can you start on checking?’ Isaac asked.
Wendy knew the answer required, but her husband had taken a turn for the worse. She would need to visit with him first, and then talk to the doctor about additional care, new medicine, and no doubt, an extra cost. She could not see how she could bear the cost without selling the house. ‘Tomorrow morning,’ she replied. ‘Pressing family issue.’
There was no more for her to say, as Isaac was well aware of the situation and sympathised.
‘I’ll make a couple of phone calls tonight,’ Larry said. ‘Are we assuming the one we can’t find is the body?’
‘It’s a fair assumption,’ Isaac said. He was anxious to leave soon and to see if he could patch it up with Jess before it was too late.
‘It’s probably best if we call it an early night. There are only three to find, and it would be best to make personal contact rather than over a phone.’
‘That sounds fine,’ Wendy said. ‘I’ll attempt to be here early.’
‘I’ll stay another hour,’ Bridget said. ‘Tidy up some paperwork.’
‘I’ll stay with Bridget,’ Larry said.
‘I’ll walk you out,’ Isaac said to Wendy. ‘I’ve got some personal business to deal with.’
***
Wendy drove straight to the nursing home. She found her husband sedated and in a confused state.
‘It’s only getting worse,’ the doctor said.
‘What can you do?’
‘Keep him calm, but he’s a big man. We can’t have him blundering around.’
‘What’s your prognosis?’
‘There’s a heart problem. I give him three, maybe six months.’
‘Can he stay here?’
‘Under minor sedation, but there is the cost.’
‘I’ll manage.’ She knew that her DCI was attempting to get her made up to sergeant. The extra money would just about cover the additional cost.
Isaac reached home just as Jess was about to give
up waiting. He noticed the early signs of packing. ‘It’s not easy when there is a murder to deal with,’ he said.
‘I realise that, but sometimes we both have to make an effort. If you want to play the field again, just let me know.’
‘I have responsibilities. You knew that before we got together.’
‘Even before you slept with Linda Harris.’
Isaac realised the futility of the situation. If he had not slept with the woman, then maybe a longer-term relationship with Jess would have been possible, but it clearly was not. ‘It was an error on my part,’ he said. ‘I can’t undo the past, but then I don’t think you can forget either.’
‘Maybe it’s best if we quit while we’re ahead,’ she said.
‘Maybe it is,’ he reluctantly agreed.
The meal stayed cold, the bottle of wine unopened. Jess slept on the sofa; Isaac on the bed. He could hear her sobbing, but there was nothing he could say or do. Tomorrow she would be gone. He had hoped it would end better. He was sorry it had not.
Chapter 7
Isaac woke early the next morning after a restless night. Jess had left, a note attesting to the fact on the kitchen table. She clearly stated that she would return during the day and remove her belongings. He sat down for a few minutes, shed a tear in sadness, his momentary remorse disturbed by a phone call.
‘We’ve only got one more person to find,’ Wendy said.
‘Where are you?’
‘In the office. Bridget and DI Hill are here as well.’
‘It’s only six.’
‘We agreed last night to meet at five in the morning.’
‘Your husband?’
‘Not good.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ he said.
‘And you, sir?’
‘The inevitable.’
‘I thought it was that, sir. I hope it wasn’t too unpleasant.’
‘It was.’
‘It helps to stay busy, keep the mind occupied.’
‘I’ll be in the office in twenty minutes.’
DCI Isaac Cook Box Set 1 Page 38