DCI Isaac Cook Box Set 1

by Phillip Strang

  Wendy came into the office with Bridget. It had only been a few days since the funeral.

  ‘I couldn’t stand it anymore,’ Wendy said. ‘Everyone phoning up or visiting every five minutes asking if I was fine.’

  ‘Are you?’ Isaac asked.

  ‘As well as can be expected.’

  ‘Ready for work?’

  ‘Coming here is the best therapy. He is dead and buried. Moping around won’t bring him back.’

  Isaac was pleased to see her back in the office. Not only for her benefit, which was important to him, but there was work ahead. The case had been going on for too long, and DCS Goddard was starting to annoy him. And besides, Katrina Smith was spending time in London, and he wanted to see her more than he had.

  They had managed to snatch a late-night meal together, and she had spent the previous night at his place. He liked her, maybe not as much as he had Jess O’Neill, but that relationship had been doomed due to his brief romantic encounter with Linda Harris. At least with Katrina Smith there were no incidents of misbehaviour that would damn the relationship before it had started.

  Isaac still looked to settle down, find a steady woman, but each time there was something, either from the woman or from him. He knew he was a romantic looking for the ideal woman, the ideal starry night.

  ‘You’ve still not said what I’m meant to be looking for,’ Dawson said. Isaac’s friendly banter with Wendy had not impressed him.

  ‘Get on with it,’ Dawson thought.

  ‘Keith, we don’t have a motive for the deaths of Garry Solomon and Montague Grenfell.’

  ‘Do you expect me to find a motive for you?’ Dawson said sneeringly.

  Isaac chose to ignore the inferred criticism of his handling of the case. He knew other men within the police force, men who had been there for a long time, men who were covertly racist.

  ‘Let’s focus on Montague Grenfell,’ Isaac said. ‘Even if his death was unintentional, the evidence of a confrontation at his office is overwhelming.’

  ‘So?’ Dawson offered a one-word comment, as if he wanted to say ‘get on with it and stop wasting my time’.

  ‘The confrontation would indicate a recent conversation or a recent case. Now, as we know he only dealt with the Richardsons and the Grenfells, it is fair to assume it is related to them.’

  ‘There are a lot of research notes. I haven’t looked at them,’ Dawson admitted.

  ‘He told me that he spent his days in the office studying and reading. There may be something there,’ Isaac said.

  ‘I’m from Fraud.’

  ‘So?’ Isaac felt that it was his turn for a one-word comment.

  ‘Looking at his notes is not in my area of expertise.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘I am an expert in legal and financial. Reading through the man’s notes is not my area.’

  ‘Do you have a problem?’ Isaac looked Dawson straight in the eye. Keith Dawson, now the focus of attention, drew himself up, sucked in his stomach, although it still left his shirt hanging half out.

  ‘I’m not the best person for the job,’ he admitted.

  ‘Bridget can work with you.’

  ‘Okay. I can give you a day of my time. If we see anything, we’ll let you know.’

  ‘Wendy, what are your plans?’ Isaac asked.

  ‘Emma Hampshire is still around from when Garry Solomon died.’

  ‘Fine. You concentrate on her,’ Isaac said. ‘Larry, we need to find who ordered the grille.’

  ‘The record is probably there, but it’s not a pleasant job sifting through thirty years’ worth of papers.’

  ‘When will we have an answer?’

  ‘Today. I’ll make myself a nuisance until they find it.’

  Isaac wrapped up the meeting, giving them all a pep talk as to how this was a crucial day: a day when the pieces come together.

  ‘How’s Katrina Smith?’ Wendy asked as she left the office.

  ‘Promotion to sergeant can always be reversed,’ Isaac replied with a smile.

  Chapter 24

  Malcolm Grenfell, the new lord, had brought up some friends from London, and they were partying around the clock. The cook who had been with the previous Lord Penrith for twenty-five years had left one day after Katrina Smith.

  The young girl that Grenfell had in tow had been supplemented by another two, and according to the housekeeper, there was enough Viagra in the lord’s bedroom to stock a pharmacy.

  Isaac still had his reservations about the man. Of all the people in the case, he was the one with the most to gain. If Montague Grenfell had acceded to the title, he might have cut off the younger brother’s allowance.

  It was clear that Malcolm Grenfell was incapable of earning a salary. His forte appeared to be seducing susceptible young women, no doubt enamoured by his easy spending.

  As Isaac sat back in his chair the phone rang. ‘Lord Penrith,’ the voice said.

  The person he had been thinking about was talking to him. ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘How long are you going to take with this bloody case?’ His lordship was clearly as drunk as a lord.

  ‘We are hoping to start arresting people in the next few days.’ Isaac realised that it was not the truth, but he was looking for a reaction.

  ‘Then bloody well hurry up.’

  ‘Why is it so important?’ He should have addressed Lord Penrith as ‘My Lord’, or ‘Sir’, but that would have been acknowledging that Malcolm Grenfell deserved respect, when he did not.

  ‘I can’t access Montague’s bank accounts.’

  ‘His death is regarded as suspicious.’

  ‘The man had one leg. He was bound to fall down those stairs at any time.’

  ‘Have you been to his office?’

  ‘A few times.’

  ‘When was the last time?’

  ‘Two years ago, when he was not paying me regularly.’

  ‘I was under the impression that he always paid on time.’

  ‘Maybe he did, but not then.’

  ‘Any reason?’

  There was a pause at the other end of Isaac’s phone.

  ‘I upset Albert.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I called him a miserable old man.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I was drunk. That was all.’

  ‘If Montague had not died, you would not have become Lord Penrith.’

  ‘Are you saying that I killed him?’

  ‘It’s a good enough motive. In fact, the only motive we have. No one else wanted him dead.’

  ‘Montague had his secrets.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I’ll let you find out.’ The phone line went dead. Isaac tried to ring back, but no answer.

  ***

  Wendy, still not fully recovered from the emotions of the previous days, was glad to be back at work.

  Emma Hampshire, as usual, was just about to go out when Wendy knocked on her door. Wendy was not sure if it was true or whether the woman always said it for effect. Regardless, the woman invited her in.

  ‘I am sorry for your loss,’ Emma Hampshire said. She was the same age as Wendy, but she had spent her life looking after herself: regular trips to the gym, no cigarettes, no excessive drinking.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘Malcolm Grenfell is now Lord Penrith.’

  ‘Yes, I know.’

  ‘Tell me about him,’ Wendy said.

  ‘I used to see him from time to time.’

  ‘What was your opinion of him?’

  ‘He was often drunk and rude.’

  ‘Tell me about Garry?’ Wendy asked.

  ‘What’s to tell? We’ve spoken about him before.’

  ‘Garry was murdered for a reason, as was Montague.’

  ‘Are you certain about Montague?’ Emma Hampshire asked. She had settled back in her chair, resigned to the fact that she would have to go out later. And besides, W
endy Gladstone was good company, even if she was a policewoman.

  ‘Mavis Richardson has died.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘How?’ Wendy asked.

  ‘Malcolm Grenfell phoned me.’

  ‘He has your number?’

  ‘I’m in the phone book.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘Just that Garry’s aunt was dead.’

  ‘Did you know her?’

  ‘Not personally.’

  ‘What else did Malcolm Grenfell say?’

  ‘He was crude.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘He assumed I would have screwed him for a title.’

  ‘Your reply?’

  ‘I was polite. I think he had a woman with him.’

  ‘Was he serious in his offer?’ Wendy asked. Everyone in the department assumed Malcolm Grenfell was only interested in women half his age.

  ‘About screwing me or the title?’

  ‘Either, I suppose.’

  ‘He always tried it on when Bob wasn’t looking.’

  ‘Did you take him up on the offer?’

  ‘No way. I was devoted to Bob, still am.’

  ‘There are conflicting statements as to why you left Garry Solomon.’

  ‘I realise that.’

  ‘What is the truth?’

  ‘It was a rough patch in our marriage. Garry’s business was not going well, and he was becoming abusive.’

  ‘How old were you?’

  ‘I was about twenty-six, Garry was one year older.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘We were friendly with Malcolm Grenfell. They had been to the same school, although Malcolm was three years older.’

  Wendy braced herself.

  ‘Kevin was just three, and Garry was sleeping down at his business most nights of the week.’

  ‘You were separated?’

  ‘Not totally, but we were not as husband and wife.’

  ‘Something is coming that is going to shock me, isn’t it?’ Wendy said.

  ‘Malcolm came over to the house one night. He had a bottle of wine in his hand and two glasses.’

  ‘And you let him in?’

  ‘I wanted to say no for Garry and Kevin’s sake, but I was young and lonely.’

  ‘You slept with him?’

  ‘The one time.’

  ‘When he threw you out, was it because he had another woman?’

  ‘Yes, but he treated Kevin and me well until the money ran out.’

  ‘Have you slept with Malcolm Grenfell since?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did Bob Hampshire know?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Garry?’

  ‘I don’t know. I never mentioned it, but Malcolm…’

  ‘Indiscreet?’

  ‘He can be after a few drinks.’

  It was evident from Emma Hampshire’s confession that there was another element in the death of Garry Solomon: the possibility of genuine love from Malcolm Grenfell for Emily Solomon, the possibility that Garry Solomon had found out and had been using it to his advantage.

  There were still some missing elements, though. The affair between Malcolm Grenfell and Emily Solomon had occurred in or around 1977, although Garry Solomon had been alive for another ten years before his murder.

  Emma Hampshire claimed to have not seen him after 1979 when he had been released from his first prison, and then it had only been a fleeting visit for him to see Kevin.

  ‘So now we have a possible motive for Garry’s death,’ Wendy said. Emma Hampshire appeared to be relaxed in her chair, but Wendy could see her clutching the armrest.

  ‘I only slept with him the once.’

  ‘Jealousy is a strong enough reason to kill someone.’

  ‘What jealousy? Garry was hardly a saint, and I never gave him reason to suspect me. He was a good man, always a little headstrong, given to criticising his family and the Grenfells.’

  ‘Why the Grenfells?’

  ‘He must have learnt some of the stories from his mother. How his grandfather was illegitimate, and the Richardsons had always been treated as the leper relations. He would surmise what his life would have been if his grandfather had not been illegitimate. If he had been born on the right side of the bed, as Malcolm.’

  ‘Did he envy Malcolm?’

  ‘Only the fact that he was legitimate.’

  ***

  Larry had arrived at the room where Duncan and Rose were working. He brought them both a coffee from the café across the road. Gordon Windsor’s juniors were in a more agreeable mood.

  ‘Sorry about yesterday,’ Duncan said. ‘I was a bit on edge. It’s a crap job, only fit for juniors.’

  ‘Breeds character,’ Larry humorously replied.

  ‘I’ll take your word for it.’

  Larry noticed that the majority of the papers were stacked according to year and month. Rose had printed some labels from the printer and had stuck them to the table using tape.

  ‘1987 is over in the far corner,’ Rose said.

  ‘You needn’t have sorted the other years,’ Larry said.

  ‘What if you want another date?’ Duncan said. Larry thought it was a fair comment. They had one date when the grille had been installed, but what about the bars on the inside of the windows in the house, and the person who had placed the order may have requested additional work.

  It was clear that the firm back in the 80s had been exceptionally busy. There must have been over four hundred individual items: most were single sheets of paper, the rest were order books or job specifications. Larry regretted his enthusiasm. ‘I’ll leave it to you,’ he said.

  ‘It’s a junior’s job, is that it?’ Rose said.

  ‘I suppose so. I was a junior once. I know the pain you are going through. Phone me when you find something.’

  ‘We’ll send you a scanned copy,’ Duncan said.

  ***

  Isaac had spent the morning in the office dealing with paperwork. Bridget was too busy with Keith Dawson to help him out. Larry, after leaving Rose and Duncan, met Wendy for an early lunch.

  ‘How are you?’ he asked.

  ‘That’s all I’ve heard for the last week. Tell me about the case and where we stand,’ Wendy said. She knew how she felt: she felt sad and sorry for her deceased husband. Apart from that, she was fine. Kind words and condolences did not help, solving a murder case did.

  Wendy had just come from seeing Emma Hampshire. The woman’s slender figure had caused some reflection on Wendy’s part. She ordered a salad.

  Larry, glad to be out of the home and away from the latest diet, fasting for two days a week, ordered steak and chips. He knew he would be in trouble when he got home, but for the moment he would be in heaven.

  ‘Isaac is worried,’ Larry said.

  ‘Isaac!’ Wendy exclaimed.

  ‘Sorry, DCI.’

  ‘That’s fine. I’ve known him for a long time, but he will still be “sir” to me.’

  ‘What did Emma Hampshire have to say?’

  ‘Apart from the fact that she had an affair, or at least a one-night stand, with Malcolm Grenfell when she was married to Garry Solomon, not much.’

  ‘Have you told DCI Cook yet?’

  ‘Not yet. How important do you think it is?’ Wendy asked.

  ‘What do you think? Apparently, Grenfell is keen on her, but she does not reciprocate apart from sleeping with him the one time.’

  ‘It’s a motive for Garry Solomon’s murder.’

  Wendy phoned Isaac, or to her, DCI Cook.

  Isaac’s reaction was understandable. Another vital piece of information had been uncovered. Not only were the Richardson sisters screwing Montague Grenfell on a regular basis, and Albert on two known occasions, it now appeared that their behaviour had moved to the next generation, in that Gertrude Richardson’s daughter-in-law had slept with a Grenfell.

  Isaac wondered what sort of morality these people adhered to.

  ‘Remember George S
ullivan,’ Isaac said. ‘He’s the one person we’ve not contacted yet.’

  ‘Do you think he’s important, sir?’ Wendy asked.

  ‘Maybe, maybe not, but who knows? Emma Hampshire wasn’t until she gave you that little nugget.’

  ‘I’ll look for him, sir. Leave it to me,’ Wendy said, her stomach rumbling. She regretted her poor choice in nourishment. Fit for rabbits, she thought. She called over the waitress. ‘Give me what my colleague just ordered,’ she said. As far as she was concerned, she would rather be overweight and happy than skinny and miserable.

  As Wendy dealt with the rumbling in her stomach, Larry continued their conversation. ‘George Sullivan? Any ideas?’ he asked.

  Wendy answered between mouthfuls of food. She was gasping for a cigarette, but that would have to wait until they were outside, and outside was cold and becoming colder due to an Artic wind from the north.

  ‘I’ve not a clue,’ Wendy said. ‘The man must be in his eighties by now, and it’s a common name.’

  Chapter 25

  Meanwhile, unbeknownst to them, Emma Hampshire was on the phone. ‘I told Sergeant Wendy Gladstone.’

  ‘What the hell did you do that for?’

  ‘It would have come out one day.’

  ‘Why? We were always discreet.’

  ‘Someone may have seen us.’

  ‘It’s been thirty years. No one’s alive now.’

  ‘That may be true, Malcolm, but I’m tired of living with a lie.’

  ‘You never told Bob, but you end up telling a policewoman. Do you realise where that places me?’

  ‘No. Where does it place you?’

  ‘Right at the top of DCI Isaac Cook’s list of murder suspects.’

  ‘And me.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘If you killed Garry because of me, I may be seen as an accomplice.’

  Lord Penrith realised that Emma Hampshire was talking nonsense. They had been lovers in the past, not now. Sure, he had been flirtatious on occasions since when Bob Hampshire had been looking the other way, but it had never been more than an amorous fondle from him, an indignant rebuff from her.

  ‘I never killed him. How many times have I told you? Do you think I waited nearly ten years after our affair to kill him? I would have rid myself of him back in 1976, not waited until 1987.’