And now Malcolm was back, and to complicate matters, he knew about Sue. If he knew how to access Ed’s laptop and to switch on the camera, he must have seen them making love in the office.
Ed knew he had tried, and for three years he had resisted the advances of his former lover, but she could not be dissuaded. ‘I need to be loved,’ she had said.
Eventually, he had given in and slept with her once again. In the years that followed, their coupling would be an accepted routine every Thursday night when the office was quiet, and everyone else had gone home. Once back home, later than usual, his dinner would be on the table, Gwen smiling, happy to see him, never suspecting, never questioning.
***
The cameras at Harold Hutton’s house had been effective. For the first time, the Homicide department had a clear picture of the man who had knocked on the door. Not only that, the man had not been wearing a cap.
‘Malcolm Woolston,’ Bridget said. ‘I’ve compared the old and the new photos, they match.’
‘Good work,’ Isaac replied, temporarily distracted by DCS Goddard on the phone.
‘Are you certain?’ Wendy asked.
‘Ninety-five per cent,’ Bridget’s reply.
‘Did you get that, sir?’ Isaac said into the mic on his phone.
‘Keep me posted. I’ll make sure the commissioner knows.’
‘Best of luck.’
‘With that man!’
***
Sue Christie was the first to see them as they entered the building. She was soon in Ed Barrow’s office. ‘It’s the police,’ she said.
‘Again. They were here yesterday,’ Barrow’s reply. ‘How do we handle this?’
‘Act natural.’
Sue left Barrow’s office, giving him a few minutes to prepare himself. She walked out to the landing on the second floor of the building. ‘Can I help you?’ she said.
‘I’m DCI Cook, this is my colleague, DI Hill. We’ve a few more questions for Mr Barrow.’
‘He’ll be free in a few minutes. Can I help you in the interim? I’m Mr Barrow’s personal assistant.’
‘You weren’t here on our first visit. We’re interested in an employee that used to work here,’ Isaac said.
The three moved to a room outside Barrow’s office.
‘Maybe I can help,’ Sue Christie said. Isaac had to admit she was a fine-looking woman, a little older than him but dressed well, capable, judging by her orderly desk and the files at the back of it neatly labelled A to Z.
‘This man left here eleven years ago, suddenly.’
‘I’ve been here for fifteen, almost the same length as Mr Barrow.’
‘Malcolm Woolston, do you remember him?’
‘It’s a long time, but yes. I was friends with him and his wife. Why do you ask? He died a long time ago.’
‘He died under mysterious circumstances.’
‘Yes, I know. We were all so shocked when he died. They never found his body, but I assume you know that. Why is it so important?’
‘Malcolm Woolston is not dead,’ Larry said.
‘Mr Barrow told me what you had said to him yesterday, but it’s not possible; we all attended his funeral.’
‘But with no body?’
‘They called it a remembrance service in his memory.’
‘We have proof that he is still alive,’ Isaac said. ‘We need to contact him immediately.’
Sue Christie laughed, a nervous laugh, Larry observed.
‘Has he contacted this office?’ Isaac asked.
‘He’s dead, we all know he is.’
‘We?’
‘Everyone, Mr Barrow, his wife, the staff here.’
‘His wife?’
‘Three years after Malcolm disappeared, he married his widow.’
‘Mr Barrow told us that last time. It must be complicated.’
‘Why? We were all friends. Malcolm was gone, and Gwen, that’s his wife, was lonely. The two made a great match. He brought up Malcolm’s daughter as if she was his own.’
‘Is Mr Barrow free?’
The woman left and went into the adjoining office. She closed the door behind her. Two minutes later, Ed Barrow reopened the door and invited the two police officers in.
‘Harold Hutton?’ Larry asked.
‘We spoke about this yesterday,’ Ed Barrow said. ‘Are you certain Malcolm was involved in his death?’
‘We are,’ Isaac said.
‘Harold Hutton was here last month. And even if Malcolm is still alive, why would he want to kill Hutton? The man has done a lot for the country, no skeletons in his cupboard.’
‘The man’s death was violent. We can place Malcolm Woolston at the crime scene.’
‘Malcolm was a pacifist. He’d not harm a fly.’
‘A fly, maybe not, but three men now.’
‘It can’t be Malcolm. It must be someone who looks like him.’
‘We can confirm that Malcolm Woolston is a mass murderer. He’s killed one person with a direct connection to this department, and another who you’ve admitted to knowing.’
‘George Arbuthnot?’
‘Yes.’
‘I told you last time that I’d met him, but only at a function somewhere. He’s not been here.’
‘Mr Barrow,’ Isaac said, ‘we will make a connection between George Arbuthnot and Harold Hutton. If a connection exists to this department as well, we will find out, rest assured. Hutton was interested in scientific research. Arbuthnot, from what we can tell, dealt in military weapons.’
‘Our research is for the benefit of mankind, not its destruction,’ Barrow said.
‘Although some of your projects could be converted to military purposes?’
‘I suppose so, but I’d resist if they ever tried it.’
‘We need to know if Malcolm Woolston contacts your wife.’
‘After so many years? Why now?’
‘The answer to that question lies with the reason that he is on a murdering spree. Mr Barrow, are you on his list?’
Ed Barrow shifted in his seat. ‘With Malcolm, you never knew what he was thinking.’
Chapter 17
Bridget busied herself in the office compiling a dossier on Malcolm Woolston, including last known address, family and where they were, friends, and whether he had been drawing a pension or an allowance from somewhere.
Isaac and Larry were back in the office, unsure about their encounter with Ed Barrow and Sue Christie. ‘What do you reckon?’ Larry asked.
‘Not much to say. They answered the questions correctly, and there’s no proof that they’re on Woolston’s hit list.’
‘Anything more on Arbuthnot?’
‘Apart from what we know, not a lot. I’m certain he’s tied in somewhere with the research department, but there’s no way of proving it, and if he were involved in shady arms dealing, government sponsored or not, we'd not get any help from Barrow.’
‘How about his personal assistant?’
‘Something is going on there,’ Isaac said.
‘You sensed it as well?’
‘Just a little too cosy, that’s all. It may be platonic, but…’
‘And he’s married to Woolston’s widow. The man disappeared for a reason, not necessarily because he wanted to desert his family. If he suspects Barrow of playing around, cheating on his wife, then his reaction could be unpredictable.’
‘Nothing unpredictable about how he killed Hutton and Arbuthnot.’
‘Commissioner Davies wants Hutton’s killer apprehended soon.’
‘Has DCS Goddard been on the phone again?’ Larry asked.
‘It’s understandable. Hutton was well known, well respected. There were even condolences in the House of Commons by the prime minister.’
‘We still don’t know why he’s come back. After so many years, you’d think he would have stayed hidden.’
‘Something caused him to resurface.’
‘He’ll kill again.’
‘
But who? Barrow, Sue Christie, even his wife for marrying someone else?’
‘We’ll need to make contact with her, tell her to be on the lookout.’
‘We told Barrow we’d give him two days.’
‘It can’t wait. The woman needs protection.’
***
It was two in the afternoon; Ed Barrow had been forewarned. Isaac Cook and Wendy Gladstone presented themselves at the Barrow residence. Ed Barrow opened the door. ‘I’ve told my wife that you are coming.’
‘Did you tell her why?’
‘No. I’ve also asked her daughter to be present.’
‘She’s here?’
‘Yes.’
The two police officers entered the house, recently renovated from what Isaac could see. In the main room, two women sat. ‘I’m Gwen Barrow, this is my daughter, Sally.’
In the other room, a child could be heard. ‘She should be alright for a few minutes,’ the younger of the two women said. Wendy could see that she was a bright woman, early-twenties, with dark hair. On her left hand she wore a wedding ring.
The similarities between the two women were striking.
‘Mrs Barrow,’ Isaac said. He realised that it was going to be difficult.
‘Call me Gwen. Mrs Barrow makes me sound old.’
‘Gwen, has your husband told you the reason we are here?’
‘Only that it has something to do with Malcolm.’
‘That is correct. What I am to tell you will be distressing.’
‘It was a long time ago. I’ve no more tears, neither has Sally.’
Isaac realised he was procrastinating. He took a deep breath. ‘Malcolm Woolston did not die eleven years ago.’
‘What do you mean? Ed, did you know about this?’
‘They told me earlier.’
‘When, if it wasn’t when we thought it was?’ Sally asked. The child was making a noise in the other room. ‘Susie needs her bottle,’ she said.
‘I’ll deal with it. You need to be here,’ Wendy said.
After Wendy had left and the child had quietened down, Isaac continued. ‘Malcolm Woolston is not dead.’
The two women sat up straight; the older of the two, the colour in her face draining away.
‘How, why?’ Sally asked.
‘Malcolm Woolston, we now know, has been near to this house and in the area for the last five to six years, probably longer.’
‘We would have seen him,’ Gwen Barrow said.
‘You would not have recognised him.’
‘Why not? I was married to the man for thirteen years.’
‘Believe me,’ Isaac said, ‘this must be very difficult, but we have proof that he has been in the area, and that he is very much alive as we speak.’
‘Then why does he hide?’
‘Let me ask you both. Have either of you ever seen a homeless man in the area?’
‘I have on many occasions,’ Sally said. ‘I even gave him some money, some food, but why?’
‘Describe him?’
‘Dirty, unkempt. He smelt bad.’
‘Was he tall or short?’
‘He was sitting down the one time I approached him, but he was probably tall.’
‘Anything else?’
‘Not really. I noticed him looking at us a few times. He wanted to say hello to Susie once.’
‘Did you let him?’
‘No. I didn’t want him spreading germs over her. She had a bit of a cough as it was.’
‘Have you,’ Isaac asked, ‘seen another man, casually dressed in a pair of trousers, a jacket, with short hair and a black beard?’
‘He wanted to give a sweet to Susie. I threatened to call the police.’
‘What do you reckon?’ Isaac asked Wendy who had just returned to the room.
‘Gwen, Sally, we are sure that those two men were one and the same; they were Malcolm Woolston,’ Wendy said.
‘We have a photo,’ Isaac said. He handed the picture to the two women. They both looked at it for several minutes. Gwen Barrow seemed close to passing out. Ed Barrow had his arm around her.
Sally held the photo firm, her hand shaking. ‘That’s him,’ she said. ‘That’s the man in the park.’
‘He’s also your father.’
‘But why?’ Gwen Barrow asked.
‘We don’t know why he disappeared, but we are aware that he has returned.’
‘Is this a police matter?’ Sally asked.
‘Unfortunately, it is. We’re from Homicide. There’s a warrant out for his arrest,’ Isaac said.
‘Is he suspected of murder?’ Gwen Barrow asked.
‘He must be regarded as dangerous, and at no time must you allow yourselves to come into direct contact with him.’
‘Will he harm us?’
‘We don’t think so, but we do not understand his motives as to why he stayed hidden for all this time, and we’ve not figured out why he has committed murder.’
‘How many?’ Ed Barrow asked, although he had already been told the answer.
‘Three that we know of.’
‘He can’t have done what you say,’ Sally said. ‘Not my father.’
‘We have proof. He will be arrested. You must understand that,’ Isaac said.
‘We both understand, DCI. Thank you for coming to tell us personally,’ Gwen Barrow said. She was holding her daughter tight.
***
Isaac had always thought that the most difficult part of policing was telling the relatives that a loved one had died in an unfortunate accident, but he had been wrong. Sitting in that house telling Malcolm Woolston’s former wife and his daughter that the man was a mass murderer was much worse. And now they still had to find the man, charge him, convict him, and then lock him up.
Once he had had to tell a decent, law-abiding couple that their youngest son had blown himself up, along with some innocent bystanders. As tragic as that had been, the perpetrator, as well as his victims, were dead, and in time mourned and then compartmentalised in the minds of their relatives. Those people had been allowed to continue with their lives, fractured as they may have been, but with Malcolm Woolston, the man would be around forever, and there’d be the soul-searching by his wife about what she may have done wrong to cause him to disappear. And then the conflicting loyalties and loves of two men, both husbands. And as for the daughter, the father she had cherished with a childhood memory was no longer a man to be proud of, but a man who killed others.
Isaac knew the future for Gwen Barrow and her daughter would be troubled.
Back in the office, Isaac had no time to dwell on such matters. Malcolm Woolston had been identified by his daughter who had seen him several times as a homeless man, once in his more recent guise. Both the women needed protection. Isaac organised two uniforms to be placed close to their respective houses, and for police cars to patrol their neighbourhoods. Not that they were total protection, and if the man could change from homeless to casual respectable, he could transform yet again. His motives were still unclear, although the research department seemed to be the key location.
Isaac and Larry drove out there again. It was not the most attractive building in London, Isaac would admit that, but inside it was state of the art. Sue Christie met them on arrival, accorded them a warm welcome, showed them around. They saw where Woolston had worked years before, but as she said, back then it wasn’t as good as they saw it now.
‘What about the staff?’ Isaac asked. ‘Any from that period?’
‘There’s one or two, but Helen Toogood is probably the person to talk to.’
Ed Barrow was not in the building, which suited Isaac fine. And besides, he didn’t trust him. It was clear that Gwen Barrow relied on him heavily, and that his stepdaughter had shown a fondness for him, but the man wasn’t clean yet.
Isaac and Larry were sitting in one of the laboratories when Helen Toogood entered. The two men stood and shook her hand. She was a small woman, not up to Isaac’s shoulder, with a timid voice. She s
at down; her hands were folded across her front, almost in a defensive mode.
‘Mrs Toogood, you were here when Malcolm Woolston disappeared, is that correct?’
‘Very sad, very sad,’ she said.
‘What can you tell us about him?’
‘Without him our research floundered.’
‘What were you researching?’
‘Low-cost energy. The ability to generate vast quantities of energy for minimal cost.’
‘Has that research finished?’
‘We still work on it, but we’ve not solved some fundamental problems.’
‘What problems? And please, we’re not technical people.’
‘The energy we could produce was unstable, as well as difficulties with the directional controls of the beam from the solar collectors in low-level orbit. Instead of solar panels on earth, we’d place them in space. It’s extremely complicated, and it requires men of Malcolm’s genius to solve the outstanding problems. More likely to blow up than drive a turbine.’
‘This beam, is it dangerous?’ Isaac asked.
‘Not really, it’s microwave. Laser rays from space are for science fiction. If a bird flew over the ground-based receiver, it may have been fried.’
‘Could it have become a weapon?’
‘The energy could be channelled for that purpose. That wasn’t our area of research, though.’
‘And you needed Malcolm Woolston to provide the solution to the outstanding issues?’
‘It’s always been too expensive, and then the directional control has been complex, but Malcolm had solved both issues.’
‘Complicated?’
‘It needed a genius-level intellect. The formulation, the technical expertise required was beyond me.’
‘Did it take a lot of space?’
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