‘Any ideas as to the tie-in with the other body?’ Isaac asked. The two men had stepped away from the body and were standing in the hallway on the fifth floor of the twelve-storey block. There was an air of decay about the place. The lift door opened; a man and his wife, and their four children exited it in close formation. Christine Devon was black and dressed in a white blouse with a knee-length skirt. The woman from the lift was in the all-covering black of an Islamic woman, her eyes the only visible part.
‘I’ve not seen the other body yet. I’m off over there now,’ Windsor said. ‘Are you coming?’
‘I’ll be right behind you.’
Outside on the street, the daughter was lighting up for the second time. ‘They’ll do you no good,’ Isaac said.
‘One or two won’t harm me.’
Isaac realised that his offering advice to the young woman was the same as his parents had done to him when he was her age.
‘You have another brother?’
‘He’s working in a shop. Billy’s a hard worker, the same as Mum.’
‘And you?’
‘Once I’ve finished college, I’m off to university.’
‘Where is Billy?’
‘It’s his day off, I’ve no idea.’
‘But he has a phone?’
‘He doesn’t always answer.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘You’ll need to ask him. He’s not in trouble.’
‘Gangs?’
‘Samuel worried Mum, but not Billy.’
‘And you?’
‘I’ve got a regular boyfriend. He’s studying to be an accountant. We’re thinking of getting engaged.’
‘You’re still young.’
‘Maybe, but Troy, he wants to take me away from all this.’
‘And you want to go?’
‘You said that you grew up around here, what do you think?’
‘You seem very calm,’ Isaac said. He was enjoying chatting with the woman; in some ways she reminded him of the woman who had come over to London from Jamaica after a holiday fling he had had there some months earlier. It hadn’t amounted to much. One day she was phoning to say she was coming to London on a business trip; two weeks later, she was on his doorstep looking for accommodation. He had put up with the situation for a week before telling her that he was a police officer, and her being in England for an extended period, even working, without a visa was a criminal offence, and he could not be a party to it.
He remembered her hints for him to marry her. The problem had resolved itself when he had dropped her off at the airport for the return flight to Jamaica.
‘I’m not calm,’ Charisa Devon said. ‘She was my mother, but what am I meant to do? I’m responsible for my younger brother now, and he’s a handful.’
‘Your father?’
‘I’ve no idea. He may be here or in Trinidad. He disappeared when I was five.’
‘If you get married, what about your brother?’
‘He can come and live with us, at least for short periods of time. My boyfriend is American. Once I get a visa, I’ll go there.’
‘Difficult?’
‘Not too difficult. We just need to convince them that I’m not using marriage as a way of beating their immigration laws.’
‘Do you have somewhere to stay tonight?’
‘My boyfriend’s got a place. I’ll be fine. When will you be finished with the flat?’
‘It’ll be a police scene for some time. Do you want to move back in?’
‘Once I’ve removed my belongings, I’ll never go back. Too many memories, and it was a dump anyway. This other woman, what about her?’
‘White, rich, house in Holland Park.’
‘Instead of a dump in Notting Hill.’
‘That’s about it.’
‘It’s still tough in this country.’
‘It’s tough for everyone. Colour is not the defining criteria,’ Isaac said.
‘That’s what I tell Samuel.’
‘And he talks back to you in a Caribbean accent?’
‘Born and bred around here, but yes. They think it makes them sound important, not that it does. How did you avoid it, the gangs?’ the young woman asked.
‘I didn’t understand the lifestyle, and certainly not ganja. I preferred to study.’
‘The same as me, but Samuel, he’s not interested, and Billy, he’s honest, although he’s not academic. It’s up to me to look after them.’
‘From America?’
‘Not so easy, but I’ll try.’
From down the road a television crew approached. ‘Please excuse me,’ Isaac said to Charisa. ‘I need to be at the other house. You see the camera down there?’
‘I see it.’
‘They’ll want to interview you. I suggest that you don’t talk to them at this time.’
‘Not me. My boyfriend’s picking me up in two minutes. He doesn’t like it around here.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘His colour stands out.’
‘White?’
‘Not that it matters to me, but yes, he’s white. There are some around here who don’t like an educated white man.’
‘There are some around here who don’t like a black police inspector, as well.’
‘Samuel’s friends wouldn’t. Be careful with them.’
‘I will. You’ve got my details. Just phone me at any time for help, also Bridget Halloran in my office. She’ll advise you of the situation and about your mother.’
A car drew up alongside them, and a young man in his twenties opened the passenger door. ‘I can’t park here,’ a voice with an American accent said.
‘Don’t worry, this is Detective Chief Inspector Cook,’ Charisa said.
‘Pleased to meet you. I’m Troy Hall.’ The two men shook hands. ‘Is Charisa okay?’
‘She will be. It’s a shock for her.’
‘She’s tough. I’ll make sure she’s okay.’
The young woman got in, buckled her seat belt and went off in her boyfriend’s car.
‘DCI Cook,’ the interviewer from one of the commercial television stations said.
‘No comment.’
‘The woman, what can you tell us?’
Isaac beat a hasty retreat: too many questions, too early in the investigation.
Chapter 2
The distance from one murder scene to the other was not far. One location was lower socio-economic; the other was at the higher end of wealthy. Isaac parked his car outside the terrace house of Amelia Brice, a uniform removing the bollards on the side of the road to let him in. Inside the house there was apparently plenty of money to spare, judging by the décor. Before he had walked through the house to the murder scene, he was accosted by a man in his sixties.
‘What are you doing to find who did this?’ the man, dressed in a suit, his grey hair cut short, said. He seemed familiar to Isaac.
‘We’re investigating both murders.’
‘I’m interested in my daughter, not anyone else.’
Isaac remembered where he knew him from. The man was often on television or on the radio, bellyaching. An ardent critic of anything and anyone who didn’t pander to his view of the world. Jeremy Brice, Isaac knew, would be well-connected and he was guaranteed to be on the phone to Commissioner Davies, the head of the Met, in no time. After that, there’d be a phone call to Superintendent Goddard, who in turn would arrive in Isaac’s office to pass on the complaint, followed by the motivational talk on how his department needed to shape up and he was expecting an early arrest.
‘This is a police investigation. Both murders will be investigated thoroughly,’ Isaac said.
‘My daughter has been murdered. You need to be out there with a team of people combing the streets. If I was in charge…’
Jeremy Brice was not Isaac Cook’s type of person. He’d listened to him on a few occasions, only to switch off the radio in his car in disgust, and now the man was going to be a nuisance.
&
nbsp; ‘If you’ll excuse me,’ Isaac said, ‘I’ve got to be upstairs. Rest assured, we’ll be working day and night to solve your daughter’s murder.’
‘And I’ll be behind you, kicking you all the way.’
‘We don’t need kicking,’ Isaac said. He knew that he was talking to a grieving man, but he had suffered enough listening to the man on the radio, and he didn’t intend to have him running the investigation into the death of his daughter, Amelia.
Upstairs, once he had shaken free of the father, Isaac walked around the body, careful not to impede the crime scene team and their investigation. He could see what had been an attractive white female, a piece of cord around her neck. Gordon Windsor was at the scene, as was Grant Meston, his deputy.
‘What’s the verdict?’ Isaac asked. ‘The same murderer?’
‘It’s probable. The method is the same, the same type of cord to garrotte her, even the bag over the head. Mind you, different houses, different areas.’
‘How long before you can tell us if it’s the same person?’
‘One hour. We’ll see if there’s any indication as to who it is.’
‘Is that likely?’
‘Whoever killed these two women had planned it out. It’s ten, fifteen minutes to drive from one location to the other, depending on the traffic, and then he would need to know that both women were at home and alone.’
‘An accomplice?’
‘It seems likely, but why?’
‘Leave that to us, Gordon. You give us the facts; we’ll figure out who was responsible.’
***
Back at Challis Street Police Station, the team assembled, this time without Superintendent Goddard, although Isaac was sure they’d not get through the meeting without his head poking around the office door.
‘What do we have?’ Isaac said.
‘Two women who lived close to each other,’ Larry Hill said.
‘Apart from that?’
An evidence board was set up in the corner, with the first attempts at populating it completed. There was no issue about a photo for Amelia Brice; Bridget had found her on the internet.
Isaac had secured a photo of the other woman at her flat; it had been in a photo frame in the kitchen. Charisa Devon had phoned; Billy, her elder brother, would be in the office within the hour.
‘What’s the tie-in?’ asked Sergeant Wendy Gladstone, the department’s best person if you wanted someone found.
‘We’re not sure, yet,’ Isaac said.
‘It must be something to do with Amelia Brice,’ Larry said.
‘That’s an assumption. We need to establish the connection between the two women first. Focus on Christine Devon’s clients that she cleaned for. Maybe she had cleaned for Amelia Brice.’
‘Does the house in Holland Park belong to Amelia Brice?’
‘It belongs to her father. He’ll be throwing his weight around. He’s already tried it once with me,’ Isaac said.
‘Is he a suspect?’ Bridget asked.
‘Everyone’s a suspect until we’ve cleared them. Check out Christine Devon’s children. Supposedly the youngest son is involved with gangs in the area. Larry, check it out, use your contacts.’
‘Don’t worry. I’ll do that.’
‘Bridget, you can start producing a case for the prosecution.’
‘I’ve already started.’
‘Larry, Billy Devon, the eldest son, is coming in. We’ll interview him in the conference room; no need to subject him to the third degree.’
Isaac’s phone rang. ‘Samuel, he’s missing.’
‘Charisa, you’ll need to talk slowly. I can’t understand you.’
The woman on the other end of the phone was distressed. ‘Where are you?’ Isaac asked.
‘I’m down near Billy’s place of work.’
‘The address?’
‘Notting Hill Gate, number 446. It’s an electrical store, Glassop and Son.’
‘I know it. We’ll be there in ten minutes. Is Billy with you?’
‘He’s here. We tried to phone Samuel, checked with his school, his best friend. He’s gone missing.’
‘But he phoned the police when he found your mother.’
‘He let them in the door and then took off.’
‘Any reason for him to disappear?’
‘Not really, but he doesn’t always come home at night. We need to find him.’
‘I’ll put out an all points for him, and my DI, he’s friendly with the gangs in the area.’
‘We’ll be outside the shop. It’s difficult pulling off the road, and there’s no parking,’ Charisa Devon said.
‘Don’t worry about us. We’ll flash our lights if necessary. The traffic will stop for us. Remember, ten minutes, don’t move.’
‘We won’t.’
Isaac turned to Wendy. ‘Come with me. Larry, check with your contacts. Samuel Devon, fifteen years of age. You know his address.’
‘I’ll try, but they normally clam up when anyone comes sticking their nose in.’
‘Do your best.’
Nine minutes later, Billy and Charisa Devon were in the back seat of Isaac’s car. ‘Why the concern?’ Isaac asked.
‘He always answers his phone,’ Charisa said.
‘Maybe he’s upset over the death of his mother,’ Wendy said.
‘Not him.’
‘I thought you said he wasn’t in any serious trouble.’
‘There’s been a couple of times when he’s come home after fighting. Once he had a cut on his face; we had to take him to the hospital.’
‘What do you reckon has happened to him?’
‘Either he saw someone near our flat, or he saw the person who killed our mother.’
‘Any chance he’s been near Amelia Brice, the other woman?’
‘Who knows? He used to get around to a few strange places,’ Billy Devon said. His English was clear, no attempt to affect a Caribbean accent as a gang member would.
‘There’s no point looking for him ourselves,’ Isaac said. ‘It’s best if we get back to Challis Street. DI Hill’s coordinating the search. We’ll find him soon enough.’
Back at the station, the two teenagers were calmer after a coffee and a sandwich each. ‘What’s the deal with your brother, the truth this time?’ Isaac said.
‘Samuel, he’s been with this gang,’ Billy said. His sister was telling him to be quiet.
‘Charisa, we’re investigating the murder of two women, one of them your mother,’ Isaac said.
‘If your brother’s in trouble, we may be able to help him. It’s best if you both tell the truth. Is his disappearance related to your mother?’ Wendy asked.
‘Not that we know of,’ Billy said.
‘Did your mother know what Samuel was up to?’
‘Some of it. We tried to shield her from it.’
‘Such as?’
‘The drug dealing, the fights, one of them fatal.’
‘Who died?’
‘Someone from another gang.’
‘Which means reprisals. You know that, don’t you?’ Isaac said.
‘We know it, but Samuel, he’s full of himself, sees himself as invincible.’
‘And you suspect the other gang has him?’
‘Yes.’
‘Are you sure his disappearance has nothing to do with your mother?’
‘We don’t know, but we don’t think so.’
Isaac phoned Larry, who had met up with some of his contacts. ‘What are they telling you?’ Isaac said.
‘Not a lot. If they know anything, they’ll keep quiet.’
‘Remember, Samuel Devon is a disappearance; his mother is murder. They may not be related.’
‘And how does this tie in with Amelia Brice?’
Bridget knocked on the door of the conference room and came in. ‘Christine Devon worked for a home-cleaning company. One of their clients was Jeremy Brice.’
‘Is it confirmed that Christine Devon worked at the house?’
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br /> ‘On several occasions. If the regular cleaner was off sick, the dead woman substituted for her.’
‘Dates?’
‘The last time was one week ago, a Thursday.’
‘Can we find out if Amelia Brice was at home?’
‘It may be best if you do that,’ Bridget said.
Another phone call from Larry. Isaac left the room where Christine Devon’s other children were. ‘What is it?’ Isaac said.
‘It appears that our Samuel Devon has been associating with the wrong kind of people.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘My contact, we helped him out once before…’
‘My former classmate at school.’
‘That’s him, Rasta Joe. He’s not willing to talk too much. The gang that Samuel is with are known for their violence. They were using Samuel to transport drugs around the area and throughout London. Apparently, a young man in school uniform is less likely to be picked up by the police.’
‘At least his education came in useful,’ Isaac said.
‘There appears to have been a dispute between his gang and another that he was delivering to. There was a confrontation.’
‘According to his brother and sister, one of the other gang was killed.’
‘Rasta Joe wasn’t going to tell me that.’
‘Was it his gang?’
‘No. He’s a mean individual, but he’s small time compared to the others. Anyway, Samuel is being blamed by both sides for lightening the load that he was carrying.’
‘Was he?’
‘According to Rasta, it’s unlikely. The packaging is tight, and a schoolboy wouldn’t have the knowledge of how to fiddle the amounts.’
‘So why blame him?’
‘You know the deal, guv. They need a scapegoat, a sacrificial lamb.’
‘And Samuel may have been offered up?’
‘It’s possible.’
‘Any chance of finding him?’
‘Not alive. Rasta Joe’s given me as much as he’s got, and he’s not going to stick his neck out. I can’t blame him.’
DCI Isaac Cook Box Set 1 Page 125