‘Not for what she did to my daughter, but she was, still is, a driven woman. I can admire people who know what they want and will do anything to get it.’
‘Even sleeping with someone else’s partner?’
‘Life’s a bitch, DCI. You must know that.’
‘I do, but I don’t go sleeping with my friends’ partners.’
‘She did, and now Quentin’s living well, in line to take over his father-in-law’s chairmanship of the bank.’
‘Amelia’s diary implied that she was still in contact with the man. Are you?’
‘I see him from time to time.’
‘And his wife?’
‘Yes. There’s nothing wrong with that, is there?’
‘Not in itself. Did Amelia know?’
‘We never spoke about it, but yes, she would have known. And besides, she broke up with Quentin some time ago. People move on with their lives.’
‘Not according to Amelia. She was in fear of the man.’
‘I don’t see why. Quentin is perfectly charming.’
‘Don’t tell me that he wouldn’t harm a fly.’
‘He’s an ambitious man, he would have trodden on a few toes in his time. No doubt you’ll find others out there who didn’t appreciate him. You’ll find plenty who don’t like me, not that it bothers me.’
Isaac could not be sure whether the man was telling the truth or lying through his teeth. On the radio, Brice would fluctuate between aggressive and passive, charitable and hard-nosed. He’d suck up to one politician, belittle another. If he could do that, then the pretence of helping a murder investigation would not be difficult, and it was his daughter who had died. He had shown no concern over the death of Christine Devon, yet on the radio he would be sympathetic to a woman whose husband needed medical treatment that they couldn’t afford or he would be organising delivery of much-needed help to a pensioner in trouble. Yet a black woman who had cleaned his house had not caused the man to do anything. Not even an offer of help or concern for her children.
Larry’s wife always listened to Brice on the radio, and was one of his most avid fans; he knew she’d be jealous that he was meeting with the man. He wasn’t sure why he did not like the man when they finally met; maybe it was because of his wife droning on about what he had said or done that day, or because instinctively he did not believe a word the man was saying.
‘Mr Brice, we intend to talk to Quentin Waverley and his wife,’ Larry said. ‘We need to understand the references in your daughter’s diary to him. If we find any disparity in his account and yours we will need to question you again.’
‘If you’ve no more questions, you’ll need to excuse me,’ Brice said. ‘It’s late, and I have had a busy day.’
Isaac and Larry realised that Brice had been careful in what he said, not always answering the question posed. For the time being, he could wait. They knew they would be meeting him again.
***
Samuel Devon’s funeral was at the same church as his mother. Isaac had attended, not only as a police officer, but also as a friend of the family. It was clear that his sister admired the DCI, a feeling that was reciprocated. Isaac could see himself in the young woman: articulate, educated, aiming to better herself.
Charisa Devon was in the front pew of the church, her boyfriend on one side, Billy Devon on the other. The boyfriend had his arm around Charisa, pulling her in closer to him when the woman faltered due to the emotion of the ceremony. She had read a passage from the Bible, and then, unexpectedly, eulogised her dead brother, and how it was a life wasted, a light extinguished.
Isaac could recognise the passion behind what Charisa said, not the truth. He had seen too many take the same road that Samuel Devon had. The gangs were seductive, he remembered that. The chance to do what you want, to indulge in what you could not afford. If you wanted an expensive car, you took one. If you wanted a Rolex watch, the same solution, and if you wanted money and women, then they were available in equal measure. Of the twenty-eight students that had been in his final class at school, four had succeeded, himself included, another fifteen were still in the area battling away at mediocre jobs, six were either in jail or dead.
‘It’s a good send-off,’ Rasta Joe said, one of three remaining from that class who should be in jail. The man had taken a seat next to Isaac on his arrival though neither man liked the other.
‘Did you know Samuel?’ Isaac asked.
‘In passing. He was always polite. I knew his mother, that’s all.’
‘How?’
‘I took her out a few times when we were younger.’
‘She was a few years older than us,’ Isaac said.
‘It didn’t last long, and besides, she was uptight.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Not receptive to my charms.’
‘You didn’t sleep with her?’
‘She was into religion and how it was a sin to indulge in sexual relations outside of marriage.’
‘It’s a good enough sentiment,’ Isaac said.
‘Maybe it is, not that I’d know. It certainly didn’t stop her husband putting it around.’
‘What happened to him?’
‘I’ve no idea, and that’s the honest truth.’
‘We’re still focussing on the death of Amelia Brice. You knew her?’
‘Not really. We all knew who she was, but she’d come into the pub, line up a likely candidate and take him outside.’
‘Sex?’
‘That’s a polite word for it. Once she was finished with him, she’d either have a few drinks or disappear.’
‘If she had chosen you?’
‘I’d have gone outside, but I’ve got more than I can handle.’
Billy Devon, the eldest child, gave a eulogy as well: long on praise, short on his brother’s failings. In fact, the young man’s death and the reason for it were glossed over.
Isaac did a scan of the church, and after the ceremony he stood close to the door, trying to see who he knew, who he didn’t. In there, he supposed, might be a murderer.
Charisa approached him as he stood to one side. ‘Thank you for coming. Samuel would have appreciated it.’ Isaac doubted that the dead man would have welcomed him there, but he understood that it was politeness on her part.
‘How are you and Billy going?’
‘We manage from day to day. Have you found out who killed Samuel?’
‘Not yet.’
‘And our mother?’’
‘We’re working on it. We’ve some possibilities, nothing concrete. Just one question.’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Was your mother an honest woman?’
‘Too honest for her own good.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘That dump we lived in. It belongs to the council, but if it had been me, I’d have refused to pay and taken them to court for their failure to fix it up, but not our mother. She paid the rent every month without complaint.’
It sounded litigious to Isaac, the sort of thing that an American boyfriend would come up with. He knew that the council was not the problem; it was the wasted effort that in most cases they would fix it up one day, only for it to be vandalised the next.
‘What are your plans?’
‘I’ve told you before. As soon as I have my visa for America, I’ll be going there with Troy.’
‘A complicated process?’
‘It is wasn’t for Troy, I’d stay here. Billy would prefer it if I stayed.’
‘He could always go to America.’
‘Not him. They’ll only let him in if he has a degree, something to offer. His working in a shop is not a skill they’re in desperate need of.’
Charisa Devon excused herself and went to speak to the other mourners. Isaac took a step back from where he was to allow himself a more unobstructed view. Over to one side, Rasta Joe was talking to some other men. He was sure that they were bartering the price of drugs, judging by the gesticulating of their fingers. Billy Devo
n was standing on his own. Isaac went over to him. ‘A good send-off,’ Isaac said.
‘I suppose so, but he shouldn’t have died.’
‘Have you been tempted to take up crime?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘Don’t go there,’ Isaac said. ‘I don’t want to be pulling you out of the river.’
‘I won’t. Our mother brought us up well, taught us right from wrong.’
‘It didn’t help Samuel.’
‘Not him. It’s a shame, but there it is.’
Isaac realised that he was not likely to get much more out of the man. He excused himself and saw no one else of interest. The funeral procession to the cemetery left. Isaac did not attend the get-together later that day. Instead, he returned to Challis Street.
Chapter 7
Shirley O’Rourke cursed Christine Devon. ABC Cleaning, a byword for excellence, or at least that was what it said on the door, did not need the police inside its office, and now they’d been twice in as many days.
‘Mrs O’Rourke, is it possible that your employees were stealing?’
‘We spoke about this yesterday. They’ve got nothing, and then they’re in Aladdin’s Cave.’ The owner sat back in her chair. Wendy Gladstone could see that it was an attempt to be nonchalant, although she had been around enough villains to know the woman was unnerved.
‘It would be easy for someone in your company to coordinate these activities. It’s a viable theory for the death of Christine Devon.’
‘How, what do you mean?’
‘The cleaners take photos on their phone. Someone else with the necessary knowledge makes a judgement call on what should be taken and when. Nothing too obvious, but the rich tend to leave money and jewellery around the house. A lot of the people would not even register the missing item and then claim insurance. Is that what’s happened here?’
‘Are you accusing me?’ Shirley O’Rourke said.
‘Not you directly, but it’s a hypothesis.’
‘I vet my people.’
‘But you take advantage of desperate people, pay them a pittance, cream off plenty.’
‘That’s slanderous. I’m a businesswoman. I’ve done nothing to be ashamed of.’
‘Christine Devon was an honest woman. If she had not done anything wrong, you would have sacked her within a few months.’
‘I’ve told you this once.’
‘I can’t prove it yet, but you’ve been stealing from these houses and fencing the goods. The people who clean for you don’t have the contacts. They may help themselves to some money lying around, take food from the fridge to feed their families, but the big money is in the jewellery, the antiques. Maybe you’re in collusion with some of the house owners.’
Shirley O’Rourke raised her bulk from her chair and steadied herself with one hand on her desk. ‘How dare you come in here with such accusations. I will report this matter to the relevant authorities.’
‘I’ll give you the number,’ Wendy said. ‘And besides, I have a warrant to seize all of your accounts and employee records.’
‘How, why?’
‘A court order. We’ve done some research into you and this company. Also, we know about your time in jail for fraud.’
‘That was a long time ago. You could have asked for my records.’
‘And allowed you time to shred or delete them? I’ll also need the password for your computer.’
‘I’ll have my lawyer onto you.’
‘Mrs O’Rourke, please take whatever steps that you feel appropriate.’ Wendy made a phone call. Soon after, two men, one woman came into the office. ‘These people are from Fraud. They will take all that they require. You can either assist them or not.’
***
Isaac had been told that Quentin Waverley was an agreeable man. That was not the impression that he and Larry formed on meeting the man.
Isaac had made the appointment earlier in the day and had received a brusque reply when he mentioned what it was about. Waverley had attempted to suggest that the bank’s legal team would look into the validity of Isaac’s request to meet that day. Isaac had to inform him that he was possibly implicated in the death of Amelia Brice and if he wanted his legal team to assist, he’d better tell them that fact first.
After Isaac had held his ground, two in the afternoon was agreed on.
Both the police officers had to admit that Waverley had an excellent office: fifteenth floor, panoramic vista of the city of London, personal assistant in the other room. ‘My time’s limited,’ Waverley said.
‘Amelia Brice?’
‘What about her?’ Waverley replied. Isaac could see that he was a confident man by the way he sat in his chair. The man’s office was expensively decorated, original oil paintings on the wall, plush carpet on the floor, in contrast to the central area of the merchant bank: functional and businesslike with tiled floors and open-plan offices.
‘You were in a relationship with her.’
‘For some time. We even lived together, but that’s in the past.’
‘We have reason to believe that you were still in contact with her up to the time of her death.’
‘I wasn’t and why do you believe that?’
‘In her diary, it mentions a Q on several occasions.’
‘Is that it?’
‘It is clearly you.’
‘Why? I’m not the only person with a Q in their name, and even then, it may mean something else.’
‘A type of code?’ Larry said.
‘Amelia liked to play games. I suggest that you both leave and come back here when you’ve done your research. For your record, we broke up some years ago. Since then I have married. I have no wish to relive the past.’
‘Not the part where Amelia caught you in bed with her friend?’
‘Not that part or any other part.’
‘Are you saying that she did catch you?’
‘Who have you been talking to, her father?’
‘Yes.’
‘Jeremy’s fine. We keep in contact.’
‘Why, if your relationship with his daughter was fractured?’
‘Fractured? I’m not sure I understand the word. Our relationship came to an end, that’s all.’
‘And you’ve not spoken to her since.’
‘Not by choice. I saw her in a restaurant once. We acknowledged each other.’
‘Was your wife with you?’
‘Not that time.’
‘Have there been other times?’
‘There may have been, but none come to mind. How do you deal with old lovers?’
‘We need to establish your relationship with Amelia Brice,’ Isaac said.
‘There was no relationship. She caught me with another woman. We were virtually separated by that time. Amelia made a scene and stormed out of the place. After that, I’ve not spoken to her.’
***
The strongest motive for the murders of Amelia Brice and Christine Devon lay with the cleaning company. Isaac knew, as did his team, that most people tend to overvalue their assets, mainly for insurance purposes. Even Isaac believed that his flat was worth more than the current property market would pay, and those with wealth would have no difficulty overvaluing their jewellery, the most likely items to be stolen. But that would require a police report of theft. Bridget was assisting Fraud to make some checks. Fraud was also going through the records of Shirley O’Rourke’s cleaning company. The woman had instructed her lawyer to take action for their return.
So far, the employees were known and the addresses recorded. It was not thought likely than any ill-gotten gains would be registered, and they would probably have been deposited into an offshore account or would be in cash. With the addresses of the premises that had been cleaned, they’d be able to compare them with the insurance company claims. If they found any that matched, Mrs O’Rourke would be called in for further questioning.
Even so, Isaac knew it was a long stretch from theft and insurance fraud to a profess
ional assassination.
Superintendent Goddard was looking for a result, yet the only possibilities seemed weak. Amelia’s diary had revealed nothing more of interest, other than the usual day-to-day activities of a woman who was sometimes a little too direct about which man she had slept with, and their score out of one to ten. Further checking of the house had failed to find any more diaries, which concerned Isaac and Larry. An exhaustive check of all of the woman’s acquaintances had not discovered another Q, although after their meeting with Quentin Waverley, they had come away uncertain about him. Checks into his background showed that his expertise was excellent. He came across as a competent man. There had even been a picture of him in a magazine with the blushing bride on the day they got married. Isaac had studied the image and had to agree with Jeremy Brice that Gwen Waverley was an attractive woman, although not as appealing as Amelia had been. And now the Waverleys had a child, another on the way.
In Homicide, it was time for the regular early morning meeting. Bridget had organised the coffee, Larry was working his way through one of his wife’s healthy snacks, saying little, just pulling a strange face as he took a bite. None of the others commented although they all enjoyed the entertainment. Wendy could empathise as she had managed to lose some weight in the last few months; it had piled on after she had quit smoking, and the walks around the block before breakfast were doing her good.
Bridget, not subject to the strenuous medical that Wendy would have, and not troubled by arthritis, felt no need to diet and no need to exercise. Each morning she’d be into the bacon and eggs, while Wendy would be on muesli.
‘What have we got?’ Isaac asked the team. He was sitting back, pleased that he had found himself a potential new girlfriend. They had been out for a meal the night before, but it was early days, and they hadn’t gone back to his flat afterwards. He had liked the woman, did not want to ruin it with an ill-timed move, and besides, she had made it clear that she took her relationships seriously and she was not into one-night stands.
‘Is it possible that it is Christine Devon who was the primary target?’ Wendy asked.
‘We’ve considered this before,’ Isaac said, ‘but the woman has no history. Apart from a few friends at her church, she kept to herself.’
DCI Isaac Cook Box Set 1 Page 129