DCI Isaac Cook Box Set 1

by Phillip Strang

  ‘My daughter, what are you going to do there? It is my right as a grieving father to ask. And don’t tell me that you’re going to bring in someone to take over the investigation. I know what happened the last time. In the end, it was Detective Chief Inspector Cook, the man that you replaced, who brought the woman to justice, not your man.’

  Isaac sat back in his seat at the conclusion of Brice’s interview with Commissioner Alwyn Davies.

  ‘Hell,’ Larry said. ‘What’s next?’

  ‘Detective Chief Superintendent Richard Goddard,’ Isaac mumbled.

  Chapter 12

  After Jeremy Brice’s on-air interview with Commissioner Davies, the atmosphere inside Homicide was tense, as if they were waiting for the sword of Damocles to appear above their heads. Bridget, the least disturbed, made coffee for everyone. Larry took his black, the result of the night before with Rasta Joe. Wendy attempted to make conversation, although there were no takers.

  After ten minutes, they heard the melodious tones of DCS Goddard. The man had made the trip from his office to Homicide. Isaac, for once, was pleased to see him.

  ‘DCI, what do you make of all this?’ Goddard asked. He had closed the door to Isaac’s office on entering. Larry was still there. Outside, Wendy and Bridget attempted to make sense of the muffled sounds coming from the room.

  ‘At the end, he gave me an oblique compliment,’ Isaac said.

  ‘Brice wants his daughter’s murder to be solved.’

  ‘So do we. We’ve no motive for either of the women to be killed. We have our suspicions but nothing solid.’

  ‘Davies is going to go crazy. Be prepared for anything,’ Goddard said.

  ‘We’ll continue with the investigation. Any reason for Brice taking on Davies?’

  ‘Political, I assume.’

  ‘Assume or know?’

  ‘DI Hill, Larry, could you leave, please. I need to talk to DCI Cook in private.’

  Larry got up from his seat and went outside. He realised that politics, national and internal, were at play.

  ‘Isaac,’ Goddard said, ‘Brice was fed the information.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He wants his daughter’s death solved, that’s certain, and he also wants to get in with the senior politicians.’

  ‘Who fed him the information?’

  ‘There’s a move to shake up the Met. The prime minister wants Davies out; sees him as incompetent.’

  ‘But he doesn’t want to be seen to be openly against the man as it would undermine confidence in our police service,’ Isaac said.

  ‘Exactly. So Brice’s been fed certain information on the authority of someone senior; someone who must be seen to be impartial.’

  ‘Clothed in ermine, answers to the title of Lord?’

  ‘I can’t answer that question.’

  ‘The previous commissioner, Charles Shaw,’ Isaac said.

  ‘As you say,’ Goddard replied, a wry smile on his face. ‘They’ve been trying for the last year, but the man’s slippery. He keeps putting his people in authority, sidelining any who can cause him trouble.’

  ‘That would include you,’ Isaac said.

  ‘If he removes me, then I’ll sit it out.’

  ‘It doesn’t help with our investigations. I’ve still got three murders to solve.’

  ‘It does help. Hopefully, Davies will be too scared to bring his own people in now. The focus is on him and his supporters. His interview with Brice may bring you some protection, but you still need to wrap this up.’

  ***

  Billy Devon continued to work at the shop. The manager continued to keep the young man in his sight. It was clear that the situation was coming to a head. On the one hand, Billy was receiving the occasional phone call about the money he owed – ‘It’s now at twenty-six thousand. One more day and your sister will be paying off the interest.’ – and on the other hand was a man who expressed racist sentiments. Billy phoned Issac.

  ‘What about Charisa?’ Billy asked.

  ‘What about you?’ Isaac asked in reply.

  ‘They still intend to take Charisa.’

  ‘We’re aware of that. You’ll need to stall them when they want their money.’

  ‘But how? I’ve given you the money I had for them.’

  ‘I can attempt to protect you from criminal prosecution. I can’t protect you if you continue to go to work.’

  ‘I need to work. If they don’t see me here, they’ll take Charisa.’

  Isaac could see the truth of the situation. It was not possible to protect the two of them if one continued to work in a shop and the other continued to attend college. He phoned Charisa. ‘We need to protect you,’ he said.

  ‘But how? I can’t hide, not around here, and I’m not leaving.’

  ‘You’re aware of the situation.’

  ‘We’re trusting you,’ Charisa said.

  ‘That’s the problem. Officially, I can’t offer you protection. When’s Troy back from America?’

  ‘Not for another week.’

  Isaac knew that the situation was dangerous and the protection of two people was not his priority, not even his responsibility, but it was clear enough from Rasta Joe that Negril Bob would carry out his threat. Isaac took an unexpected action and phoned his former school friend. ‘Joe, we need to protect Billy and Charisa Devon,’ he said.

  Rasta Joe, pleased to hear from Isaac, said, ‘Negril Bob’s not a person to mess with.’

  ‘You’d have a better chance to protect them than we will.’

  ‘It’ll cost you,’ Rasta Joe said.

  ‘What’s the price?’

  ‘Your friendship.’

  ‘You know I can’t do that. You’re a gang leader; I’m a police officer.’

  ‘Then your trust in me to do the right thing.’

  ‘I wouldn’t phone you if I didn’t trust you. I want Billy and Charisa safe, and I know you won’t let me down.’

  ‘We’ll try, but you’d better be prepared in case it gets nasty.’

  ‘We’ll be there.’

  ‘What about Billy? He’s been stealing.’

  ‘I’ll deal with it,’ Isaac said. The two men ended the phone call.

  Isaac then phoned the owner of the shop where Billy worked. They arranged to meet later that day.

  ***

  Quentin Waverley met Jeremy Brice. The two men had been friends from the first time Amelia had brought her latest boyfriend home. ‘I heard you on the radio,’ Waverley said.

  ‘Were you still seeing Amelia?’ Brice asked.

  ‘Sometimes.’

  ‘You should have married her.’

  ‘I know,’ Waverley admitted. ‘She would have made a good wife.’

  ‘Yet you went and married her friend. You’ve been a bastard, you know that.’

  ‘I know that, but you’ve been one in your time.’

  ‘I still am. You heard how I spoke to the Met’s commissioner?’

  ‘You were tough.’

  ‘Did you kill my daughter?’ Brice asked.

  ‘Why would I do that?’

  ‘Because she would have told Gwen that you were still sleeping with her.’

  ‘Are you shocked?’

  ‘Why should I be? Amelia was a reflection of her parents; fidelity never meant very much to either of us, and with you, she would have been safe. You would have loved her, but you would have strayed. Does Gwen know?’

  ‘She does now. The police gave her a hint.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘That damn diary she kept. She referred to a Q. Gwen denied it was me to the police, but she confronted me. I told her the truth.’

  ‘A major mistake, Quentin. Never tell the truth until it can no longer be denied.’

  ‘I know, but I needed to make my peace with Gwen. There was no Amelia to confuse me.’

  ‘If Gwen had known, it would have been a motive for murder.’

  ‘Gwen could not have committed the murder, and besides, she’s pregnant.
She’d not be capable.’

  ‘Then someone else might be.’

  ‘She has a cousin she is fond of.’

  ‘His background?’

  ‘The best schools, British Army.’

  ‘Capable of murder?’

  ‘I’d say so.’

  ‘If he could have killed Amelia and the other woman, he could kill you as well. Is he a close cousin?’

  ‘First cousin. You don’t think…?’

  ‘I don’t think anything. If you didn’t kill Amelia…’

  ‘I didn’t. I loved the woman for all her faults; she loved me. It was Gwen who ensured I married her.’

  ‘You’d better check your claim on the bank and your father-in-law’s fortune. Make sure it comes to you, and not to her cousin.’

  And why was Amelia frightened of you, and why were you threatening her?’

  ‘You know the truth. Why ask me?’

  ***

  Even though it was still early and the weather was cold, Wendy found herself outside Shirley O’Rourke’s door. Inside the house, silence. Wendy knocked on the front door. After five minutes, it opened. Two suitcases stood in the hallway. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Are you leaving?’ Wendy said.

  ‘With you and your investigation, there’s not much for me to do here.’

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Greece.’

  ‘And if we need to contact you?’

  ‘My phone will be on roaming.’

  ‘Are you attempting to leave the country on a permanent basis?’

  ‘Why? I’ve done nothing wrong. I’ll be gone for two weeks, that’s all.’

  Wendy could not trust the woman. She phoned Isaac for advice. ‘You’ll need to tell her that her leaving the country at this time would not be advisable,’ he said.

  ‘Mrs O’Rourke, it would be preferable for you to stay in this country,’ Wendy said. ‘There are further questions relating to the deaths of Amelia Brice and Christine Devon. Also, the issue of bogus insurance claims, thefts from the houses where your staff worked, is ongoing.’

  ‘None of which applies to me. I had a good business, and then your snooping destroys it. Nearly twenty years down the drain. I should sue the police for maligning my good name.’

  ‘Your inability to keep your business viable is not our concern and was certainly not caused by us. You are welcome to lodge a complaint, but you’ll need to be in this country. There still remains the possibility that you are implicated in the murders, that somehow you had obtained knowledge about Amelia, were bribing her, or she knew something about you. The woman was not always stable, but maybe she saw you at the pub, or she saw one of your cleaners helping themselves to valuables in her house.’

  ‘Don’t you dare come into my house and accuse me of murder. I’m just a sharp businesswoman, that’s all. I’ve heard the scurrilous rumours before, by some of my neighbours included. How could such a woman, common as muck, make so much money. I’ll tell you: hard work, long hours, and watching every penny. There’s no inheritance for me. I made it myself, and if you think I’m going to lose it by murdering two women, one rich and lazy, the other as poor as a church mouse, then you’re sadly mistaken. Now, am I going on this holiday or not?’

  ‘It would be better if you stay,’ Wendy said, aware that the process to legally stop her would take time, probably more than it would take for Shirley O’Rourke to drive to Heathrow Airport.

  ‘Very well. You’d better come in for a cup of tea.’

  Apart from the suitcases, the state of the house gave the impression that the woman intended to come back. Wendy did not like the décor of the home, too dull for her. Nowhere were there photos of loved ones, a sign of an animal. It was a cold house, Wendy thought. Not the temperature, as it was warm enough, but it lacked what it was that made a house into a home.

  ‘Do you live here on your own?’ Wendy asked.

  ‘Nowadays. There was a Mr O’Rourke, but he took off. No great loss either.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘I was the driving force, not him. His idea of fun was sitting in front of the television, a beer in one hand, a cigarette in the other.’

  ‘You were not close?’ Wendy asked. It had been some time since her husband had passed away, and whereas sharing the house with Bridget had been a suitable arrangement, she still missed him occasionally.

  ‘We were at first, but you know what happens with time.’

  ‘You tell me.’

  ‘When you’re young, it’s the love that seems more important, but with time, and a lessening of the passion, it’s material assets that take over, a secure roof over your head.’

  ‘And you didn’t have those feelings.’

  ‘I did, but he didn’t. He was an eight-to-five man, five days a week. Sometimes, I’d be out cleaning all day, and then dealing with the paperwork until two or three in the morning.’

  ‘How long since he left?’

  ‘Nine, maybe ten years.’

  ‘And you’ve been on your own since then?’

  ‘The occasional man has found his way into the house, but only on a casual basis.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘What do you think I mean? They can spend the night and then out the next day before breakfast. I don’t want any of them thinking that I’m an easy touch.’

  ‘You’re a hard woman,’ Wendy said. They were both seated in the kitchen. Wendy knew that Shirley O’Rourke cheated on her taxes, paid her staff the minimum, almost certainly was involved in insurance fraud, theft if she could get away with it. However, the woman had a disarming honesty about her. For the first time, Wendy found her company amenable, and as for the lazy husband, both women had something in common.

  ‘I’m not hard. I was involved in a cut-throat business. There’s always someone trying to undercut you.’

  Chapter 13

  A man notoriously difficult to get hold of, Phillip Loeb made himself available when he was informed that a Detective Chief Inspector Isaac Cook from Homicide was outside his office.

  ‘Come in, Inspector,’ Loeb said, his hand extended. ‘What can I do for you?’

  It was not often that Isaac left the confines of London, but Loeb ran his shopping empire from Brighton, a seaside resort to the south of London. The man, not unknown to Isaac, not unknown to the majority of the population, had built up a chain of electrical goods stores throughout the country, thirty-five in total. Isaac had checked him out on the internet. How he had arrived in the country, a penniless refugee, a child, seventy years previously, and with time and an education, he had built up an impressive portfolio of real estate and stores. He was also known to be semi-reclusive, and not willing to venture far from his home if it could be avoided.

  ‘We’re investigating the murder of three persons.’

  ‘Is it anything to do with me?’

  ‘Indirectly.’

  ‘You’d better explain. Do I need my lawyer for this?’

  ‘I don’t think so. You’re not implicated, other than through one of your employees.’

  Both of the men were seated in comfortable leather chairs in Loeb’s office, a view out towards the sea and the pier. Out on the water, someone was windsurfing. Loeb’s personal assistant brought in a pot of tea with two cups and some biscuits. The PA gave Isaac a smile as she left, which he returned. He had been too long on his own, and the woman was attractive. He wanted to talk to her further, but first he had to deal with the reason he had driven down to Brighton.

  ‘You are aware of the murder of Jeremy Brice’s daughter, Amelia?’ Isaac said.

  ‘Brice, I’ve met the man, and yes, I’m aware. Tragic.’

  ‘Another woman was murdered at the same time.’

  ‘A cleaner at the house.’

  ‘Yes, that’s correct. You are more aware than most people of the facts.’

  ‘I like to keep in touch with current affairs. How does this affect me?’

  ‘The other woma
n, Christine Devon. She came from Trinidad, and she was doing it tough: three children, one running with a gang, the other two hardworking and honest.’

  ‘No money?’

  ‘Not a lot.’

  ‘You’ve still not explained what this has to do with me.’

  ‘The woman has been murdered; her youngest son has subsequently died.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘He was killed by one of the gangs in the area.’

  ‘And he was a gang member?’

  ‘He was, but he cheated them. He was only fifteen.’

  ‘The other children?’

  ‘The eldest son, Billy, is nineteen. The daughter, Charisa, is eighteen. Both of them are honest. Billy works for you, and Charisa, the more educated, is still in college.’

  ‘What do you want from me?’

  ‘The youngest son, Samuel, stole money from his gang, or maybe it’s a made-up story. The truth is not important. Billy is being threatened to reimburse the stolen money. He’s already been severely beaten, and they’ve threatened to take his sister as payment in lieu.’

  ‘As a hostage, or something worse?’

  ‘Something worse. These are dangerous men.’

  ‘I’ve experienced dangerous men, but that was a long time ago.’

  ‘These men will take the young woman, no doubt abuse her.’

  ‘And you want me to make up the money owing?’

  ‘That wasn’t my reason for coming to see you.’

  ‘What do you want then?’

  ‘Billy, he works in your store in Bayswater; he has been attempting to get the money they want. Please remember that Billy is not a thief, and he is a man with a good moral base.’

  ‘Has he been stealing from me?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You’re a police officer, why are you concerned about him?’

  ‘I don’t want another murder.’

  ‘It’s more than that.’

  ‘I grew up near to where they lived. I know the lure of the gangs. Some of my friends became involved, some of them still are, and some are dead. I just don’t want Billy Devon to end up the same way, and Charisa, the daughter, needs to be protected.’

  ‘You’ve taken a risk coming here today, haven’t you? I could have him charged with theft.’