***
Wendy Gladstone met up with Shirley O’Rourke. The woman had been released on her own surety; her trial was in six weeks’ time.
‘There’s a good chance I’ll get off,’ Shirley O’Rourke said.
The two women met in a restaurant close to Challis Street. ‘Your business?’ Wendy asked. She had to admit that the woman who sat next to her looked better than previously.
‘I’ve closed it, sold my house.’
‘I thought you liked that house?’
‘I did, but mounting a good defence costs money.’
‘I’m sorry about that.’
‘There’s nothing to be sorry about. I committed the offence, I’ll admit to it, but I’ll state extenuating circumstances: recent divorce, family tragedy.’
‘Are they true?’
‘In part. I’ll leave it up to my lawyer. And if I serve time, I’ve still enough money to live well. It’s strange, when I was there in that office, all that I wanted was money. Greed, I suppose, but now a comfortable life, free of worry, will do me.’
Wendy felt some kindness for the woman. A waiter came over, the two women ordered.
‘And what about you, Sergeant Gladstone?’ Shirley O’Rourke said.
‘Another few more years, and then I’ll take it easy.’
‘The same as me.’
‘You were ruthless in business. You did not always treat your employees well.’
‘I’ll not deny it. Business is tough, and I was tougher than most. Maybe I regret some of it, but not much. It was fun while it lasted.’
‘We’ve still not solved the murders of Amelia Brice and Christine Devon.’
‘You’ve had some success. I read about it in the newspaper.’
‘The murder of one man.’
‘And the others?’
‘Innocent until proven guilty. We’ll put those responsible in prison, but for other crimes.’
‘Amelia used to go around with some rough men.’
‘Rasta Joe, did you know him?’
‘Not really. I used to see most of the gang members from time to time. They were always civil to me.’
‘Violent men.’
‘Not with me. I never had any trouble with them.’
‘Why do you think Amelia liked them?’
‘Amelia was rich, spoilt, never worked a day in her life, or not seriously anyway. She was looking for the thrill, the chance to walk on the wild side.’
‘Anyone she preferred in particular?’
‘I wasn’t taking any notice. I knew her, of course. We’d say hello, nothing more. What she got up to wasn’t my business.’
‘But you were friendly with her father?’
‘He never asked me to keep a watch out for her.’
‘He must have been disturbed by her behaviour. Did he ever mention it?’
‘Only once.’
‘Did you ever see Amelia leave the pub with anyone in particular?’
‘Not me. I’d leave early. I saw her there once with another woman.’
‘Who?’
‘The one that she shared the house with.’
‘Gwen Waverley?’
‘Gwen, yes, her. I never knew her surname.’
‘When was this?’
‘One year, maybe longer. The woman didn’t stay long.’
‘According to our information, they were no longer friends then.’
‘I don’t think they were when I saw them. The other woman, she wasn’t into the Rasta men, not like Amelia, and Amelia looked angry.’
‘You’ve not mentioned this before.’
‘It was a long time before her death.’
‘It’s relevant,’ Wendy said. ‘Anything else you’ve not told us?’
‘No, that’s it. I just saw the woman that one time.’
The two women ate their meals. They shared a bottle of wine, chatted like old friends. Wendy was anxious to finish the meal and to get back to Challis Street with what to her was vital information; Shirley O’Rourke was happy to take her time.
It was two hours later when the two women parted with a brief hug. Wendy had arrested the other woman, but there was no lasting animosity.
***
Superintendent Caddick came looking for a friend. Isaac knew that he would only offer him civility. The presence of the man, agitated and looking lost, in his office had come as something of a surprise to Isaac. Usually, the man’s visits had been those of a blustering senior attempting to throw his weight around, but not this time.
‘DCI, Isaac, we need to wrap up these investigations.’
‘We’re working as hard as we can.’
‘What do you have that I can pass on?’
‘Pass on to who?’
‘I have people to report to, the same as you.’
Isaac did not feel inclined to talk. Wendy’s brief message had intrigued him, and she was due in the office in five minutes. He wanted to see her, not his superintendent.
‘We are doing our best,’ Isaac said.
‘Do you need my help?’ Caddick said. Isaac knew that something was wrong, but he did not know what. He had been told of Caddick from other stations, even seen it himself in the past, but the man’s behaviour was out of character.
‘This department needs a free hand, and I need to be more actively involved,’ Isaac said. Whatever he said to the man, he, at least, intended to act professionally.
‘You have a free hand.’
‘Not with these reports that I have to submit.’
‘Okay, forget the detail for the time being,’ Caddick said. Isaac sensed a minor victory, but not because of his persuasive argument.
‘Thank you. We have a development. I will be pursuing this with my team. I will keep you informed.’
Caddick sat still, unsure how to proceed. Upstairs, in his office, he had a presentation to prepare: full of facts, short on hyperbole. And downstairs, he got straight answers to straight questions, but nothing that would help him. He felt trapped, and not for the first time in his career. Sometimes, before, there had been a breakthrough at the right time, and he had been able to take the credit and to sideline the person who should have received it. Isaac Cook, he knew, was well-connected; a man who could not be moved easily. If the commissioner was not behind his superintendent, he was trapped. Caddick reacted in the way that a trapped animal does; he went on the attack.
‘DCI, I need results. I’ve let you off the reports, vital as they are, but I need something in return. You’ve got two days to wrap up this case.’
‘And then?’ Isaac saw the change, knew that something was happening.
‘I’ll bring in another man.’
‘You’ve not got the authority to remove me at such short notice. I will need a warning, and then there’ll need to be a handover.’
‘You can stay and assist.’
‘I’m due for some leave. It may be a good time,’ Isaac said, knowing full well that he did not intend to take leave, had no need to. But he had to see how far Caddick could be pushed.
‘You’re subject to regulations. Deserting a murder investigation at a crucial juncture will not be seen favourably.’
‘And what do you think changing out the SIO will be seen as? Superintendent, you’re in trouble, and you want me to help you out.’
‘I need support, not hostility,’ Caddick said, his voice raised.
‘There is no hostility here. We have shown respect for your title.’
‘But not for me.’
‘Respect is earned, not given.’
Caddick realised that he was indulging in an argument he could not win. He retreated from the office as Wendy came in. She acknowledged the man; he nodded his head in return.
Chapter 28
Gwen Waverley, aware of another visit from the Challis Street Homicide Department, had attempted to put them off. When her lawyer had questioned Isaac about why it was so important, considering that the woman’s father had just died, his reply was only
to say vital new evidence.
Isaac felt, as did Wendy, that Gwen Waverley and Amelia Brice meeting was significant, and if Shirley O'Rourke's timing was correct, then Gwen was already married to the other’s former lover.
The door at the Waverley house was opened reluctantly. Ushered into the living room, Isaac and Wendy were given tea. They sat patiently waiting.
After a few minutes, the sliding door from the dining room opened, and Gwen Waverley came through. ‘We can do it here or in the dining room,’ she said.
‘Here will be fine,’ Isaac said.
Another man came in. ‘This is my lawyer, Bruce Bamford,’ Gwen said. Isaac and Wendy shook the man’s hand. Isaac had not met him before.
‘I believe that you’ve questioned my client excessively,’ Bamford said.
‘My apologies, but this is a murder enquiry,’ Isaac said.
‘Very well. Could you please ask your questions and leave.’
‘Mrs Waverley,’ Isaac turned to face the woman. ‘We have confirmed that on one occasion you met with Amelia Brice.’
‘Not since she caught me with Quentin.’
‘According to a reliable source, you met her at the Westbourne pub in Bayswater about one year ago. At that time, you would have been married to your husband. Our witness will testify in court that this is correct.’
‘Do you have a date?’ Bamford asked.
‘We are obtaining more precise information, but no. At this present time, our statement is correct, the date is to be confirmed.’
‘Then it’s not admissible.’
‘It’s alright,’ Gwen said. ‘I did meet her one time.’
‘But you’ve always denied it,’ Isaac said.
‘I had hoped to conceal the fact about my husband and Amelia.’
‘Did you confront her?’
‘At the pub, yes. It was the only time, that’s the truth. I knew she was going up there of a night, and I needed to tell her to back off.’
Wendy could see the woman was flustered.
‘Do you believe that your husband was having an affair with Amelia Brice?’ Isaac said.
‘He was still sleeping with her, I know that.’
‘Your husband has always denied it.’
‘My husband is a liar. The man can’t help himself.’
‘You’re husband is the Q that is mentioned in Amelia Brice’s diary?’
‘I believe so.’
‘You’ve denied this in the past. In fact, Mrs Waverley, you have a habit of contradicting yourself. If your husband was having an affair with her, why was she so frightened of him?’
‘That’s Amelia. She was always a little strange.’
‘Tell us about that night at the pub.’
‘I found her there. It was early in the evening, too early for the men she liked to have come in. I went and sat down next to her.’
‘What was her reaction?’
‘She was shocked to see me there. She said nothing at first.’
‘And then after?’
‘For a while, we were old friends again, laughing and joking. Eventually, we got around to Quentin and how I’d stolen him away from her, and how he wanted to go back to her. That’s according to Amelia.’
‘Is it true?’
‘Which part?’
‘Both.’
‘I didn’t steal him. Their romance was on the rocks. I wanted Quentin, always did, so I made sure he was mine. You know the story, so don’t ask me to repeat it.’
‘Did your husband want to go back to her?’
‘She thought so, and no doubt, in the heat of passion, he would have said what she wanted to hear. My husband, DCI Cook, is a philanderer.’
‘And you do not object?’ Wendy said.
‘Of course I object, but men such as Quentin have large egos that need to be fed. He’ll stay with me and be a good father to our children.’
‘But your husband continued to see her. According to her diary, up until just before she died. Mrs Waverley, why did Amelia Brice die? Why did Christine Devon die? What did they know?’
‘This questioning is unacceptable,’ Gwen Waverley’s lawyer said.
‘It’s either here or at Challis Street today. The reason for the two women’s deaths is in this house,’ Isaac said. ‘It’s either Mrs Waverley or her husband, and I don’t know which of the two, if either, is telling the truth.’
Wendy thought that her DCI was pushing hard, a tactic he had used in the past. Rapid-fire questions, trying to break the slow and reasoned answers of the other person, but she knew that Gwen Waverley was unlikely to make a mistake.
It was clear that the woman was uncomfortable with the situation. She looked over at her lawyer, hoping that he could help her. She had nothing to answer to; on the contrary, she was innocent of all charges, bar the one of being ambitious and driven. Gwen Waverley looked over at the two questioning her: one, a woman in her fifties, her accent indicative of her background, the other, a smart, attractive man, not English heritage. She felt that she should be judged and questioned by her peers, not those that she deemed inferior. She thought back to that night in the pub with Amelia, the fascination that her former friend had for the men that came in. The place had repulsed her. It hadn’t in the past, but she had moved on from being rebellious and an easy lay.
To her, Quentin Waverley had been the ideal subject for her to snare: well-educated, well-spoken, a good family, good breeding stock. The fact that he was a man who could lead her father’s bank when he was gone was a benefit. She remembered how she had snared him, knowing that he loved Amelia, but then, how could he not. Gwen knew that Amelia was a woman that men found attractive, a willowy blonde with an approachable personality, whereas she was not.
The two women had met at boarding school: one, the child of an abrasive media personality, the other, the child of a punctilious banker. They should not have been friends, but they bonded from day one. After that, at school and after they had left, where one was, so was the other. When one was getting drunk, or making out with a boy or, in later years, a man, so was the other, and then Quentin came into Amelia’s life, and her friend started to change.
And then the bond that had made Amelia and her almost like sisters was broken.
Gwen had never felt such loneliness, she knew that. Her father was a cold man; a man who would indulge her every whim, but not a man who was capable of showing affection, not even to her mother, who had remained steadfastly in the family home, rarely venturing out, until she had succumbed in her late sixties to cancer.
Her father had battled on, sorry that she had gone, but then he had his personal assistant. Not that it shocked or concerned Gwen, as that was what powerful men did.
After Amelia had spent time with Quentin, even moving in with him, Gwen had confided in her father about her love for the man, the possibility that he may be the solution to the lack of a male heir to take over the bank. Her father would have let her have the chairmanship, but she did not have the necessary financial acumen. It wasn’t a major issue, and it was not enough to prevent her passing her exams at school, even obtaining a degree in English, but it was enough to make it impossible for her to consider taking on the bank. That needed a genius-level understanding of finance and the law.
Quentin Waverley had all the right attributes; her father had checked him out, even met his parents. In the end, George and Gwen Happold had put in place a plan, a plan that would upset Amelia, but as her father had said, you can’t make an omelette without breaking an egg. But it was her friend, and she was going to steal her man away from her.
‘Mrs Waverley,’ Wendy said, ‘is it a fact that your treatment of Amelia led to her disruptive behaviour?’
‘Yes, I believe that, but I can’t be expected to shoulder the blame for her death. People fall in love, fall out of love, move on, but she couldn’t. She remained committed to Quentin, and he was back there, sniffing around.’
‘But she was frightened of him, you know that. Do
you know why?’
‘No, even assuming he is the Q.’
‘We are convinced that he is,’ Isaac said. ‘Why would she be frightened? You say your husband was sleeping with the woman. We are certain that you, Mrs Waverley, know the truth, the same as your father always knew the truth.’
‘Okay, Amelia knew that I had been sleeping with her father.’
‘Jeremy Brice?’
‘That’s the only father she’s got.’
‘Even if it sounds bizarre, why is that a problem?’
‘It’s not now.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘It was before I married Quentin. I was young, promiscuous, and Jeremy, he was there a lot of the time. One thing led to another, and we ended up sleeping together. Satisfied now?’
‘Why is it not a problem now?’
‘My father detested the man; Jeremy detested him. It goes back some time, and if my father had known about Jeremy and me, he would have probably changed his will.’
‘To what?’
‘I don’t know. He could have even considered not leaving me the fifty-one per cent share of the bank. He could have set up a consortium to run it, maybe even sold it.’
‘His anger would have been that severe?’
‘My father was no saint, but my sleeping with an older man would have been enough.’
‘Even after you were married?’
‘Don’t get me wrong. He wouldn’t have left me penniless, but I wouldn’t have the bank.’
‘It’s that important?’
‘To me it is.’
‘And Quentin knew about this?’
‘Amelia, whenever she saw him, she’d bring it up, and how she was going to tell my father about my sleeping with hers.’
‘Are you now telling us that you knew about your husband and Amelia?’
‘I knew. He was still in love with her, and with me. He was confused, that’s all.’
‘And you removed that confusion by having her killed? But why Christine Devon? Did she know about you and Jeremy Brice?’
‘You’re leading my client,’ Bamford said. ‘ Mrs Waverley will not answer any more questions today.’
DCI Isaac Cook Box Set 1 Page 145