Farhan Ahmed, the previous detective inspector, had taken the opportunity of a transfer and a promotion up north. Isaac had wished him well, although the detective inspector’s involvement with a former high-class escort, now a lawyer, was hampering further advancement opportunities.
Constable Wendy Gladstone was on board. He would see if she could be made up to sergeant, even though her abrasive nature had precluded this in the past, and exhaling cigarette smoke as she entered the office annoyed Isaac, and he had still not spoken to her about it. He knew that he should, but she had enough on her plate with a husband in a parlous state, even looked close to expiring due to a respiratory condition. Wendy did not speak about him much, only to say that dementia had set in, and he was too difficult for her to handle. Reluctantly, she had placed him in a nursing home, although she visited every day.
Bridget Halloran had been brought in closer to the team on Wendy’s request. Previously the CCTV viewing officer, she had taken on extra responsibilities in collating all the documentation for the team. Wendy was pleased, as she was a good friend.
***
‘DCI Cook, a summation please,’ Detective Chief Superintendent Goddard asked, anxious to start the meeting. Isaac could do without his constant input, his need to be updated and to offer advice, but they went back a long time. Two people separated by age and rank, although each regarded the other as a friend, not just a work colleague. Richard Goddard had asked Isaac to call him Richard on social occasions, but it was too hard for him to acquiesce. It was either ‘sir’ or ‘Detective Chief Superintendent’.
Larry Hill had arrived earlier, pleased that he was joining the team. He and Isaac had met on a previous case when the DI had been the investigating officer.
‘This is the situation so far.’ Isaac commenced his outline of the case. ‘54 Bellevue Street, Holland Park. Family of four, husband, wife, and two children, both under thirteen. They had recently moved in after the husband transferred down from Manchester. The house, judging by its condition, needs a lot of renovation. Would you agree, Larry?’
‘A lot of work, a lot of money.’
Isaac continued. ‘The house is over one hundred and thirty years old. It is a substantial three-storey construction that is showing the wear and tear of many years of neglect. No doubt one of the slum dwellings of the fifties and sixties, but the area is now gentrified and upmarket. However, it appears to have been rented out as single room bedsits during the nineties. After that, we believe that it has remained unoccupied up until the Baxters moved in, disputed property by all accounts. We’ll need to investigate the history further.’
‘Any name for the body?’ Goddard asked.
‘Not yet,’ Larry Hill said.
‘Gordon Windsor will let us know as soon as he can, but at this present time we are assuming the body to be male, aged in his thirties. No more at this time, as the body was wrapped in some blankets and tied with rope,’ Isaac said.
‘The cause of death?’ Wendy Gladstone asked.
‘We’ll need to wait for confirmation.’
‘It’s not much to go on,’ DCS Goddard said.
‘Not much, sir. Bridget, can you check out the history of the house: who has lived there, who owned it? Wendy, follow up on any relevant names, go and visit.’
‘Yes, sir,’ they both answered.
‘Larry, can you get back to the house, see how the investigating team is going? See what else they can find.’
‘DCI, what about you?’ Goddard asked.
‘I’ll stay here, put the team together, keep in contact with Gordon Windsor.’
***
Larry Hill quickly returned to the house. Trevor Baxter was there, upset that he was not allowed in until a thorough investigation was completed. The Baxters were not unreasonable people, just concerned that it was their house where the body had been found. Apparently, his wife was now talking about returning at some stage. Larry had to explain that it could be some weeks, possibly longer, before they would be given clear access. Trevor Baxter had been offered a serviced two-bedroom apartment by his company for a month, and they were moving in that day.
The crime scene investigation team did not have much to say, other than the house was in a reasonable if neglected state. Apart from the body, they did not expect to find much more of interest, and after thirty years, they were hardly likely to find any fingerprints or DNA. In fact, they assumed they would come up with nothing, other than where the wood that had concealed the body and the fireplace had come from, maybe some information on the screws used. They did not see themselves being on the premises for longer than a day.
Larry phoned Isaac with the news. It was not unexpected. With little to be achieved, he returned to Challis Street, passing by his old station to wish them well and to tidy his desk. Detective Chief Superintendent Goddard had pulled some strings, and the transfer to the Murder Investigation Team had been immediate.
Wendy and Bridget, glad to be working together, were looking into the history of the house. Bridget, a dab hand with a computer, quickly found out the salient facts regarding the house: built in 1872, and purchased by a wealthy businessman who had made his money with a few upmarket clothing stores. A local newspaper of the period attested to the fact. After that, a succession of owners: one who had committed suicide in the back bedroom in the twenties, as the economy went into a severe depression, another who had spent time in prison for living off the illegal earnings of prostitution. Even one who had run for Parliament, but failed to receive more than three hundred votes. The 1950s and 1960s showed a period
