‘If you must. You don’t want a cup of tea, do you?’
‘I wouldn’t mind,’ Larry said. Wendy wished he had not answered in the affirmative.
‘The room on the left. There are some chairs in there. I’ll be back in five minutes.’
Granted entry, Larry and Wendy moved to the room on the left. It was clear that it had not been used for many years. The dust pervaded the air as they disturbed it. Larry found a chair close to the window; Wendy, another near a magnificent open fireplace. The walls were adorned with a selection of oil paintings, some old, some valuable. One of the women portrayed, dressed in the style of the seventeenth century, bore a striking resemblance to the old lady who was now making them a cup of tea. Wendy hoped the hygiene would be a little better this time; realised it probably would not.
Ten minutes later, Gertrude Richardson returned with one cat following. It made straight for Larry and jumped up on his lap. ‘I’ve never seen that before,’ the woman said.
‘I have a couple of cats at home,’ Larry said. ‘We’re very fond of them, the wife and I.’
‘If my cat likes you, then so will I.’
‘Do you get many people in here?’ Wendy asked. She had made sure to choose what looked to be the cleanest cup.
‘There’s a woman who comes once a week to check on me and bring my shopping.’
‘You don’t go?’ Larry asked.
‘I’ve not been out of the front gate in five years.’
‘That’s a long time,’ Wendy said.
‘There’s nothing out there that interests me.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘As long as I’ve got my cats, then I want nothing else.’
‘We met up with your sister,’ Larry said.
‘I told her.’ The old woman looked in Wendy’s direction. ‘I don’t have a sister.’
‘The woman with your name,’ Wendy reminded her.
‘What did she have to say?’
‘She told us that you fell out with her over a man.’
‘What if I did?’
‘It’s important.’
‘Not to me.’
‘Is that right?’
‘I suppose it is, but there’s more to it than me just screwing him. And besides, she was no better.’
Larry stood up; the cat was using his new suit to sharpen its claws. His cats at home were regularly bathed, this one was not.
‘Could you elaborate?’ Larry asked.
‘None of your business.’
‘It is if it is relevant to a murder enquiry.’
‘Why should it be?’
‘We’ve yet to identify the body. Any idea who it may be?’ Wendy asked.
‘I haven’t been in that house for a long time. How would I know?’
‘We are aware the body was that of a male, aged in his late thirties to early forties, who almost certainly died at the beginning of 1987.’
‘No one I know.’
‘Last time I was here, you said that you had seen a lot of dead people,’ Wendy reminded the old woman, who showed every sign of ejecting them from the mansion very soon.
‘I was in London during the war, worked as a nurse.’
‘And after the war?’ Larry asked.
‘We came from a privileged family, employment was for others.’
‘What did you do?’
‘For a couple of years, voluntary work, but mainly taking our place in society.’
‘It doesn’t sound much of a life,’ Wendy, who had little time for the idle rich, commented.
‘Endless parties and fun? It was marvellous.’
Five minutes later, Larry and Wendy found themselves outside the front door of the house. Their eviction had been executed swiftly.
‘What do you reckon?’ Larry asked.
‘None of what she told us is relevant if the body has nothing to do with her or her sister,’ Wendy replied.
‘There’s more she’s not telling us.’
‘We’ll meet DCI Cook and let him know,’ Wendy said.
‘Until the body is identified, we’ll continue probing the background of the two sisters.’
‘Agreed. There still remains a strong possibility that the body is somehow tied back to them.’
Chapter 5
‘What do we know about this lawyer?’ Isaac asked at the late afternoon debriefing back at Challis Street Police Station.
‘Only a name,’ Wendy said.
‘And the name?’
‘Montague St John Grenfell.’
‘Sounds aristocratic to me,’ Isaac said. The key members of the team were assembled: Larry was standing in the corner, his back to the wall, Bridget was holding a large cup of tea and the obligatory chocolate biscuit, Wendy as well. Isaac was sipping on green tea as his weight was starting to cause him some concern.
‘We checked him out in Burke’s Peerage. He is the second son of a lord with no chance of inheriting the title and the stately home unless the incumbent dies soon,’ Larry said.
‘What do you mean “soon”?’ Isaac asked.
‘Grenfell is in his late seventies; the elder brother is two years older.’
‘Someone needs to go and check him out.’
‘You’d be the best person for that, sir,’ Wendy said. She remembered how he had charmed Angus MacTavish, the chief government whip, on a previous case. Dealing with the elite of society seemed best suited to Isaac’s disarming and pleasant manner. She knew that she was too abrasive, and her speech echoed government schooling at every utterance. Larry, although he spoke more clearly than she did, had a distinctive northern accent.
‘I’ll deal with Grenfell,’ Isaac said. He was glad of the opportunity to get out of the office. As the senior investigating officer, the administrative side of his job was beginning to annoy him. He could see himself asking Bridget to take on a heavier workload and help him out, once she had got her primary responsibilities under control.
‘And for us, sir?’ Larry Hill asked.
‘Keep with the sisters, see what you can find out. Bridget, can you trace this missing husband?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Good.
