Isaac felt the need to leave the office, and besides, he had female trouble again. Jess, his live-in lover, was causing anguish. They had had another argument the night before, and it seemed inevitable that she was going to move out. It was impacting on his ability in the office, and he knew he would have to confront the issues in a few days. It upset him, as she was a woman any man would be proud to have on their arm.
He thought to visit the Richardson sisters’ lawyer again, but it seemed premature, and besides what would he say to him. So far, nothing tied the sisters to the body and their association with the house in Bellevue Street could only be regarded as circumstantial. He could hardly bring the women into the police station based on nothing. He knew that identification of the body was critical, and that lay with Bridget at the present time.
‘What do you have, Bridget?’ Isaac drew a chair up alongside her. She looked flustered.
‘Of the seventy-four on the list, I’ve eliminated thirty-six.’
‘How?’
‘They’re either Arab or African. Our body is white and Caucasian.’
‘That leaves thirty-eight. Can you eliminate more?’
‘There’ll still be seven or eight left.’
‘We can get Larry and Wendy on to searching for them. Any luck with the two women’s husbands?’
‘Last known addresses. I’ve passed them on.’
‘Is there a name for Gertrude Richardson’s husband?’
‘Michael Solomon.’
‘What do we know about him?’ Isaac asked.
‘German, of Jewish ancestry.’
‘Any ideas where he is now?’
‘I gave Wendy the only address I could find, but it’s old, and he would be ninety-five. Unlikely that he’ll still be alive.’
***
Wendy and Larry decided to visit the last known address of Michael Solomon. The husband of Mavis Richardson, Ger O’Loughlin, was proving elusive. Bridget was struggling to find an address, other than one that was twenty years old, and Google Street View had shown that the building no longer existed.
Michael Solomon had arrived in England in 1945, the only survivor of his family from a concentration camp in Germany. Bridget had managed to find out that he had prospered over the years, and by the time of his marriage to Gertrude, he was successfully running his own jewellery business. The last piece of valid information was when he had sold the business thirty years previously. If that was correct, then the dates did not agree with what Gertrude Richardson had said. Her statement was that she had not seen him for over forty years, but there he was, running a shop not more than three miles from where she currently lived. Wendy saw another visit to the woman.
Wendy and Larry arrived at Solomon’s house in Fulham at around four in the afternoon. The house was not as palatial as Gertrude’s mansion, not as well maintained as her sister’s house. It looked occupied. Wendy rang the doorbell. A woman in her sixties came to the door. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘Detective Inspector Larry Hill, Constable Wendy Gladstone,’ Larry said as they both showed their ID badges.
‘Is this about Daniel?’ she asked. Wendy observed that she appeared to be a woman worn down by the stress of life. Her hair was showing grey roots with no attempt to conceal them. She wore a drab dress, unironed and apparently unwashed. She wore no makeup.
‘Daniel?’ Wendy queried.
‘My eldest. A grown man and still he acts like an irresponsible child. Your people were always around here, bringing him home, or taking him down the police station. What’s he done this time?’
‘We’re not here about Daniel.’
‘Then what are you here for?’
‘We’re looking for Michael Solomon. This is his last known address.’
‘Maybe it is, but he’s not here now.’
‘Any idea where?’
‘Five-minute walk.’
‘Can we have the address?’ Larry asked.
‘You can, but it won’t help you much. He’s been dead for eight years.’
‘And you are?’ Wendy asked.
‘Mary Solomon. I was married to him for thirty-five years, until he died and left me with his children.’
‘He was older than you when you married?’
‘He was twenty-seven years older than me, but he was affluent and a good-looking man. Seemed a good catch at the time.’
‘And now?’
‘I miss him sometimes, but he was not a good husband.’
‘Can we come in?’ Wendy asked.
‘If you like. Excuse the mess. I’m babysitting Daniel’s son, and my daughter has dumped her two on me while she is gallivanting up in the city. No idea what she does up there, although I can imagine. They say “like father, like son”, but with Michael, it’s both of our children.’
Let into the house, Larry and Wendy found themselves in a small room, neat and tidy, with a television in the corner. Obviously, the one room in the house out of bounds to anyone else. Wendy could only feel sorry for her.
‘What do you want to know?’ the woman asked.
‘What do you know of your husband before you married?’ Wendy asked.
‘He was married before, if that is what you are intimating?’
‘Yes. Do you know any of the history relating to the woman?’
‘Only that she was a bitch who kicked him out of the house after he caught her in bed with another man.’
‘That we did not know,’ Larry said. ‘Our information is that he vanished over
