Isaac knew full well that falling down a flight of stairs was not an automatic neck break, and there remained a possibility that his death was unintentional. However, the reason why he was at the bottom of the stairs was important, as was the identity of the person who had scuffled with him.
The main suspects were all ageing, and it was hard to believe they would have had the strength. Even with his false leg, Montague Grenfell was a fit man. He was ten years younger than Mavis Richardson, only seventy-five, and as fit as a man of sixty-five.
There was still one key person unaccounted for: Malcolm Grenfell, the soon to be Lord Penrith.
According to Katrina Smith, the bed-ridden incumbent lord was a decent man, even if he could be snobbish and she had grown fond of the man. Regardless, the next weekend she was taking time off to come and see her mother in London and to meet up with Isaac. Isaac realised that the mother might not receive many hours of her time. He smiled at the thought, which caused Bridget to look his way.
‘Good thoughts?’ she said.
‘I suppose so.’ Isaac did not intend to elaborate. ‘We need to find Montague Grenfell’s younger brother,’ he said.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Any ideas?’
‘What did you find out in Leicestershire?’ Bridget asked.
‘Not a lot. Only that he had not been there for some time. His current whereabouts are unclear.’
‘I have conducted some checks already.’
‘What did you find?’
‘Malcolm Grenfell is twelve years younger that Montague. That would give his age as sixty-three.’
‘Anything else?’
‘There appears to be no record of work, although there is a Mercedes registered in his name and a driving licence.’
‘A man of independent means, is that it?’ Isaac said.
‘More likely a scrounging parasite, sir.’
‘You may be right. Regardless, we need to find him. How is Wendy’s situation?’
‘Still with her husband.’
‘A job for Larry.’
‘He’ll be in soon,’ Bridget said.
***
‘I was going to Bellevue Street this morning,’ Larry said on his arrival at the office.
‘The grille in the basement?’ Isaac replied.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘What is its condition?’
‘It’s been damaged, but our people should be able to work with it.’
‘What’s your feeling?’
Both men were sitting in Isaac’s office. The relationship between the two men continued to warm.
‘Obviously, it was put there to deter people from entering the room.’
‘The whole scenario is illogical. How does anyone expect to keep a body hidden indefinitely in a fireplace?’
‘Maybe it was only meant to be there temporarily,’ Larry said.
‘And then it became impossible to remove, so someone puts up the grille in an attempt to conceal what was inside the room.’
‘It makes some sense, but it’s still bizarre. And then there is the wooden structure around the fireplace.’
‘Focus on the grille for now. The reasons will become clear later.’
‘Okay. I’ll see you later,’ Larry said. He put his empty cup on the sink in the kitchen area in the main office and left.
Isaac walked over to Bridget’s desk. ‘Let me have Malcolm Grenfell’s address,’ he said. He was glad of the opportunity to get out of the office.
***
Larry Hill arrived at the house in Bellevue Street at nine thirty in the morning. Gordon Windsor’s people were already there, as was Sue Baxter, camera in hand. The woman was becoming a nuisance, and neither Larry nor Isaac had forgiven her for sounding off to the local newspaper about matters which would have been best kept confidential.
Larry reminded her again that it was a murder investigation, and what she saw and heard was not to be repeated outside the confines of the house. As usual, she said that she fully understood, and it was only for a record of the renovations on the house.
Larry had to admit that the Baxters had done a good job, and apart from a few rooms, the murder room included, the house was looking good. Larry realised that it was as well that his wife was not present, as she had been niggling him for the last few months to spend more time at home and to commit to painting the inside, at least.
He could not see the problem as their house was warm and pleasant, and the last thing he wanted at the weekend was to take hold of a paintbrush. Still, he realised on seeing what the Baxters had achieved that maybe his wife was right.
What was the more pressing problem, though? The current murder investigation was taking all his time, and the most he wanted at home was a good sleep. And judging by the way the deaths kept occurring, and the long hours that Isaac committed everyone in the department to, the time for home renovations was not possible.
His wife had made it clear that if he did not have the time, then she would get in a handyman to do it. Larry had said fine until he realised how much that would cost.
‘Where’s the grille?’ Grant Meston asked. He was a good-looking man with flaming red hair and a ruddy complexion. Gordon Windsor had recommended him as the best crime scene investigator in his department.
‘Down in the basement. They put it down there, part of Trevor Baxter’s wine cellar eventually.’
The two men walked down the stairs off the hallway, followed by a camera, followed by Sue Baxter. The area downstairs was small and lit by a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling.
‘We need extra lights
