‘I will talk to him and see if he agrees.’
‘You couldn’t just give me the phone number?’
‘I’m afraid it’s privileged information.’
‘I understand. Please let him know that I care.’
‘I will.’
Sitting outside in Larry’s car, he asked Wendy what she had thought of Emma Hampshire’s reply relating to the marriage break up.
‘Who knows the truth. It’s what the son thinks that’s important, and she seems genuine in her affection towards her son.’
‘Is that why you slipped her the phone number?’
‘Yes.’
‘What about the people in the other photos?’ Larry asked.
‘Mavis Richardson is the only one who would know.’
‘Why?’
‘If it was one of their wife-swapping parties, the other people may want to maintain their confidentiality. Mavis Richardson may not answer, or possibly give us false information.’
‘We only know of two who are still alive, Mavis Richardson and Ger O’Loughlin,’ Larry said.
‘I’m not up to a trip to Ireland,’ Wendy said.
‘That’s understood. We’d better go and see Mavis Richardson. If she lies or is elusive, then I will need to go to Ireland.’ The idea of a trip appealed to Larry.
‘You’d better make it soon.’
Mavis Richardson, as always, was accommodating and sociable. Even though their visit was arranged with at short notice, she still prepared some food and tea. Wendy nibbled at a biscuit, her eyes welling up with tears. Mavis Richardson asked if she was alright.
Wendy wiped her eyes with a handkerchief and thanked her for her concern.
‘We have two photos. We would appreciate it if you will look at them carefully and tell us who you recognise,’ Larry said. Wendy sat quietly, stoically putting on a brave face, not certain if she was able to talk without showing emotion.
Mavis Richardson took the photos and placed them on the table. She went to a cupboard in the corner of the room and returned with a magnifying glass. She looked at them for a few minutes.
‘The woman in the floral dress is Gertrude. The other woman in the pale blue dress, that’s me, although a lot younger.’
‘The other woman?’ Larry asked.
‘The photos must be fifty years old. I can’t remember.’
‘1962 or 1963?’
‘That sounds about right.’
‘What about the men?’
‘Michael Solomon and my husband, Ger, but you must have recognised them.’
‘We needed you to confirm,’ Wendy said. She had managed to compose herself.
‘There are two other men and a woman,’ Larry said.
‘It’s over fifty years. My memory is not as good as it used to be,’ the old woman said. Larry realised that it was the first time that she had alluded to her advanced years, a clear indication that she knew exactly who the other people in the photos were.
Further encouragement from Wendy to Mavis Richardson to think hard came to no avail.
‘Was it one of those parties?’ Wendy asked indelicately.
‘Keys in a hat?’ Mavis Richardson replied.
‘Yes.’
‘Probably, but formal introductions were not always necessary. The people who came changed from time to time.’
Larry and Wendy stayed for another twenty minutes, but realising that the woman was not going to identify the other people, they left.
‘She is probably on the phone now,’ Larry said once they were clear of the house.
‘And those others will be covering their tracks.’
‘What about Ger O’Loughlin?’
‘You’d better take a flight today,’ Wendy said. ‘I’ve got to deal with some issues.’
Larry took her home. He phoned Isaac on the way to update on Mavis Richardson and to get his approval for a flight that day. Bridget, in Isaac’s office when Larry called, spoke briefly to Wendy.
‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ Larry asked as he dropped Wendy at her front door.
‘The funeral director is here. My sons are here as well. I will be okay, and besides, Bridget is coming over later. Have a safe flight.’
Larry drove to his house, picked up some clothes and an overnight bag, and made his way out to the airport. He rang the O’Loughlins’ phone number. The voice on the other end, of a softly-spoken Irish woman, told him to hurry, as her father would only last a few more days.
***
Larry arrived at the O’Loughlins’ house at eight in the evening. He had checked into a hotel near to the airport on his arrival. His plan was to show the photos to O’Loughlin, spend the night in Ireland, maybe have a drink or two, and then catch an early morning flight back.
‘He can’t talk to you tonight,’ a pleasant middle-aged woman said as he entered the house.
‘Tomorrow?’
‘Let’s see how he is. He has had a relapse. He is on some medication, but tomorrow morning around nine should be fine.’
Larry phoned Isaac to tell him about the delay. Isaac, as usual, was still in the office. Bridget had left to be with Wendy.
‘We need to know the names,’ Isaac said.
‘Malcolm Grenfell?’ Larry asked. ‘Any luck finding him?’
‘The first address did not check out. Bridget is trying to find somewhere else, but she’s distracted with Wendy.’
‘You can’t blame her, sir.’
‘I realise that.’
Larry took the opportunity for a few drinks that night and a good meal. The next day, he arrived back at O’Loughlin’s house at 9 a.m. as agreed.
‘He’s better, but you can only have five minutes.’
‘Thanks,’ Larry said.
He was shown into Ger O’Loughlin’s room. Wendy had said that the man, although incapacitated and connected to a ventilator, was coherent. The man that Larry saw seemed incapable of speech, barely raising his head to acknowledge him.
‘Detective Inspector Larry Hill. I’m a colleague of Constable Wendy Gladstone.’
‘Please sit down,’ the man said in a whisper.
‘I have two photos. We need to identify the
