‘You were about the same age as Garry Solomon,’ Isaac said.
‘I was three years older.’
‘Did you spend time with him?’
‘When we were in our teens, we would go out drinking, chasing girls.’
‘Later?’
‘He met up with Emily. After that, we lost contact. I never saw him again.’
‘You knew Emily?’
‘She was a good-looking woman. Fancied her myself, but she wanted Garry.’
‘Have you seen her since?’
‘Around London. We moved in the same social circles. Nothing sinister.’
The young woman who had arrived with Grenfell walked into the room. Isaac thought it was more a crawl than a walk, as she was rubbing her eyes and trying to focus. Her hair was tousled, and she was wearing a dressing gown. It was tied loosely at the waist, her breasts almost exposed.
‘Are you going to make me a Lady?’ she asked of Grenfell after planting a semi-drunken kiss on him.
‘Later maybe. I’m busy for the present.’
The woman, young enough to be Penrith’s daughter, sat down on a spare chair. ‘I want breakfast,’ she slurred.
Judging by Grenfell’s facial expression, her chances of him marrying her were slim. Isaac could see that she was going to be dumped within a short period of time. He felt sorry that such a young girl felt the need to hang around with a man in his sixties, instead of finding someone her own age. Not that it concerned him, as in his years of being an active member of the police force, he had seen many unlikely couples, some happy, others not so.
‘Go down to the kitchen with the rest,’ Grenfell barked, or attempted to, but his voice was still subdued and raspy after the wine of the previous night.
The woman ambled out of the door.
‘What did you speak to Emily Solomon about?’
‘It’s been a few years, but she had moved on from Garry, or he had moved on. Regardless, she was very cosy with Bob Hampshire.’
‘You knew Hampshire?’
‘Good man. He worshipped Emily, although she called herself Emma with him.’
‘And her?’
‘She was devoted to him.’
‘Tell me about Mavis Richardson. How is she going to deal with Montague’s complex legal and financial matters?’
‘I’ve no idea. What is the legal process in such issues? She is clearly not up to the task.’
‘And Albert?’
‘I will deal with it. There is a lawyer in the town who is reputable. I’ll put the matter in his hands.’
‘Trustworthy?’
‘He will be with me. This is all mine now. I don’t intend to let anyone cheat me out of my dues.’
‘And the woman you brought up?’
‘I was the brother of a lord before.’
‘Better class of woman now?’ Isaac said contemptuously.
‘I hope so.’
Isaac left the man to his breakfast. He needed to see a friendly face; he needed to see Katrina.
Chapter 22
Larry was leaning back in his chair at Challis Street. Wendy had left early, some last-minute arrangements for the funeral. Bridget was busy, collating all the paperwork that a murder enquiry created.
She was still helping Wendy with her reports, or Sergeant Wendy Gladstone, as her promotion had come through. Bridget had managed to get Isaac’s paperwork under control, and if she focussed, she could complete it within an hour.
Bridget enjoyed working in the department, even if the hours could be long, but there was not much for her at home. The former live-in lover had been unceremoniously shown the door two weeks earlier. She had come home late and he had been sitting down with a couple of friends in the kitchen, drinking beer.
‘We need some food,’ he had demanded.
‘Get your friends out of here and clear up this mess.’ Bridget saw red. The lover lived there rent free. The only requirements on him were that he kept the place clean and showed her the attention she craved.
‘Woman, do what you’re told or you will feel the back of my hand.’
He had tried it once before, but it had been early in their relationship, and she had forgiven him after he had sobered up, but now…
Coupled with the pressure of work and her friend Wendy’s sadness, Bridget reached a decision. A well-built woman and surprisingly strong, she grabbed the man by the scruff of his neck and ejected him through the back door. The other two men sheepishly retreated.
The trio had stood outside the house for thirty minutes before she phoned Wendy, who phoned a contact down at the local police station. The trio spent the night in a prison cell. Bridget ensured that her previous companion’s clothes were deposited at the police station. According to Wendy, he was warned by the local police that if he attempted to make contact with Bridget, he would be thrown in the cells for a week.
Bridget had been sad for a few days but soon got over him. Wendy offered her one of her cats for comfort, but she declined. Besides, both of the women were looking to pool their resources and move in together. Bridget’s house seemed the best possibility, as Wendy’s was cold and damp. They had even discussed buying a small flat somewhere warm, renting it out to holidaymakers when they did not need it.
Larry’s phone rang. ‘Grant Meston. We met at the Baxters.’
‘How are you?’
‘Fine.’
‘Any update on the grille at the Baxters?’
‘It was installed in February 1987.’
‘You knew that already.’
‘I have the name of the company that installed it.’
‘And the name of who paid for it?’
‘No such luck. It was a long time ago. I made a quick phone call to save you the trouble, but no
