‘Anyone else out there that we don’t know of, sir?’
‘Call me Isaac. At least, when we’re alone.’
‘Thank you, sir, Isaac.’ Larry was pleased that their relationship had developed enough to allow first names to be used.
‘I still don’t understand why Montague Grenfell was killed,’ Isaac said. ‘He was the one person who had full knowledge of the Grenfells’ and Richardsons’ finances and legal matters. Without him, who is going to take over? Is there anyone else capable?’
‘You’ve always suspected that he knew more than he was telling,’ Larry reminded Isaac.
‘What do you mean?’
‘All families have skeletons in the cupboard. Facts they would prefer not known.’
‘And we can assume that the Richardsons and Grenfells had more than most.’
‘And Montague Grenfell would have had the dirt on everyone, whether he chose to use it or not.’
‘Don’t you think we would have found out whether he had used it to his own advantage by now?’ Isaac said.
‘Why? Montague was careful to cover his tracks, keep all details to himself. Maybe the others didn’t know they were being manipulated.’
‘You believe that he could have been cheating the others, and they didn’t know?’
‘It’s possible. What has Bridget’s man come up with?’
‘Nothing, other than Montague Grenfell was meticulous. He appears to have acted honourably at all times.’
‘Sounds like a nomination for sainthood to me, Isaac,’ Larry said. A sceptical man, he did not trust people with no vices, no apparent failings.
‘You’re right,’ Isaac conceded. ‘There has to be something about him.’
‘Keith Dawson has been helping Bridget with Grenfell’s records. We need him here.’
***
Gordon Windsor phoned Isaac. ‘Heart attack. I will arrange for the pathologist to confirm, but she was old. I doubt if they will find anything suspicious.’
‘Thanks. We are up against a brick wall with this case,’ Isaac replied, venting his frustrations with the crime scene examiner.
‘Everyone dying or dead?’
‘That’s about it.’
‘Anyone still alive?’
‘Only three now. Gertrude Richardson’s grandson, the incumbent Lord Penrith and Garry Solomon’s wife.’
‘Must be one of them,’ Windsor said.
‘No motives, that’s the problem.’
‘I’m glad I’m only a crime scene examiner. I’ll leave the detective work to you.’ Gordon Windsor hung up and waited for an ambulance to remove the body. His team would go over the house in detail, although he was not expecting to find much.
Keith Dawson came into the office. Isaac had seen him around the office over the last few weeks. Apart from regular meetings and the daily pleasantries, they had not spoken much. Dawson, he knew by reputation and their limited communications, was a gruff man. He always wore a dark suit with a brightly coloured tie, out of sync with his less than bright manner.
‘DCI, what can I do for you?’ Dawson said, his body weight straining the frail chair he was sitting on.
‘Montague Grenfell.’
‘Excellent records.’
‘No sign of fraud?’
‘None that I could see. Mind you, I had been asked to check his records to see that they were in order. A man such as Grenfell could fudge the records with little trouble.’
‘Is there any way to check?’
‘It would help if I had something specific to go on. What are you looking for?’
Wendy came into the office with Bridget. It had only been a few days since the funeral.
‘I couldn’t stand it anymore,’ Wendy said. ‘Everyone phoning up or visiting every five minutes asking if I was fine.’
‘Are you?’ Isaac asked.
‘As well as can be expected.’
‘Ready for work?’
‘Coming here is the best therapy. He is dead and buried. Moping around won’t bring him back.’
Isaac was pleased to see her back in the office. Not only for her benefit, which was important to him, but there was work ahead. The case had been going on for too long, and DCS Goddard was starting to annoy him. And besides, Katrina Smith was spending time in London, and he wanted to see her more than he had.
They had managed to snatch a late-night meal together, and she had spent the previous night at his place. He liked her, maybe not as much as he had Jess O’Neill, but that relationship had been doomed due to his brief romantic encounter with Linda Harris. At least with Katrina Smith there were no incidents of misbehaviour that would damn the relationship before it had started.
Isaac still looked to settle down, find a steady woman, but each time there was something, either from the woman or from him. He knew he was a romantic looking for the ideal woman, the ideal starry night.
‘You’ve still not said what I’m meant to be looking for,’ Dawson said. Isaac’s friendly banter with Wendy had not impressed him.
‘Get on with it,’ Dawson thought.
‘Keith, we don’t have a motive for the deaths of Garry Solomon and Montague Grenfell.’
‘Do you expect me to find a motive for you?’ Dawson said sneeringly.
Isaac chose to ignore the inferred criticism of his handling of the case. He knew other men within the police force, men who had been there for a long time, men who were covertly racist.
‘Let’s focus on Montague Grenfell,’ Isaac said. ‘Even if his death was unintentional, the evidence of a confrontation at his office is overwhelming.’
‘So?’ Dawson offered a one-word comment, as if he wanted to say ‘get on with it and stop wasting my time’.
‘The confrontation would indicate a recent conversation or a recent case. Now, as we know he only dealt with the Richardsons and the Grenfells, it is fair to assume it is related to them.’
‘There are a lot of research notes. I haven’t looked at them,’ Dawson admitted.
‘He told me that he spent his days in the office studying and reading. There may be something there,’ Isaac said.
‘I’m
