Isaac’s reaction was understandable. Another vital piece of information had been uncovered. Not only were the Richardson sisters screwing Montague Grenfell on a regular basis, and Albert on two known occasions, it now appeared that their behaviour had moved to the next generation, in that Gertrude Richardson’s daughter-in-law had slept with a Grenfell.
Isaac wondered what sort of morality these people adhered to.
‘Remember George Sullivan,’ Isaac said. ‘He’s the one person we’ve not contacted yet.’
‘Do you think he’s important, sir?’ Wendy asked.
‘Maybe, maybe not, but who knows? Emma Hampshire wasn’t until she gave you that little nugget.’
‘I’ll look for him, sir. Leave it to me,’ Wendy said, her stomach rumbling. She regretted her poor choice in nourishment. Fit for rabbits, she thought. She called over the waitress. ‘Give me what my colleague just ordered,’ she said. As far as she was concerned, she would rather be overweight and happy than skinny and miserable.
As Wendy dealt with the rumbling in her stomach, Larry continued their conversation. ‘George Sullivan? Any ideas?’ he asked.
Wendy answered between mouthfuls of food. She was gasping for a cigarette, but that would have to wait until they were outside, and outside was cold and becoming colder due to an Artic wind from the north.
‘I’ve not a clue,’ Wendy said. ‘The man must be in his eighties by now, and it’s a common name.’
Chapter 25
Meanwhile, unbeknownst to them, Emma Hampshire was on the phone. ‘I told Sergeant Wendy Gladstone.’
‘What the hell did you do that for?’
‘It would have come out one day.’
‘Why? We were always discreet.’
‘Someone may have seen us.’
‘It’s been thirty years. No one’s alive now.’
‘That may be true, Malcolm, but I’m tired of living with a lie.’
‘You never told Bob, but you end up telling a policewoman. Do you realise where that places me?’
‘No. Where does it place you?’
‘Right at the top of DCI Isaac Cook’s list of murder suspects.’
‘And me.’
‘Why?’
‘If you killed Garry because of me, I may be seen as an accomplice.’
Lord Penrith realised that Emma Hampshire was talking nonsense. They had been lovers in the past, not now. Sure, he had been flirtatious on occasions since when Bob Hampshire had been looking the other way, but it had never been more than an amorous fondle from him, an indignant rebuff from her.
‘I never killed him. How many times have I told you? Do you think I waited nearly ten years after our affair to kill him? I would have rid myself of him back in 1976, not waited until 1987.’
Emma Hampshire hung up, unsure whether she had been right in confronting a man who had meant something to her once. She knew him as unpredictable, his actions uncertain, and his morality of little consequence if it came between him and the life he wanted. She realised that Malcolm Grenfell and Emma Hampshire had a lot in common. He had offered her the title of Lady Penrith, half-joking, half-drunk. She had spent too much time on her own since Bob Hampshire’s death, too much time pining, too much time waiting for a man to occupy her bed.
Malcolm Grenfell was a lecher, a rogue, a man who partied and whored, but she could control him. A lord needs respectability, she would give it to him.
***
Larry Hill was in the office at Challis Street when Rose phoned from the crime scene examiner’s office. ‘Detective Inspector, we found something.’
Larry inexplicably found himself excited at the prospect of meeting up with the woman again. ‘Twenty minutes,’ he replied.
‘I’ll supply the coffee this time,’ Rose said.
‘We found this,’ she said later as they sat in the café.
‘It’s what we’ve been looking for.’
‘There’s a contact phone number.’
The photocopy that Larry had in his hand was not clear. Age and the rain seeping through the roof where it had been stored had yellowed it badly.
‘We’ve put the original into an evidence bag and labelled it,’ Rose said.
‘Send it to Forensics and ask if they can pick up the details. In the meantime, can you send me a scanned copy.’
‘Once I’m back in the office.’
‘Thanks. We have a lady in the office who is great with computers. She may be quicker than Forensics.’
Larry realised on leaving that they had spent forty minutes chatting. It was not as if he was interested in pursuing a relationship with Rose. He was happily married and intended to stay that way. It was just that it was flattering, good for his ego, to have the company of an attractive woman for a short period.
***
‘Mavis Richardson died of natural causes,’ Gordon Windsor said. Isaac Cook had phoned the senior crime scene examiner for an update.
One less murder to deal with, Isaac thought.
The need to wrap up the case was long past. He had discounted the possibility of a conviction for Garry Solomon’s murder. All the people who knew him had since died, except for Malcolm Grenfell and Emma Hampshire. The revelation of their affair had come as a shock.
The reason for Garry Solomon’s unwillingness to contact his mother continued to baffle Isaac.
The mother had been at the party that night he had come home unexpectedly and found his aunt on top of his father. He must have known or assumed that his mother was with another man, but that should have evoked anger and hurt, hopefully followed by forgiveness.
There had been several years between that night and when he had left the house at the age of nineteen. Isaac wondered what his relationship had been with his mother in those years. Was it distant, loving, or ambivalent? The only person who may have an inkling was Malcolm Grenfell, as all the others who may
