‘You don’t see her?’ Larry asked.
‘Not often, but I’m not surprised,’ the woman said. More crying from the other room. She continued speaking, determined to ignore it. ‘DCI Cook, my daughter is a whore, selling herself up in the city. She is either flat on her back with her legs open, or in a ditch drugged out of her mind. My apologies for talking about my daughter like that, but that’s the reality.’
‘You need help,’ Isaac said.
‘If someone wants to help, they can take the children. My daughter’s are mongrels anyway.’
Isaac could see the frustration in the woman. He could even sympathise, but a child was a child, even if it had no redeeming features and bad blood, the result of a prostitute and her client. He wanted to dislike the woman but found he could not.
‘We know that Garry Solomon, Solly, disappeared in 1987. Did your husband ever mention him after that?’
‘Not that I remember. Mind you, he was only my husband’s friend to me, and not a good friend at that. Does it matter?’
‘Probably not, but we are still not sure what happened the night Garry Solomon died.’
‘Long time ago. Most are dead, I suppose.’
‘Would your daughter know?’
‘Unlikely. She was only nine years old back in 1987. A pretty little thing then, not the tattooed tart she is now.’
Mary Solomon rushed off back to the other room at the sound of breaking plates. Larry and Isaac excused themselves and left.
‘Wasted trip, Isaac,’ Larry said.
‘I suppose so.’
‘Must be tough when your children turn out bad.’
‘Yes,’ Isaac said, his mind distracted as he considered the case. ‘What I don’t get is why no one missed Garry Solomon. He was visible, and then he disappears.’
‘And his mother Gertrude never went looking for him.’
‘Precisely,’ Isaac said. ‘He was never more than ten to fifteen miles from her, apart from his time in India. What are the chances of not inadvertently bumping into each other?’
‘It’s always possible.’
‘Garry Solomon was killed for a reason, yet there is no reason. His mother never finds him, and he never contacts her, apart from a postcard from India.’
‘Something happened on his return to sever the relationship, and it was not when he was nineteen.’
‘It’s possible.’
‘Who do we ask?’
‘Emma Hampshire and Barbara Bishop.’
Isaac and Larry took the opportunity of an early lunch. Larry, feeling guilty and remembering the ear-bashing he had received after eating a steak on a previous occasion, kept to an orange juice and a Greek Salad. He eyed Isaac’s plate, wished he had ordered pasta as well.
***
Wendy, drawing blanks on finding George Sullivan and aware of Isaac’s wish to visit Emma Hampshire, suggested that she go with him instead of Larry. Isaac agreed with her recommendation.
Larry returned to the office. Wendy joined Isaac outside Emma Hampshire’s house. She was pleased to see Kevin Solomon’s car parked across the road.
‘Emma, this is DCI Cook,’ Wendy said. She had phoned ahead to tell Emma Hampshire that they were coming.
‘Pleased to meet you,’ Isaac said. Wendy noticed that Emma Hampshire, although thirty years older than her boss, visibly blushed as he took her hand firmly and shook it.
The Isaac Cook charm, how can any woman resist it? Wendy thought.
Kevin Solomon came to the door and introduced himself. Wendy could see that mother and son were getting along fine.
‘Come in please,’ Emma Hampshire said.
Wendy knew that she would have to make a point of forewarning the woman if they visited again. On the table in the dining room there were sandwiches, some cakes, and a pot of freshly-brewed coffee.
‘Coffee, DCI?’ Emma Hampshire asked.
‘Thank you.’
It was clear that Kevin Solomon was moving back in with his mother; the suitcases in the hallway testament to the fact.
According to Keith Dawson, Emma Hampshire and her son would be well provided for once Gertrude Richardson’s assets had been dealt with.
Kevin, as the only legitimate descendant of Gertrude, was to be given the responsibility of handling probate, but as he was not a qualified lawyer, he intended to re-engage with his studies.
A fellow student when he had been studying, now qualified, would deal with Gertrude. Mavis presented another problem. She had no descendants, and Kevin’s father had not been on good terms with her. Kevin believed that her wealth should go to his mother as well, but Mavis’s will had been ambiguous. She had placed sole responsibility in the case of her death with Montague Grenfell, and he was dead. Failing that, she had named her sister, although her sister may not have known, and she was dead too.
According to Kevin’s understanding, a decision about her assets would require legal advice.
The death of Montague Grenfell was apparently causing other difficulties. The incumbent Lord Penrith may have had access to the stately home, and sufficient funds to maintain his singularly self-indulgent lifestyle, but the bulk of the wealth remained out of reach.
‘What can I help you with?’ Emma Hampshire asked, directing her gaze at Isaac.
‘We have not been able to find out the reason for the animosity of your first husband towards his mother,’ Isaac said.
‘I never knew.’
‘We are aware of an incident when he was twelve, although he remained in the family home until he was nineteen, barring time at boarding school, so we do not believe that the incident was the catalyst.’
‘I believe it was.’
‘Did he tell you the details?’
‘Yes.’
‘When?’
‘When we were in India.’
‘And then there is the postcard he sent when he was there,’ Isaac said.
‘We were at a retreat in the hills, puffing hash, attempting to come closer to nirvana.’
‘And?’
‘Have you
