‘Do you know Montague Grenfell?’ Larry asked.
‘Daniel said you would ask.’ Deidre Solomon ate a salad, and even then, very slowly. Wendy assumed she had a problem keeping the weight off, and semi-starvation was a necessity.
‘And?’
‘Yes. I knew him.’
‘How?’
‘With my father when I was a child.’
‘And?’ Larry persisted, the hesitancy in the woman’s reply concerning him.
‘He came to see me occasionally.’
The woman’s statement caused Wendy to put down her fork. ‘You knew him?’ she asked.
‘He was a nice old man.’
Wendy realised that they had uncovered something very relevant. She pushed her plate to one side, even though a small amount of food remained. Larry had chosen a salad, the same as Deidre Solomon, daughter of Michael Solomon, the paid lover of Montague Grenfell, if what she had told them turned out to be true. The woman had no reason to lie, and by her own admission she had placed herself and her brother at the top of the list of prime suspects.
Larry spoke to the gallery staff, showed his ID. They organised a private room. The two police officers and Deidre relocated there. One of the waitresses brought in three coffees.
Larry formally cautioned Deirdre, told her that evidence given could be used in a court of law. Neither he nor Wendy had expected any more from her other than a denial of any knowledge, and a vague recollection of Montague Grenfell.
‘Could you please elaborate on your relationship with Montague Grenfell?’ Larry asked. He was the more senior of the two police officers. He would take the lead role in the interview.
‘He contacted my agency and arranged a booking.’
‘He knew your name?’
‘Not my professional name. He had chosen me from a website.’
‘Did he at any time know who you were?’
‘Never.’
‘But you knew who he was?’
‘The family history. I knew.’
‘Did that concern you?’
‘Why? He was not related, other than my father had been married to one of his cousins.’
‘The man was in his seventies,’ Wendy said.
‘He was no great stud, but he was good for his age.’
‘Why did you tell us?’ Larry asked.
‘My brother said that it’s always best to be open with the police. If they find out later, it’s more incriminating.’
‘Wise man, your brother,’ Larry admitted.
‘Did Montague Grenfell tell you anything we should know about? Wendy asked.
‘Such as?’
‘Family secrets.’
‘I was not there receiving his confession. His visits to me were not religious.’
‘Carnal?’ Larry asked.
‘That’s what I do. He was lonely; his wife had died, and he wanted company.’
‘And screwing?’ Wendy said.
‘Say it for what it was, a fuck. And why not?’
‘Are most of your clients lonely old men?’ Larry asked.
‘No doubt some are married, but I don’t ask.’
‘You asked Grenfell?’
‘Never. Sometimes he talked, but then I knew who he was and some of what he was saying.’
‘Did he discuss his brother?’
‘No, but I know there are two. My father told me that before he died.’
‘There’s only one now.’
‘Okay, one.’
‘Are you interested as to which one?’ Wendy asked.
‘Why should I be?’
‘We ask the questions, you answer.’
‘For the record,’ Deidre Solomon said, ‘I knew very little about the Grenfells, other than they were upper class and I was not. Satisfied?’
‘Satisfied.’
Wendy had another question. ‘Your mother is looking after two children of yours. What is the situation?’
‘You’ve seen my criminal record?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then you know that I sold myself on the street for years until I kicked heroin, or it kicked me.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I overdosed, woke up restrained in a drug rehabilitation centre.’
‘Who paid?’
‘I assume it was my father.’
‘Private hospital?’ Wendy asked.
‘Expensive. I saw a few celebrities in there. Some of them so pure, butter wouldn’t melt in their mouths.’
Larry looked at Wendy. They both understood what Deidre’s statement meant.
‘And after you left?’
‘I tried making an income standing up, but the money was lousy. In the end, I went back to what I know best.’
‘Screwing for money?’ Wendy asked.
‘Why not? I still had the looks even after years of abuse. I sold myself from a hotel room for a few months, and when I had enough money, I fixed up the boobs, then the arse. The rest is courtesy of good makeup.’
‘You’ve done a good job,’ Wendy said.
‘Thanks.’
‘After you had sorted yourself out?’
‘I found an agency, went on their books. They phone me and either I take the job or I don’t.’
‘You refuse?’ Larry asked.
‘I’m not into bondage.’
‘Your children?’
‘The unfortunate offspring of my earlier years.’
‘You don’t care for them?’ Wendy asked.
‘I try, but they bring back unpleasant memories. You’ve seen them?’
‘Yes.’
‘Reflection of the men I screwed.’
‘Is that why you leave them with your mother?’
‘I offered to put them up for adoption, but she wants to keep them.’
‘Not what she says.’
‘My mother is not well. You do realise that?’
‘Yes. She needs help.’
‘I’ve offered, but she only screams at me, calls me a dirty whore.’
‘Are you?’ Wendy asked.
‘I was, not now.’
Chapter 31
Gordon Windsor was still a little miffed when Isaac met up with him. ‘You’ve no right to question my competency,’ he said. He had just returned from another murder. Isaac was aware of the details, and if he had been free, he would have been assigned as the senior investigating officer. As it was, he was still involved in two murders. One appeared to be reaching a resolution, although in this case, as with so many others, there was always an unforeseen piece of evidence or a
