‘I’ll need to show you some photos later, see if you can identify him.’
‘Fine by me,’ Wellings said.
‘What was the house like?’ Sue Baxter asked.
‘Not much to say. It was empty, although it appeared to be in good condition. There was a toilet down the hallway which we used, and I noticed a woman’s touch.’
‘What do you mean?’ Larry asked.
‘There were some small towels.’
‘What did that mean to you?’
‘I suppose it had only recently been vacated, nothing more.’
‘Was an explanation given as to why you were installing a grille?’
‘Never asked. It wasn’t any of my business.’
Larry realised that in this one man was the possible solution to a case that had baffled them for so long.
Sue Baxter pried for more information, but there was no more available.
Wellings thanked her for her hospitality, complimented her one more time on how good the house looked.
Larry’s car was outside. The two men drove a mile down the street, away from Sue Baxter’s eagle eyes.
Balancing the laptop on his knees, angling the screen, Larry showed Tom Wellings the photos he had: some old, some new.
‘That’s him.’
‘One hundred per cent?’
‘I’d say ninety-nine.’
‘Good enough for me,’ Larry said.
Larry dropped Tom Wellings back at O’Reilly’s and headed straight back to Challis Street. He was in a hurry, and the traffic was not helping. He almost ran a red light on one occasion; the fine for doing so, his responsibility.
Isaac was excited on his return. ‘Well done,’ he said.
***
Albert Grenfell’s funeral, conducted in the church next to Penrith House, was a sombre affair. Isaac could see Malcolm Grenfell suitably dressed in a black suit leading the mourners. Wendy had come up as well. Isaac thought it may be a good idea to have two police officers present.
Isaac had brought Katrina Smith, who was in a black dress. Wendy had driven up on her own after Isaac had mentioned that he was taking someone.
Wendy, not wishing to be a wallflower, had organised a police issue car. She noticed the furtive glances from Isaac to Katrina during the ceremony.
Both the police officers noted who was present: Emma Hampshire was with Malcolm Grenfell. Also present was George Sullivan, the previously hidden man, now very visible. His wife sat at his side.
There were some other people there, some distinguished, others dressed in plain business suits. A later investigation identified them as other aristocrats or local dignitaries from the area. They did not concern Isaac.
Ger O’Loughlin’s daughter, the woman that Wendy had met in Ireland, was present. It did not seem suspicious, although Wendy would check later.
Apart from those clearly visible, there were no other family members. In light of recent developments with Montague Grenfell’s murder, his body had not been released.
Malcolm Grenfell read one prayer during the service, his tone mellow and humble. Isaac thought that he handled it well, considering that he had not been fond of his brother, and he was an idle fornicating man of little worth. Perhaps the title of Lord Penrith had caused a change in him, though Isaac saw that as unlikely. Malcolm Grenfell would always be the same. There was no frivolous woman around, although Emma Hampshire looked to be very friendly with him. Maybe he preferred older women after all, or at least, Emma Hampshire.
Kevin Solomon, Emma’s son, was nowhere to be seen, which was not suspicious as he had not known the Grenfells, apart from Montague briefly.
Katrina was very emotional during the service and held onto Isaac’s arm. After the funeral Isaac and Wendy intended to do some probing. It would be inappropriate to conduct formal interviews, but a conversation would be fine.
Isaac thought the friendship of Lord Penrith and Emma Hampshire unusual. Their one-night stand many years ago was well known, but now they looked as if they were about to rekindle it.
Wendy needed to know why O’Loughlin’s daughter had attended. There had never been any information indicating that Ger O’Loughlin and Albert Grenfell’s relationship justified his daughter attending the funeral.
Intrigue within intrigue, Isaac thought. He was certain they had Montague Grenfell’s murderer in the bag, apart from the proof to hammer home a confession.
Even Garry Solomon’s case was close to conclusion, although the case against the one person now clearly identified thanks to Tom Wellings was inconclusive.
After the ceremony, the mourners moved back to Penrith House, a ten-minute walk or a five-minute drive. Isaac and Katrina chose to walk, Wendy drove. As usual, the weather was cold, and she needed to warm up with the car heater. She imagined that Penrith House would be cold and draughty; enough weekend trips when her sons had been younger to the homes of the aristocracy reminded her of that fact. She had wondered then, with all their titles and their wealth, why they didn’t keep themselves warm. Lord Penrith’s finances, courtesy of Keith Dawson, had shown that it was horrendously expensive, and although the Grenfells had plenty of money, it was finite.
Isaac surmised with Malcolm Grenfell as the incumbent lord, the move from finite to infinitesimal would not take long.
At the house, everyone was ushered into the main sitting room. A log fire burned at one end. Wendy made straight for it.
Malcolm Grenfell made a speech as to how his brother, a pillar of society, had served the community well and had enhanced the good name of the Penriths. He pledged that he would attempt to live up to his good name. Emma Hampshire stood close by, smiling as he spoke.
The leader of the local council spoke. He thanked the former lord for his generosity in restoring the local library, helping in the cost of repairing the clock tower at the council offices. Others, lords mainly, offered their condolences.
The speeches concluded within ten minutes, and the food
