‘Why?’
‘Did you know Albert Grenfell?’
‘I met him once.’
‘When?’
‘Malcolm introduced me to him in London once.’
‘Yet you decided to come to his funeral.’
‘He was Malcolm’s brother. Besides, Malcolm asked me to come.’
‘I was not aware that you were still friendly with him.’
‘I told you, or Wendy Gladstone, your sergeant, that we used to see each other from time to time when I was with Bob Hampshire. We moved in the same social circle, nothing more. There is nothing sinister with my being here.’
‘Malcolm Grenfell was responsible for your marriage breaking up.’
‘The marriage was broken anyway.’
‘Did Garry Solomon know about your affair?’
‘Probably.’
‘You’re not sure?’
‘Not totally. It was not discussed. He had found himself someone else, and that was it.’
‘You were upset?’
‘I had grown up to believe that marriage was forever, and my husband was dumping me for a younger version. What do you think?’
‘Your plans with Malcolm?’
‘I’ll wait and see.’
‘Does that mean more than you are saying?’
‘Not really. I am an affectionate woman. Malcolm for all his faults is a good man.’
‘And the other women?’
‘He won’t need them,’ Emma Hampshire said before walking away, a smile on her face. Isaac knew what she meant. He felt the need to see Katrina; he found her with the staff.
‘Hi,’ he said.
‘Very friendly with his lordship’s friend,’ she said. To Isaac, it sounded as if she was jealous.
‘She’s a key witness, you know that.’
‘I do.’
‘And now close in with the new lord,’ Isaac said.
‘She spent last night here.’
‘With Grenfell?’
‘Same bed,’ Katrina said. Isaac could see no issue with that revelation, and it was clear that Malcolm Grenfell was not his brother’s murderer. Salacious gossip in the kitchen did not help to solve the murders. Katrina took Isaac by the arm, first to kiss him, and then to take him back into the main room to enjoy himself.
‘Stop being a policeman for once,’ she said.
Isaac and Katrina had booked into a local hotel for the night. Both were anxious to be there. Isaac thought about what he and Wendy had achieved by attending the funeral. They had not come up with any new leads, other than the knowledge that Emma Hampshire and Malcolm Grenfell were continuing their affair where it had broken off thirty years previously.
Ger O’Loughlin’s relationship with Albert Grenfell had no relevance. Both men had died of old age, and neither were directly implicated in the murder of Garry Solomon or indirectly in the case of Montague Grenfell.
The wake at Penrith House concluded at eight in the evening. Lord Penrith bid all the attendees farewell as they left through the front door and down the steps outside to their cars. Isaac observed Emma Hampshire at his side as if she was already the lady of the house.
Isaac had to admit that he liked her, but for a woman who had come from a lower middle-class background, she had certainly led a charmed life. There had been Garry Solomon who had turned out to be a disappointment. Then there was Bob Hampshire who had worshipped her, as she had him. And now Malcolm Grenfell who made a good pretence of being a changed man. Isaac wondered how long before Grenfell took a wife.
Back at the hotel, a timeworn building in the village, Wendy along with Isaac and Katrina had a late supper. Wendy enjoyed herself with a spread of cheese and cake. Isaac and Katrina ate sparingly.
At 11 p.m. Isaac and Katrina went upstairs together, arm in arm. Wendy smiled as they climbed the carpeted stairs. Lucky woman, Wendy thought.
Wendy realised that she was the same age as Emma Hampshire and that she was lonely. She felt tears in her eyes. She wiped them away with a tissue. It was her first night away from her home since her husband had died, and she did not want to be there in the hotel.
She sobered up with a strong black coffee and returned to London and the bed she had shared with her husband, the bed where her two sons had been conceived.
Isaac knew the next morning that Wendy had left: a message on his phone, a note at the reception. He could only sympathise.
***
At eight in the morning, Isaac and Katrina drove back to London. He dropped her off at the hospital where she worked. Isaac then drove to Challis Street. He was in the office by eleven.
‘Sorry about last night, sir,’ Wendy said as he entered.
‘Nothing to be sorry about,’ Isaac’s reply.
Bridget came over with a cup of coffee. Isaac thanked her.
Isaac called an impromptu meeting. ‘What do we have?’ he asked.
‘The name of who ordered the grille,’ Larry said.
‘It doesn’t prove that he is the murderer,’ Isaac said.
‘An accomplice, at least.’
‘Can we make it stick?’
‘Unlikely,’ Larry had to admit.
‘We could bring him in, put him under pressure.’
‘He would bring a smart lawyer with him.’
‘If the person who installed the grille and the murderer are one and the same, how do we prove it?’ Isaac asked.
‘His motive is flimsy,’ Larry said.
‘Then make it stronger.’
It was evident to everyone in the room that Wendy was not in good spirits. Isaac knew that a heavy workload was the best medicine.
‘Wendy,’ Isaac said, ‘we need to tie up Montague Grenfell’s murder.’
‘Do we call them in?’
‘What has Keith found out?’
Bridget answered. ‘He’ll be here in five minutes. You can ask him then.’
Five minutes later Dawson entered Isaac’s office. There was a better meeting room down the corridor, but everyone preferred Isaac’s office as it was homelier. Not because of Isaac’s efforts, but Bridget and Wendy, tired of their DCI’s Spartan décor, had put a plant in a pot in one corner. Isaac had come
