Isaac and Larry followed the same procedure as they had with Daniel and Deidre Solomon.
‘Mr Sullivan, we are aware that you installed a metal grille on a door at 54 Bellevue Street, Holland Park in 1987.’ Isaac asked.
‘After thirty years, do you expect me to remember?’
Isaac could only see a kindly old man who had shaken his hand with no sign of malice. ‘What’s this all about?’ he had asked. ‘Always happy to help the police.’
Isaac had to remind himself that thirty years previously, George Sullivan would have been a man in his early fifties, and probably fit and strong. His story and the problem with Mavis Richardson were well known, but that was some time before Garry Solomon had been murdered.
‘I appreciate that it may be difficult, but it is important.’
‘Assuming it is, what does it mean?’
‘The grille isolated Garry Solomon’s body from the rest of the house.’
‘Gertrude’s son,’ Sullivan said.
‘You were at Albert Grenfell’s funeral,’ Isaac said.
‘As were you, Chief Inspector. And very friendly with Albert’s nurse.’
Isaac could see that a forceful interview would serve no purpose. He still struggled to believe that George Sullivan had murdered Garry Solomon. No connection had been found between the two men.
‘Let us assume that you installed the grille,’ Isaac said. He leant back on his chair to appear less intimidating. George Sullivan had declined his right to legal representation.
‘If that is what you want.’
‘We are aware that you attended one of their parties.’
‘I was younger. Not much use to me now.’
‘Would you have installed the grille on someone else’s behalf?’
‘It’s possible.’
‘For who?’
‘I am not at liberty to say. Your sergeant told you that I was with Army Intelligence?’
‘Yes, and so was Albert Grenfell,’ Isaac said.
‘And he’s dead.’
‘Did he ask you?’
‘It’s possible, but I do not know why.’
‘Were you in the habit of helping him?’
‘Ex-Army Intelligence. Yes, we looked after our own. It was the time of the Cold War, still top secret. I told your sergeant that I was a pen-pusher, not a field operative. Unfortunately, it was a lie on my part. We risked our lives to help each other. Albert saved mine once. If Albert wanted something, he could rely on me.’
‘And you could rely on him?’ Isaac asked.
‘Totally. People today do not understand the concept. They have never experienced war, being behind the enemy line, death only one bullet away.’
‘Is that what you and Albert were involved with?’
‘It’s still classified, although I don’t know why after so many years.’
***
Isaac saw no reason to hold George Sullivan any longer. The man was too old to stand trial, and there was no case against him. A metal grille on a door leading to a room with a body was not an admission of guilt, although Albert Grenfell’s friendship with Sullivan might be.
Protecting the family name at all costs had been mentioned by Mavis Richardson in the past. Would that include covering up a murder as well? Isaac thought.
Once back at the office, he surfed the internet hoping to understand what it all meant. Five hundred years, even more recently, maintaining the family name allowed a multitude of sins, but this was the twenty-first century. Surely such behaviour would not be condoned today.
The day was drawing to a close, and he took the opportunity of an early night. He had planned to meet up with Katrina and to go out to a restaurant near Tower Bridge. There was a sense of relief in Homicide now that the Solomons were in custody.
Wendy had visited their mother. She was visibly distraught, but not surprised. She still loved them as the children she had given birth to, but according to her, they had both turned out bad, just like their father. Wendy had phoned social services to ease the burden on the woman caused by the babies. She also made an appointment to take the woman to see the doctor. She would pick her up, wait for her, and take her back. Mary Solomon appeared to have no friends, no relatives, and now no children.
Wendy knew that although life had taken a turn for the worse for her, she still had two loving sons, a friend in Bridget, and colleagues she admired and cherished. Sadness for Mary Solomon’s life was temporarily replaced by contentment with hers.
Larry had an appointment with a paint brush. His wife had finally got him on home renovations, and an early break from work meant only one thing to him: purgatory.
Bridget and Keith stayed back late in the office.
***
With the most recent murder resolved, apart from the paperwork involved and the subsequent trial, the intensity of the Murder Investigation Team lessened. As DCS Goddard had said on one of his visits, ‘It’s a great result. Everyone should be proud of themselves.’
Wendy had taken the opportunity to have a couple of days off, as had Larry. Bridget stayed in the office as the paperwork showed no sign of abating. The prosecution case files still needed completing, and besides, the office was more agreeable than her home.
She had kicked out the malingering lover, but she missed him. He may have had his faults, but he had been there when she had arrived home at the end of the day. Now all she had was a cold house and four walls to look at, apart from the television in the corner.
Isaac continued as usual, his workload supplanted by assisting on another case. Katrina Smith was still very much in his life, but the intensity of the relationship was starting to wither, as he always knew it would. That was how his life operated, and
