‘None of this connects back to me, it is unprovable,’ Lord Penrith said.
‘We have found this much. We will find more. Malcolm Grenfell, Lord Penrith, you will be going to jail for the murder of Garry Solomon. It is only a matter of time. I do not believe that you will enjoy the time until your formal arrest. You have murdered your wife’s first husband and the father of your legal representative. I do not believe they will be here for very long.’
Wendy consoled Emma Hampshire who was in tears. Kevin Solomon moved away from Lord Penrith and over to his mother.
‘Very clever, Chief Inspector. Garry’s attempt at blackmail was amateurish. He had stumbled on the truth, and he was threatening Albert,’ Penrith said.
‘Are you saying Albert killed him?’
‘He had no problems when Garry died.’
‘You killed him?’
Malcolm Grenfell looked over at his wife. ‘I did it for you, only you. Why do you think I never married?’
Lady Penrith stared at him blankly.
‘Please excuse me,’ Lord Penrith said. He walked over to a desk in the corner of the room and pulled open a drawer. He took out a loaded gun, Albert’s old gun. He pointed it at his temple and pulled the trigger.
The End
Murder is Only a Number
PHILLIP STRANG
Chapter 1
Part 1
Stephanie Chalmers realised that her life was not as it should be. On the one hand, she had a husband who loved her; on the other, he was a lecherous bastard who would chase anyone half decent in a skirt.
It was not as though she was beaten, or impoverished, or even neglected. Gregory Chalmers, she knew, had been a good catch when she had met him ten years previously. He had only been thirty-two then, two years older than her. Already, he had his own legal practice and was doing well. He had an easy way with words and an attractive physique with a full head of black hair. Sure, she had heard about his reputation, but she was confident she could tame him, the same way she had tamed a previous boyfriend, but that damn fool went and got himself killed in a motor accident. A tragedy as she saw it, considering all the effort she had put into the relationship.
She had loved the previous boyfriend with the all-consuming passion reserved for the young and susceptible; she had no intention of repeating that mistake by falling for Gregory, her future husband, only ultimately to be disappointed. It had taken six months before he proposed to her, wed her, and then bedded her, but not necessarily in that order. She knew that he would continue to love her intensely; she knew how to do that, but she would only feel a strong affection. Still, she had reasoned, it was a good arrangement, and for nine of the ten years they had been fine.
Two children had resulted, both healthy, both obviously intelligent – a trait inherited from both parents. Stephanie had always assumed that her husband would not cheat on her, but in that she had been wrong.
Gregory Chalmers was a womaniser; he could not help himself. It had upset her the first couple of times, but then, she reasoned, he would calm down in time, and besides, the pretence of enjoying the act of procreation every other night was wearing thin; she was glad of the rest.
Regardless, Chalmers loved his wife, even if he had to sneak in late at night every few weeks, hoping that his wife was asleep – she never was.
***
It was Stephanie who first suggested they needed someone to help with the children. She was busy running her interior design business, her husband was occupied with more legal cases than he could handle.
Ingrid was the first woman to apply, a fresh-faced, clear-skinned young woman. ‘I’m studying in London. My hours are flexible, so helping you out would be all right,’ she had said.
Both the parents agreed that she would be good for the children, as she would pick them up from school and ensure they had their evening meal and completed their homework.
It was three months later that Stephanie first suspected something was amiss. She had come home earlier than usual one night. The children were next door with friends, although Ingrid was in the house, as was Gregory.
Upstairs, a little dismayed after the innocent looks from the two downstairs, she had seen that the marital bed was not as tidy as usual. She pulled back the cover, the evidence clearly visible. The sheets on her husband’s side of the bed were creased, and they had been fresh on that morning.
Stephanie had sat down, shed a tear, drunk a glass of brandy, and then returned downstairs. By that time, Ingrid had left, and no more was said.
Two weeks passed before another occurrence with Ingrid and Gregory; two weeks where Stephanie had an opportunity to reflect on all that had transpired.
Still, she reasoned, he left her alone, and after that night the marital bed had not been used for the coupling of the man of the house and the children’s helper. Stephanie Chalmers decided to let sleeping dogs lie. No point in creating unpleasantness when it was not needed. She remained civil to Ingrid; agreeable and available to Gregory, which was not too often.
***
‘Ingrid, this has to stop. My wife is suspicious,’ Gregory Chalmers said, four weeks into their affair. It was Thursday night, and as usual Stephanie would be home late. It was also the one night of the week when it could be guaranteed that the children were elsewhere, either next door or at a school friend’s place somewhere in the area.
Chalmers had realised that the first flush of
