Big Greg decided that his wife’s husband would be next. He took a beer from the fridge, a luxury he had denied himself on the street. He opened the bottle and took a swig, the first of many that night. He turned on the television; a mind-numbing movie of no great worth, but for once, nonsense was better than the reality. For that evening, he would forget.
Chapter 11
Wendy had finally had some success. For a police officer with a formidable reputation inside Challis Street Police Station, as well as in the other stations in the area, her inability to trace Big Greg had been an embarrassment to her.
Isaac had told her to keep looking and to ignore the occasionally barbed jibe in her direction, as Isaac knew they were obliquely directed at him. The eloquent black man was the bane of one or two of the older inhabitants of the police station who still harboured attitudes not in line with society in general. Isaac had learnt to deal with them, but now there was some deflection onto those who supported him. No doubt admirers of Commissioner Davies, he assumed, a man who did not conceal his dislikes too well, and a man anxious to get DCI Caddick back into Challis Street. The last Isaac had heard of the man he was assigned to a regional police station to the north of London and generally upsetting those he worked for, as well as producing limited results. But somehow Caddick continued to prosper, and the last word was that he was likely to make superintendent within the next six months, a clear sign that friends in high places were always beneficial.
Isaac assumed it was the result of sucking up to seniors you neither liked nor respected. He was glad he didn’t have to do it. If he didn’t like someone, he was not good at pretending, but Goddard was, although the results were not good for him. The man had been passed over for the rank of commander on more than one occasion; the usual reasons given were budgets, experience, age.
Politics did not only have a place in the Houses of Parliament; they were also alive and well in the Met, an august organisation that prided itself on its fair-mindedness, its willingness to bring in all colours, all religions, all genders, even those who were openly gay. Not that Isaac minded, as he had prospered due to the political correctness, but he had noticed the percentages of those being promoted who were deemed not to be Anglo-Saxon and white had slipped under Davies’s watch. It was only fractional, but Isaac kept a watch on such issues, knowing full well that if Davies were not there, then Goddard would take the next rung up the ladder towards commissioner, and he, Isaac Cook, would almost certainly make superintendent, then commander, and ultimately commissioner.
It was only four years previously that he had been shown on publicity promotions to join the modern police force. There he had been, his beaming face proudly proclaiming that the Met embraced all people and that he was committed to the organisation, yet now he sometimes felt that he did not belong. Still, he had no intention of complaining, and there was a murder investigation to conclude.
‘What have you found?’ Isaac asked. It was early afternoon, and the team were in the office. Typically, Isaac would have expected everyone to be out or working in the office on related activities, but Wendy had been adamant that they should get together.
‘I’ve found where Big Greg went to after leaving Katrina Ireland.’ Isaac could see that Wendy was pleased with herself when she announced the news.
‘How?’ Larry asked. He’d been looking, as well as checking into George Arbuthnot’s background. Yet again, it had been Wendy who had made the breakthrough.
‘I just kept widening the search area. It’s further away than I thought.’
‘Where and what did you find out?’ Isaac asked. Wendy had had her moment of glory, now they needed the details.
‘He checked into a hostel in Croydon. It’s definitely him, as the description fits, and the person in charge recognised him from some years before. It seems that our man is unmistakable, but then we already knew that.’
‘Then what?’
‘Big Greg checked in, but he never checked out.’
‘What do you mean?’ Larry asked.
‘He went up to the first floor of the building. He was carrying a small case with him. He showered, supposedly used all the hot water, and left wearing different clothes.’
‘Clothes from the case?’ Isaac asked.
‘No one saw him leave.’
‘If no one saw him leave, then how do you know he changed his clothes?’
‘He dumped the old clothes he had been wearing into a bin outside, that’s how.’
‘Do we have a new description for the man?’
‘I’m working on that. But for now, we’re not looking for a tramp.’
‘Almost impossible to find, apart from the unkempt hair and beard.’
‘There’s a barber’s shop not far from the hostel,’ Wendy said.
‘He’s cut it off?’
‘The only reason the man remembered was the condition of the hair and beard. He didn’t give me much other than he had trimmed the beard, cut the hair very short.’
‘Clothing? Did the man give you a description?’
‘No. He just remembered the hair, that’s all.’
‘And the case?’ Isaac asked.
‘He left it at the hostel. It wasn’t there
