He needed to explain to Gwen, he knew that, but how would he tell her? Would she believe him or would she believe the man that she had married, the man that she apparently loved, but it could not be the way she had loved him. At least, he hoped it wasn’t, but they always seemed to be comfortable in each other’s presence. And as for his daughter, she had accepted the man who had married her mother, the man who had allowed her father to be tortured, the man who had sold out their research for the betterment of mankind to the military, knowing that they would use it for violence.
How would his wife deal with that realisation? Would his daughter be capable of understanding? He knew they would not.
Big Greg moved on, his destination unclear. Again he walked past the building where he had worked. He peered through the glass pane of the front door. Inside nothing had changed. There was the man at the desk checking passes, giving the courtesy ‘good morning’, ‘good afternoon’, ‘see you tomorrow’. The urge to enter through the door was irresistible. He pushed against it, it opened, and he walked inside. He still wore the baseball cap and the jacket with the upturned collar. He took out a pair of prescription glasses to complete the disguise that had been in their case. He put them on; they were too weak, and the man at the desk was a blur.
‘Can I help you, sir?’ the man asked. Big Greg recognised the voice. It was the same man who had worked there all those years previously.
‘No thanks. I think I’ve entered the wrong building.’ Big Greg left. The man had not recognised him, maybe his wife wouldn’t, maybe Ed Barrow wouldn’t either.
Chapter 12
Larry Hill had to admit that the day had started well. It was still early, and there was a full-scale murder enquiry in place, the chance to indulge in an English breakfast at his favourite café in Notting Hill. He knew his wife would be upset, but he wouldn’t be home before ten that evening.
The waitress had not needed to ask for his order; she knew what he wanted, it was always the same: two eggs, the same number of sausages, some bacon and toast, and freshly-brewed coffee to wash it down. ‘Busy day?’ she asked.
‘The usual,’ Larry’s reply.
‘Another murder?’
‘What else.’
‘Don’t you ever get upset with seeing dead bodies?’ the waitress asked. Larry remembered how she had looked when he had told her about the dismembered corpse they’d fished out of the canal in a previous case. No doubt she would be able to manage his description of Arbuthnot with wire tight around his neck better than his description of a headless body, but he did not intend to find out.
‘You get used to it,’ he said instead.
After he had finished his breakfast, and he had drunk his third cup of coffee, he left the café and headed over to Arbuthnot’s house. A uniform stood outside, the crime scene tape across the door. Larry showed his identification, a formality as the two men knew each other.
Gordon Windsor and his team had been over the house, and apart from the room where the murder had occurred, there was no other evidence apart from signs of a struggle in the hall. Larry put gloves on. He climbed the stairs to the first floor of the terrace house, unsure of what he was looking for, other than some insight into who the man had been.
All they had found out so far was that the man had been a middle-ranking civil servant, that he had travelled a lot, and he appeared to have had no defined place of work. Isaac thought that he may have been MI5 or MI6, although that had been discounted for the present.
DCS Goddard had used his contacts; Isaac assumed it was Angus McTavish, the former government whip, now a lord, who had checked it out. If that was the case, then McTavish and the truth were not always mutually compatible, although in this case Isaac had been willing to give the man the benefit of the doubt.
But that was only because they did not know why Arbuthnot had been killed and who Big Greg was. Wendy was working on finding out more about Big Greg, as was Bridget on her computer, although Larry thought that Arbuthnot was the key.
And why was Big Greg now visible, no longer a vagrant? He’d even been spotted by one of Arbuthnot’s neighbours according to a second door-to-door with the updated description of the man. Not that it helped much, as the man at Arbuthnot’s door had been tall, erect, with short hair. Apart from the tall, there wasn’t much to go on, no more than the barber in Croydon had been able to give.
Regardless, Larry was in the house methodically checking from room to room. He could have brought someone else with him, but Wendy was busy and the others in the department would have needed him to hold their hands, and he needed to focus. His wife phoned. ‘How’s the snack I prepared for you?’ she asked.
Larry felt some guilt, remembered the sad-looking piece of lettuce with tomato slices. ‘Great, thanks.’
‘Good, and don’t you go eating the wrong kinds of food, and no drinking beer. Tonight’s special, you know that.’
It was their wedding anniversary. He had forgotten, and now he had a murder case, a full breakfast,
