‘I’ll see what can be arranged.’
Isaac looked over at Ed Barrow. ‘Did you know about this?’
‘Not at all. It’s a mess.’
‘Murder always is. Invariably it’s the innocent who suffer the most.’
‘That’s us,’ Barrow said.
Sally at least, Isaac thought. He still had his doubts about Barrow.
***
Over the course of a few days, Malcolm Woolston’s condition continued to improve. He had been formally charged with the murders of Bob Robertson, Sue Christie, Harold Hutton, and George Arbuthnot. As he had freely admitted to their slayings, he had no difficulty in signing a confession to that effect. Richard Goddard was delighted, and had been the first to phone Commissioner Davies with the good news. Also, Gwen Barrow had been charged and transferred out to a prison pending trial, bail refused.
Isaac had a nagging feeling that all was not right. He had wrapped up the case, dealt with the case for the prosecution, collated all the evidence, interviewed all the people intimately involved and those on the periphery.
‘What is it?’ Larry asked. He had seen his DCI sitting in his chair, eyes closed, thinking.
‘We still don’t understand why.’
‘Is it important?’
‘Probably not, but Woolston’s still in the hospital, and he shows no guilt for his actions.’
‘It’s not for us to psychoanalyse the man.’
‘I agree. And then his former wife attempts to kill him. A woman with no history of criminal behaviour whatsoever.’
‘DCS Goddard would tell you to leave well alone and just take the credit for wrapping up another investigation.’
‘He’s right, I know that.’
‘Then, with respect, sir, drop it.’
‘What causes a man to leave his family? You’ve met Gwen Barrow and their daughter?’
‘Good people, so is the father, apart from what he’s done.’
‘Did we investigate Woolston’s project?’
‘We’re Homicide. Is it relevant?’
‘Not in itself, but Woolston thought it was, otherwise he wouldn’t have put himself through eleven years of purgatory. The man had enjoyed the good life, and then he’s out on the street with all its deprivations.’
‘Personally, I think the man just lost it.’
‘Maybe you’re right. Let’s wrap up the case and take a break for a few days until some other idiot decides to kill someone else.’
‘A few days? More like a few hours judging by our luck.’
A sense of calm reigned in the Homicide department. Final interviews had been concluded with Ed Barrow, Helen Toogood, and Sally. Malcolm Woolston, his condition improving, remained in the hospital, although no longer in intensive care, and he was back on his feet. He was the only person that maintained a level of agitation. Outside his private room at the hospital, the uniforms were stationed on an eight-hour rotating basis, and there was a secure and barred door that isolated the wing from the general hospital. Isaac kept in contact with the man, but he had little to say, other than it wasn’t over yet. Woolston kept reaffirming that his wife was innocent of all crimes and should be released.
Isaac thought that under the circumstances a lenient charge may give her a reduced sentence, possibly no time in prison, but it would be exceptional. Still, if asked to provide evidence, he knew that he would make a plea for leniency based on the woman’s cooperation, and the desire to save her husband, Ed. There were two facts that did not gel: why would Malcolm Woolston want to kill Ed Barrow and why had he killed Sue Christie?
***
For once Ed Barrow found himself without a job. As the department’s research director, he had been given the sack. It had come quickly after the death of Sue Christie and the arrest of Malcolm Woolston. Barrow could see the hand of influence and power behind the scenes. He knew how it worked, having used it when Malcolm Woolston had refused to reveal the final solution to his research project.
Then it had been easy. Harold Hutton had counselled him on what was required after he had informed him, but who was calling the shots now? Barrow didn’t know, and it concerned him. He had made a few phone calls, received bland responses, or maybe he had called the wrong people.
Barrow was desperate. Without any support mechanism in place, and in a trial, proof that Malcolm Woolston had been tortured, the questions would come back on him, and what did he have? Nothing. No written record, no recorded conversations, and the only persons who could corroborate his story were all dead, killed by Woolston.
Ed Barrow travelled to where his wife was being held. He found her in a conciliatory mood. ‘Malcolm’s going to live,’ she said.
‘That’s not what you intended.’
‘What were you up to? What caused Malcolm to do what he did?’
Both of them realised that whatever happened, their marriage was doomed.
‘The man was idealistic. He brought this on himself.’
‘He always was, you know that. Did you have him tortured?’
‘I knew about it, but it was not my idea. I was placed in a dilemma. One of those decisions in life which cannot be defined by a simple yes or no.’
‘And now I’m in jail, charged with murder.’
‘Life takes unknown directions. It’s not over yet.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The project that Malcolm was working on is still valid.’
‘They’ll make him continue?’
‘He’ll either agree, or they’ll force him.’
‘Can they?’
‘They know his Achilles’ heel.’
‘Sally and me?’
‘Yes.’
‘Would they?’
‘Those bastards will do anything.’
‘Do you know who they are?’
‘I have my suspicions.’
‘Then you’d better contact them.’
‘I have already.’
***
Two men met. Two men who had little in common apart from the fact that both were ex-lovers of Sue Christie. Claude Smythe was British Army, the son of a duke. Ed Barrow was a civil servant, the son of a bus driver and educated at the local grammar school, not at Eton.
‘Barrow,
