Back at the station, Bridget had pinned up a photo of the dead youth. ‘Is his death related to the women?’ she asked Isaac as he walked in the door.
‘We’ll treat them as unrelated for the time being. You’ll need to open another case file.’
‘I’ve already started. There’s not much in it at present.’
Isaac grabbed himself a coffee from the machine in the corner. It looked good, but he knew good coffee when he drank it, and this was far from excellent. ‘Where’s the team?’
‘Wendy’s out checking on Christine Devon’s movements. Larry’s over at the Brice house.
‘With the father?’
‘No. He wanted to spend a few hours going through the place.’
‘Okay. Set up a meeting for 2 p.m. We’ll discuss what we have so far.’
‘And what do we have, sir?’
‘Three dead bodies. One’s gangland, may not be so easy to solve.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘The people that Samuel Devon associated with regard life as expendable. Instead of roughing him up, they kill him.’
‘You grew up with them. You must understand them.’
Isaac did not feel inclined to talk more. He moved away to his office. Bridget returned to her desk and her computer. Above the monitor a picture of two cats, the cats that Wendy had rescued from a dead woman in another case. She entered the password on her computer, the file of Samuel Devon was visible, and she inputted what they had so far, noted that the body had been identified.
In his office, Isaac sat back in his chair. For him, no photos of cats, no pictures of loved ones. He picked up his phone and dialled. ‘Jess, are you free this Friday?’ he said.
‘Not this Friday, maybe next. I’m too busy,’ was Jess O’Neill’s reply.
He knew that the romance that had gone on for too long was dead, and that busy had been an excuse. He would phone her again some time, but for now he was lonely, and all he had was a Homicide department, his team, and three bodies. Somehow, to him, it did not seem sufficient. He got up from his chair and went out to see Bridget. For some reason, the sadness of the day had got to him. ‘Bridget, do we have the reports back from Pathology for the two women?’
‘They’re on the shared drive.’
He realised that he was making idle conversation. Another phone call, this time for him. ‘Isaac Cook,’ he answered.
‘I’m at the Brices,’ Larry said. ‘Are you free?’
‘Do you want me there?’
‘If you could.’
Chapter 5
Isaac arrived at the Brice house in Holland Park within twelve minutes. He was glad to be out of the office.
‘Samuel Devon, unpleasant sight?’ Larry said on meeting him at the front door.
‘Not the worst I’ve seen.’
‘And the siblings?’
‘They handled it well enough. When you get a chance, you’d better use your contact to find out who killed Samuel Devon.’
‘He’s your contact as well. You went to school with him.’
‘Rasta Joe’s playing a dangerous game. He could end up dead as well.’
‘He knows that, but his love for me buying him pints of beer keeps drawing him back.’
‘One day, they’ll be fishing him out of the river. What do you have here?’ Isaac asked.
The two men walked through the house and up the stairs to the first floor. They were wearing foot protectors and gloves, even though the house had been handed back to Jeremy Brice. He was moving back in, this time with his girlfriend, although he wanted the room where his daughter had been killed to be redecorated and changed into a walk-in wardrobe. ‘I don’t want to be forced to remember,’ he had said.
‘In here,’ Larry said. Isaac could see that the man was starting to waddle, the result of too much food and not enough exercise. Isaac took stock of himself, noticed that he had put on a couple of extra pounds. He resolved to get out of the office once a day and to take a stroll around the area, or maybe join the gym not far from the police station.
‘What have you found?’
‘It was hidden.’ Larry pushed his way down the side of a wardrobe in one corner of the murdered woman’s room, and extending his arm, he took hold of a book tucked away behind it. ‘She kept a diary.’
‘And this was missed before?’
‘The others were not as thorough as me. Nobody thought that she did anything other than spend money, snort cocaine, and get herself laid by the occasional criminal.’
‘Have you looked inside?’
‘The first few pages. She was articulate.’
‘No one’s ever doubted her education.’
‘It goes back to the beginning of this year. There may be other diaries for earlier years, but I’ve not found them yet.’
‘What does this one say?’
The two men had relocated downstairs to the kitchen and were sitting at a table, the diary opened in front of them.
‘The usual,’ Larry said. ‘Details of her trips into town, the clothes she bought. It’s not until she’s been writing in it for two months that I found something.’
‘I thought you hadn’t studied it in detail.’
‘I hadn’t. I was just skimming through, random pages.’
‘Get to the point,’ Isaac said. He had become annoyed with the slovenly appearance of his DI, even after he had given him a reprimand about maintaining standards in the department. At the time, Larry had been apologetic, promising to turn over a new leaf, but to date it was only thought, no action.
Isaac knew that Larry’s relationship with his wife was suffering as well, because of the ever-present curse of the modern police officer: the unsociable working hours, missing the children’s school open days, the inability
