‘Tea, please,’ Isaac said. Larry chose coffee.
The two men waited for five minutes before the housekeeper returned with their drinks, as well as some biscuits on a plate. Another six minutes and Gwen Waverley, clearly very pregnant, appeared. ‘What can I do for you?’ she said.
‘We’re investigating the death of Amelia Brice. We understand that you were good friends with her.’
‘We were, thick as thieves, but time moves on.’
‘We need to know about her.’
‘Then why do you need me? I have not spoken to her for quite some time.’
‘Mrs Waverley, we have yet to establish a reason for Amelia’s death. We are hoping that you may be able to help.’
‘I don’t see how. We ceased to be friends a long time ago. Quentin, my husband, was with her for some years. Eventually, their relationship dulled and he transferred his affections to me.’
‘Dulled?’ Larry asked.
‘They were not involved at that time, or they weren’t as far as Quentin was concerned. Amelia, obviously, had different ideas.’
‘There was a scene?’
‘Amelia caught us in a compromising situation. You don’t want me to elaborate, do you?’
‘That will not be necessary. After that?’ Isaac said.
‘She pestered Quentin for some time, and occasionally phoned me to call me a bitch.’
‘What was your reaction?’
‘I was upset. We had been great friends, and there she is, calling me all the names under the sun, but then, she could be unstable, emotional.’
‘Drugs?’
‘Not when I was with her, although we’d smoke the occasional joint together. More as a lark than anything else, pretending to be sophisticated and grown up.’
‘Not very sophisticated,’ Larry said.
‘I know that now, but her father used to have parties at the house.’
‘Anyone famous?’
‘Some of them, and they were out to enjoy themselves.’
‘How old were you two?’
‘Eighteen, nineteen. Old enough to do what we wanted, silly enough to do it.’
‘Apart from the drugs and the drinks?’
‘Okay, we were both a little easy. I grew up, found myself a good man; she didn’t.’
‘Any reason as to why anyone would want her dead?’
‘Not really. She could be strange at times, abrasive, but not enough to get her killed. Although, she started to find rough men after she broke up with Quentin. I’m not sure if it was as a result of Quentin, or whether that was her inclination.’
‘Her father?’
‘He treated her well, indulged her. He’s not the same as he portrays himself.’
‘We're aware of that,’ Isaac said.
‘In a recent diary that she kept, there is a reference to a Q,’ Larry said.
‘It wouldn’t be Quentin. He’s not spoken to her for years, although he would sometimes meet up with her father.’
‘Any reason why?’
‘Quentin admired the man, and as for Jeremy, I think that Quentin was the son-in-law he never had.’
‘Is there any reason why she would write Q in her diary?’ Isaac asked.
‘As I’ve already said, it’s not Quentin. Amelia could become fixated on people, situations, a dress in a shop window, but apart from that, I’ve no explanation.’
Chapter 9
Before the influx of immigrants who were willing to do anything for half the price of the English, Shirley O’Rourke had been an ideal employer with motivated staff. She was a woman who had never had much in her life, apart from a farm that her parents had called home in Northern Ireland, and now there were cheap staff and plenty of money.
The companies that they had initially cleaned for had wanted to pay only minimal money, but the wealthy with their luxury houses were willing to pay plenty, and so, with cheap staff, she knew she could make a tidy sum for herself.
In the early days of dealing with the wealthy, random checks on her staff’s quality of work had been expected, but the business had expanded. The random checks had ended, the money was flowing in, the complaints were moderate and quickly dispensed with, as Shirley O’Rourke had a disarming manner when it was required.
And now, when she was living almost as well as those that her company cleaned for, the police were snooping around, and all because two women had been killed. She regretted employing Christine Devon, had even known she would be trouble, but the woman was cheap, even if she didn’t respond to the gentle hints about a little extra on the side.
Shirley O’Rourke could not understand people such as the Devon woman. A woman who had lived in England all of her adult life; a woman who should have known how the system worked. The address that she had given when applying for the job showed that she lived poorly in a rundown area. And there she was, willing to clean for those who had plenty, those who had cheated on their taxes, enjoyed overseas holidays and drove expensive cars.
And now, the police had her records and her business was at a virtual standstill. Somehow, those clients that she had garnered over the years were gone. The word had got out that ABC Cleaning had been involved in nefarious activities.
Although innocent until proven guilty, not that she would be able to prove her innocence, the police investigation had destroyed her business, due to one sanctimonious woman.
At Challis Street, the records of ABC Cleaning were being checked by Fraud and Bridget Halloran, the Homicide department’s best person with numbers. Her preliminary work had shown anomalies: understated income, exaggerated expenditure. Not necessarily criminal, although the extent was enough to raise suspicion. Then there were the woman’s bank accounts. Accessed following the approved procedures, they showed more money than the business had generated, yet according to the owner, it was her sole income. There was also a house in
