Apart from the occasional visit to her business premises, Shirley O’Rourke stayed in her house in Bayswater, and the ABC Cleaning Company appeared to be no longer in operation. Wendy realised that she would need to talk to the woman again shortly, although this time woman-to-woman and away from the police station and the woman’s lawyer.
Inside the house, unbeknownst to Wendy, Shirley O’Rourke was fully occupied planning her future. She knew that Peregrine Woodley was the best there was, but even his legal skills could not prevent her receiving a custodial sentence. It had been a good life, but she did not intend to spend time in prison, and it wasn’t as if the Brice home had given her much. The previous cleaner had been there for three years, and the arrangement had been fine. Any cash lying around, and Amelia Brice had been too spaced out on a few occasions to notice the loss, and the jewellery, she had plenty, so it had been easy to take, sometimes just removing it, other times substituting with a fake.
Shirley had felt no pang of regret over fleecing the woman: a woman who had been born with a silver spoon and nothing else, apart from being attractive. Shirley O’Rourke knew that she had never been able to rely on her looks to get by, and no man would ever have been swayed by her wiggling her arse, flashing her assets.
Wendy could see the smoke in the woman’s backyard, realised that she couldn’t do anything about it. It was compromising evidence, not old leaves, that was burning.
Bridget Halloran had been busy in the office at Challis Street checking insurance claims against the records taken from the ABC Cleaning Company.
Wendy left from outside the O’Rourke house and went to the first of the homes that concerned Homicide. At the house, not far from the Brices’, a cheerful young boy of no more than six answered the door. ‘Is your Mummy or Daddy in?’ Wendy asked.
‘Mummy’s here.’
A woman in her forties came to the door. She was dressed in a top and jeans, an apron tied around her waist. ‘Sergeant Wendy Gladstone, Challis Street Police Station.’
‘Is it bad news?’
‘Not at all. I’ve just got a few questions for you.’
‘Then come in. I’m busy in the kitchen. If you don’t mind me continuing, we can talk.’
‘That’s fine.’
In the kitchen, the marble-topped worktop, the gadgets, were all of the best quality. ‘Do you want a cup of tea?’ Emily Cardiff said.
‘Yes, please.’
Two minutes later, a cup of tea was put down in front of her. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘Eighteen months ago, you made an insurance claim for a vase that had broken. How did it break?’
‘The cleaner knocked it over.’
‘How much did you claim for?’
‘You’ve got the figures, I assume?’
‘Twenty-five thousand pounds,’ Wendy said. ‘That’s a lot of money for a vase.’
‘It was antique, a family heirloom.’
‘It couldn’t be repaired?’
‘No. It was smashed beyond repair.’
‘ABC Cleaning, what can you tell me about them?’
‘Reliable, do a decent job. I’ve no complaints.’
‘We’re investigating the deaths of Amelia Brice and Christine Devon. Did you know either of the women.’
‘I knew Christine Devon. She used to clean here.’
‘What can you tell me about her?’
‘Not a lot really. She’d do her job and leave.’
‘Was she here when the vase broke?’
‘Not then. That was another cleaner.’
‘Her name?’
‘Victoria Neville.’
‘Do you know where she was from?’
‘I never asked. I don’t make a point of becoming too friendly with the staff.’
‘And the vase that was broken?’
‘We used the money to buy another.’
‘Where can I find Victoria Neville?’
‘I’ve no idea. She used to live locally, that’s all I know. She was Jamaican, or at least, she was born there.’
‘Do you have any problems with the immigrants here?’
‘If they cause no trouble, I don’t.’
Wendy left the house, not sure that she had achieved much. A vase broken by a cleaner did not seem an impossibility.
She’d ask Bridget to find Victoria Neville for her.
***
Isaac entered Billy Devon’s workplace to find the man hard at work. ‘We need to talk,’ he said.
‘Ten minutes and it’ll be my lunch time. You’ve been speaking to Charisa?’
‘She’s a worried woman, and you’re in trouble.’
‘I’ll do anything to protect her.’
‘Admirable, no doubt, but you’ve broken the law.’
‘There’s a place down the road. They make a decent sandwich. Do you fancy one?’
‘I’ll treat,’ Isaac said. He could see that the young man was worried. In the far corner of the store, the manager kept an eagle eye on his employee and the man in the suit he was speaking to.
‘Can I help you?’ the manager asked, moving quickly to waylay Isaac before he left the store.
‘DCI Cook, Homicide.’
‘And what do you want with Billy?’
‘It’s confidential.’
‘I don’t want my people involved in murder.’
‘How long have you been the manager?’
‘Two weeks.’
‘Then you are not aware of your employee's history.’
‘His history is not my concern; his ability to do his job is,’ the manager said. Isaac looked at the man: white, dark-hair parted in the middle, a surly disposition. Isaac did not like the man. If he knew what Billy had been up to, he’d have him out of the shop within the hour, but not before informing the police to let them know that he had apprehended a thief.
‘Mr Devon’s mother and brother were murdered.’
‘He’s a suspect?’
‘No. As far as I am concerned, I would take it as an affront on your part if you question Billy
