She moved to the other room, closer to the drinks cabinet, and poured herself a gin. She gulped it down in one. For a moment, she remembered that the doctor had told her to go easy on the alcohol while she was pregnant.
‘To hell with him and his damn advice,’ she said out loud, although the house was empty and no one would hear. She then poured herself another drink and went and sat down in her favourite chair. On the television, an American soap opera.
What has my life come to, she thought. If Quentin wants to enjoy the good life, it’s not happening at the expense of my carrying his children, and not as a result of my father’s generosity.
Chapter 14
Shirley O’Rourke was back in business, the door to her office open. She was welcoming as Wendy entered through the front door. ‘We’ve got a special rate for today,’ she said.
‘Not for me,’ Wendy said. ‘Once a week I clean the house. I don’t have the money your clients do.’
‘There are not many left that do. You’ve frightened them off.’
‘The Brices?’
‘We’re back there. Jeremy’s moved in, with his girlfriend.’
‘You’ve met her?’
‘Oh, yes. I’ve been over there. She’s an educated woman, not like me.’
‘You’re smarter than you think. You certainly did a good job with your financial records, your attempts at not paying tax.’
‘I did nothing illegal. When can I have them back?’
‘There was an insurance claim, a house in Bayswater. Supposedly, a painting was damaged beyond repair. One of your cleaning team went crazy and put a knife through it.’
‘The woman had marital problems. She took her anger out on the painting.’
‘Any reason why?’
‘It was modern art. For whatever reason, the woman flipped. The owner had it insured; I had insurance. Is there a problem?’
‘Apart from the fact that further testing six months later it was found to be fake.’
‘So?’
‘Did you know that the owners, who’ve since disappeared, knew that?’
‘Not me. The claim was settled with the owners by the insurance company, and I paid an excess for my insurance, as well.’
‘The claim was for three hundred and fifty thousand pounds.’
‘I know that.’
Wendy looked at the woman, attempting to see if there were any tell-tale signs of lying: the beads of sweat on the forehead, the fidgeting, the avoidance of eye contact. She could see none.
‘The cleaner?’
‘I kept her on for a couple of months. After that, she left and went back to her home country.’
‘She went back with money in her pocket; we’ve checked,’ Wendy said. ‘Once back there, she bought a small house, not expensive by English standards. And you paid fifty-five thousand pounds off your mortgage, and the painting’s owners left the country.’
‘I acted correctly.’
‘The only issue is whether you knew it was fraud on the owner’s part.’
‘I did not. I’ve told you, I play it tough but fair.’
‘Then where did the fifty-five thousand pounds come from?’
‘Are you accusing me?’
‘Not at this time. We are attempting to make contact with the painting’s owners. If there is a case to answer, then I will return.’
‘There is no case. I have told you the truth,’ Shirley O’Rourke said. Wendy knew that she had not. It was only one of several cases of potential fraud that had been uncovered and the Fraud team at Challis Street were working with the insurance companies.
‘Insurance fraud, purposely damaging property for financial gain, are criminal offences. They are subject to a custodial sentence, you do realise this?’
‘I understand the law. That is why I vet my employees.’
‘If you admit to your guilt it will go in your favour,’ Wendy said.
‘There is no guilt.’
‘Insurance fraud is a possible motive for the murders of the two women.’
‘Unless you have any more accusations, I suggest that you leave, or we’ll meet again with my legal representative.’
‘I’ve no more questions, but remember, your confession will help you later. If the two women were murdered as a result of fraud at the Brice house, then you could become an accessory to murder. That could be a long term in prison. You were leaving the country once before. I’d suggest that you do not attempt to leave now.’
‘I will not leave.’
***
Gordon Windsor confirmed that the death of Rasta Joe had been as a result of multiple knife wounds. There was also evidence that he had been beaten severely and that his hands had been tied. Also, that four people had been at the crime scene: three inflicting the violence, the fourth on the receiving end.
Isaac and Larry had not needed the CSE’s report. The witness at the scene had given them enough information to bring Negril Bob into the station, not that he would come quietly. Even in the area, there were small pockets where the police did not enter unless in numbers, and two police inspectors would have no chance.
Larry had made a few phone calls. Rasta Joe had been his primary contact, but he still knew two other members of his gang. ‘What’s the deal with Rasta Joe?’ Larry said over the phone after it was eventually answered.
‘We’re not around,’ Jimmy said. Larry remembered him as the skinny man who always kept in the shadows whenever he had met with Rasta Joe.
‘Why did they kill him?’
‘He was too friendly with you. You’re poison.’
‘I’m your only hope now.’
‘We can look after ourselves.’
‘Is that why you’re not answering the phone? Where are you, hiding out, under your bed? Great real, Jimmy, we need each other.’
‘There’s going to be trouble. Some of the other gangs want to unite to take down Negril Bob. He had no right to kill Rasta Joe.’
