Happold was right, his daughter could not have committed the murders of the two women. For one thing, she would not have had the strength to control Christine Devon. Gwen Waverley was slight in stature; Christine Devon had been a big woman, and there had been a struggle. And it was known that the same person had killed the two women.
‘Mr Happold,’ Isaac said, ‘your influence will make no difference, or who you regard as friends. Someone is hiding something from us. You profess to be a moral man, yet you condone your daughter’s actions. It is not something that most fathers would want to hear, that their daughter had used their promiscuity to achieve their aim.’
Steady on, Larry thought. He knew that Isaac was trying to break through, but implying that Happold’s daughter was a tart was pushing it too far.
‘DCI Cook, I am a strong believer in the basic structure of society, the importance of the family, not this modern fashion for living together and having multiple partners. Gwen believes in this as well, and for a time she was living with Amelia Brice, the daughter of a man that I despise.’
‘Why do you despise him?’
‘Let me finish,’ Happold said. ‘My daughter for a brief period fell into Amelia’s way of life.’
‘Your daughter played around?’
‘If that is a polite euphemism for sleeping around, then yes. She met Quentin through Amelia and decided that she wanted him. I checked him out, and he seemed suitable. Not only did he come from a good family, but he also had the right education and the skills to be brought into this bank.’
‘It sounds mercenary,’ Isaac said.
‘It is realistic. My time at this bank is coming to a conclusion. Another five to ten years and I will be dead or no longer capable. My daughter, whom I love, is ambitious, but mathematically dyslexic. Quentin, if he was married to my daughter, would be the ideal compromise, and Gwen’s children would be assured of a legacy.’
‘Is Waverley worthy?’
‘As my daughter’s husband, yes. He will run this bank as I have run it, with my daughter’s guidance.’
‘To ensure that this bank survives, you were willing to dispense with your values,’ Isaac said.
‘This is the real world, DCI Cook. Not some childish vision of utopia. Gwen did what was necessary, and I respect her for it. Quentin may think that he is still his own man, but he is not. He will not give this life away.’
‘A caged animal.’
‘Except for him the door is always open, but each night he comes back.’
‘Are you saying that if he were playing around with Amelia Brice, that would be alright?’
‘That is not what I said. It is not alright, but the occasional indiscretion will not mean an automatic exclusion from this family. Waverley represents a significant investment on my part; an investment I intend to realise.’
‘You’ve not explained the reason for your hatred of Jeremy Brice.’
‘It is not only Brice, but he is the most contentious. The man, a so-called social commentator, revels in digging into the dirt of every successful person in this country, in making scurrilous remarks about leading politicians, even about me.’
‘Have you met the man?’
‘On many occasions.’
‘Recently?’
‘Not since the death of his daughter.’
‘Is there any reason why not?’
‘We do not make plans to meet. Our paths cross unintentionally, and when we meet, we are civil. Does that answer your questions for now? I am a busy man, as is Quentin, and I would appreciate it if you leave my daughter alone for now.’
‘It’s still a murder investigation,’ Isaac said.
‘My daughter’s pregnancy is proving difficult, that is what I am saying.’
‘We will take it into account.’
***
It had not been a good day for Wendy. Her investigation into Shirley Rourke and the ABC Cleaning company had come to fruition, which meant one thing: she’d have to arrest the woman.
It had been the Fraud team at Challis Street, investigating the insurance swindle, who had solved the crime, finding that the destroyed painting, long known to be a fake, had its twin, the original, on the wall of a house in the United States. An appraiser had been dispatched. The painting was checked, found to be genuine.
The cleaner who had switched the original for the fake, stealing the first, destroying the second, had also been found and had admitted to the theft and to her and her employer’s involvement as well.
‘I’m not guilty,’ Shirley O’Rourke protested as Wendy arrested her at her house, although with some regret.
Once back at Challis Street, and in the interview room, Shirley O’Rourke, on legal advice, admitted to having known of the theft. The most she would get in prison would be two years, the maximum possible sentence avoided. Later, the woman confided to Wendy that it was a weight off her mind, and on release she’d go and live somewhere warmer, which interested Wendy, as her arthritis was being aggravated by the weather.
Chapter 19
Negril Bob paced up and down in his room. He knew that he had been a man about town, a man to be feared, and now he was a nobody in a nowhere place. He also knew that the evidence against him for the death of Rasta Joe was flimsy.
Negril Bob had grown up in a culture of violence. His father, a stern man, fresh off the boat from Jamaica, had embraced crime and gangs. At home, the father would fluctuate from adoring father and loving husband to being violent and hateful. At those times, he’d use his fists to bring some sense to his children, his wife trying to hold him off, only to receive a fist herself. He still remembered the time when
