Larry, the effects of the savage beating still feeling sore in places, walked into the police station. It had been longer than the two days he had initially said. He received a hug from Wendy which hurt, another from Bridget which hurt even more, and a firm handshake from Isaac. ‘Our man is still here?’ Larry said.
‘He’s not that easy to shift,’ Isaac replied. ‘He’ll outlast me at this rate. We’ve got no one in custody for four of the five murders.’
‘It’s not our fault. If there’s no evidence, what can we do?’
‘Are you up to winding up the heat?’
‘I’m ready. Mind you, I don’t think I want to get involved in any violence for a while.’
‘Your wife?’
‘She’s worried. I can’t blame her. I could have ended up dead.’
‘Why didn’t they kill you? It didn’t seem logical to leave you alive.’
‘The two you arrested, they’re not very bright. They follow instructions.’
‘Are you saying that Negril Bob told them to leave you alive?’
‘Why not? He knew what would happen if a police officer was killed in the line of duty.’
The news of George Happold’s death became public later in the day. According to reports, he had visited his daughter and his new grandchild in the hospital in the morning, and then, as he was leaving, he had collapsed with a heart attack, and had died not more than fifty feet from where his daughter had given birth.
Isaac and Larry made their way over to the hospital on receiving the news. Outside were two reporters that neither of the men wanted to talk to. George Happold was an influential man; his death was newsworthy, not the same as a celebrity, but he would get a mention on the news broadcasts for that day.
Quentin Waverley was inside. Isaac and Larry spoke to him, offered their condolences, their congratulations when told about the birth. ‘A brilliant man,’ Waverley said.
‘You weren’t fond of him,’ Isaac said.
‘I could admire him.’
‘Your wife?’
‘She’s fine.’
‘And what now for you?’ Isaac asked.
‘I’ll take over the bank.’
‘A day of change.’
‘As you say.’
Isaac and Larry realised that there was no more to be gained at the hospital. George Happold was elderly and not in good health. His death was not suspicious, although its timing was unexpected.
Back at Challis Street, Caddick was on the warpath. Isaac could see him as he entered the building. ‘Where have you been? I’ve been trying to phone you,’ he said.
‘My phone is never switched off. George Happold died.’
‘Who?’
Isaac could see that Caddick had not been reading his reports.
‘The merchant banker, the father of Amelia Brice’s former friend, the father-in-law of her former lover.’
‘Yes, I remember.’
‘What did you want me for?’ Isaac said once Larry had moved away.
‘Commissioner Davies wants these murders wrapped up.’
‘So do we,’ Isaac said.
‘You’re taking too long. He wants me to become involved.’
‘I’m the SIO, not you,’ Isaac said before remembering what DCS Goddard had said about riling the man.’
‘I’ll need twice-daily reports, that’s all. I don’t intend to come down here and do your job for you.’
Isaac left the man and walked up to Homicide. He was still shaking his head in disbelief. He thought to phone Richard Goddard but decided against it. Davies was either raising the heat through his lackey to protect his position, or it was a further effort to bring his man into Homicide. Neither made any difference as to how Isaac would handle the case.
***
Jeremy Brice was in a good mood that day. George Happold had died, and his secret was safe. The secret that he had slept with Gwen before she had married Quentin; the secret that Happold would not forgive. Gwen had regretted sleeping with Amelia’s father, she had often said that to him since then, but she had been drunk, so had he, but Amelia was not in the house, and one thing led to another.
Amelia knew the truth, so did Quentin, but neither of them was concerned at the time. Amelia was with Quentin, and Gwen was a free agent. Brice remembered that Amelia had teased him about it, not that he appreciated it. Sober, he had felt guilty, but not enough for him to stop sleeping with Gwen on an infrequent basis. And now, with Happold’s death, the truth would never be revealed, and if it was, then so what. An older man with a younger woman did not have the negative connotations of earlier generations, and there had been no coercion by either party, just the occasional coupling when the house was quiet.
It had not concerned Gwen, although her father, a man who had no issues when it was a tactical seduction, would not have understood why she had chosen Jeremy Brice. Gwen would have told her father that it was because she liked him and she needed a man.
***
Negril Bob’s reputation had only been singed by the police, not burnt entirely, but those who had shown him respect, even bought him pints of beer in the pub, were holding back. He had phoned one of the women who would generally come round, but she was busy; he knew she wasn’t.
He looked out of the window of his car as he drove past the college and there she was. He knew there would be trouble, but what did it matter? In two days time, he would board a flight to Jamaica, but till then, he would enjoy himself.
He waited for Charisa to walk around the block from the college,
