‘Who else could have done it?’ Farhan asked.
‘Christy Nichols, Jess O’Neill, Fiona Avers.’
‘They each had a strong enough motive: one he had forced to indulge in oral sex, another he attempted to rape, and the other was indulging in sexual intercourse with the man until her mother walked in.’
‘He was poisoned. Whoever it was needed to get hold of the poison and know the dosage.’
‘Fiona Avers is callous enough. I just don’t see Jess O’Neill and Christy Nichols doing that, do you?’
‘Jess O’Neill could if she was vengeful enough,’ Isaac replied. ‘What do you reckon to Christy Nichols?’
‘She seems too timid.’
‘And what is it with these escorts? Why are you protecting them?’
‘I gave my word that I would keep their identities confidential for as long as I can.’
‘You know you will have to reveal them at some time.’
‘I hope that will not be necessary.’
‘You’d better hope for a confession from someone. That’s their only chance. I hope you explained that you can’t give a guarantee.’
‘I did.’
***
With the pressure of work, Isaac just hadn’t had any time to devote to Sophie. He thought she was starting to become clingy, talking about moving in with him, or him moving in with her. Neither option appealed, and besides, there was still Jess.
After the interview session at the police station, their conversations by phone had been few and far between, and whereas the attraction remained from both parties, the easy banter, the repartee, the teasing, more from her than him, were conspicuous by their absence.
He had not dwelled too much on Farhan and his desire to keep the two escorts’ identities concealed, although it was out of character for his offsider. He had always been a stickler for following investigations by the book, but he assumed he had his reasons.
Isaac was aware that he was not faultless either. There were times when he had gone easy on a female witness if he thought they were not involved.
Chapter 23
‘DI Larry Hill, Islington Police Station. We’ve got a body. Police records show that you know the name.’ Isaac looked at the clock by his bedside. It said 2 a.m. Fully awake now after missing the original message, Isaac asked the caller to repeat.
‘What’s the name?’
‘Sally Jenkins, do you know her?’
‘Yes.’ One of the people he had been planning to interview, but never got around to it as he was too busy elsewhere. Isaac quickly dialled in Farhan.
‘It looks as if someone climbed in a window at the back of the building, forced entry, grabbed the woman and held her face down in the sink. Clear signs of a struggle,’ Larry Hill said.
‘What’s the address?’
‘14 Crane Grove.’
It took Isaac three minutes to exit his apartment, another twenty minutes to get to Islington. It was early morning; the traffic was light. The road had been blocked off ‒ tape had been put across to keep out the neighbours, the gawkers, and the plain nosey.
Most were still in their pyjamas, even though it was a cold morning. Farhan had beaten Isaac to the murder scene. Farhan waited for him to park his car. Then they proceeded to the house, showing their identity badges to the uniformed constable standing outside. It was clear that Sally Jenkins lived well. The upstairs flat in a typical terraced house had been tastefully renovated – in the last year, Isaac thought. The decorations were fresh, the television and stereo equipment good quality. There seemed to be little in the way of food in the house, which Isaac did not see as suspicious. He rarely ate at home. The bed, queen size, showed only one occupant; one side was neat, the other ruffled. It appeared she preferred to sleep close to the open window. It was apparent on examining the body that she slept in the nude.
‘Any signs of a sexual attack?’ Isaac asked.
‘Forensics can tell you that,’ Larry Hill said. ‘From what I can see, I would say not. Apart from the bruising on her legs where she kicked out, it just seems to be death by drowning.’ He was a good-looking man, late forties, with the slightest sign of middle-aged spread and appeared competent. He had a healthy tan, clear skin and white teeth. Isaac had developed a knack of summing up people at the first meeting. It sometimes annoyed Sophie, the few times he had taken her out. It seemed too clinical for her.
‘One person or two?’ Farhan asked.
‘I would say one,’ Hill responded. ‘It’s not that big in here. Two, they would have held her legs firm, stop her making a noise. Professional, I’d say.’
‘Why do you say that?’ Isaac asked.
‘Have you seen the body?’
‘Yes. I met her when she was alive.’
‘If Charles Sutherland was a professional assassination, and Sally Jenkins is too, then Marjorie Frobisher is almost certainly dead,’ Farhan said.
‘You mean the woman off the television?’ Larry Hill had heard them talking.
‘You weren’t meant to hear that,’ Isaac said.
‘You think she’s dead?’
‘Larry, forget what you just heard. People are dying as a result of her.’
‘Policemen included?’
‘Nobody is safe. Certainly not Farhan and myself.’
‘They said she used to play around.’
‘Larry, I don’t think we should discuss this anymore. We’ll be taking the case over from here.’
‘This is my case.’ Larry Hill saw his authority being usurped.
‘You’re getting yourself involved in something that could get messy.’
‘That sounds like a threat.’
Isaac attempted to appease the man’s anger. ‘This is not the first body, almost certainly not the last.’
‘That’s my decision. I will conduct the investigation into Sally Jenkins’ death and keep you advised. The others you can deal with.’
‘We’ll accept your assistance. Find out what you can about suspicious people, how the window was opened.’
‘DCI
