‘Okay, I’m leaving,’ the driver said and drove off, cursing under his breath. Wendy left soon after, laughed to herself as she saw the driver five minutes later arguing with a policeman over an apparently bald tyre at the front of his vehicle.
***
Isaac was keeping his distance from Jess O’Neill, even though she had phoned a couple of times. He realised that if he met her, he might have weakened, and of the three women with a motive to kill Charles Sutherland, hers was very strong.
He had noticed the change in Farhan. It concerned him that he may be falling into the same trap that he had in the past. He decided to talk to him at some stage.
The information that Wendy had passed on from Paddington Station about Marjorie Frobisher, apparently still alive and now in London, concerned him. Charles Sutherland had probably died as a result of information he possessed about her. That would indicate a professional assassination, but none of the three women appeared to have any background that would suggest they were trained killers.
Could there be another woman? Isaac thought. It seemed plausible, but if it wasn’t one of the three females they knew about, could it be someone else known or someone hidden in plain sight? The delays in identifying suspects and charges against persons, innocent until proven guilty, still occupied the media. His infrequent watching of television in the past had changed; TV had now become a necessity, so much so that he had installed one in his apartment, one in the office.
Sophie did not like the one at his home. Even complained when he had interrupted his undivided attention for her to watch the news. Isaac wasn’t sure where the relationship was heading. Casual sex, no obligation, no guilt, sounded great to the average hot-blooded male, but he had realised in recent weeks that he was getting older, it was maybe time to settle down. He wasn’t sure why he felt this. In the past, it had been a thought in passing and no more. Maybe it was Jess O’Neill. He felt the need to see her. He knew he could not unless there was some new information.
***
The next day Isaac’s momentary lapse to think about Jess O’Neill was abruptly halted. A news flash on the television in the office. One of the two prostitutes known to have visited Charles Sutherland on the day of his demise had been identified. He was aware that Farhan would be upset by the news. He phoned him.
‘What are they saying? Farhan asked.
‘They said her name was Olivia. Is that one of the women?’
‘She did it for her family. I said I would never reveal her identity.’
‘You never did. It’s not your problem,’ Isaac said.
Farhan realised that it was his problem, and he felt the need to elaborate why. Here he was in a relationship with the other woman. If one was identified, it would not be long before the other one was found. He had to focus on protecting Aisha, helping Olivia if he could, although she would not be receptive to hearing from him. He knew he had to contact Aisha and quickly.
On ending the phone conversation with Isaac, he called Aisha – she was occupied with a client at the legal firm where she worked. He left a message, hoped she would get back to him before she heard the news from a third party. He realised he was in love. It was a complication he would not have chosen.
Still married, a divorce settlement that would almost certainly cost him the house, but that was not an issue as long as the children were fine. And then, how many police regulations had he broken? Fraternising with a witness who may be a murderer, behaviour unbecoming, concealing evidence. He could see his career dashed on the rocks of public opinion and police regulations. If it became known, would he be suspended?
Phoning Olivia was not necessary. She phoned him soon after the news broke. He reflected that she sounded calmer than he expected. ‘I told my husband.’
‘I maintained your confidentiality.’
‘It was that Marion Robertson,’ she said.
‘Are you certain?’
‘I phoned her. I thought she was a decent person, but prostitution always was a dirty business.’
‘Why would she do that?’ Farhan asked.
‘There have been some reporters fishing for information, ever since that reporter on the television. If they ask enough questions, knock on enough doors…’
‘Have they found out where you live?’
‘Marion Robertson doesn’t know my home address. Besides, she only ever contacted me on an anonymous phone number that I gave to her.’
‘But she knows where we met and the school run. She set up our meeting.’
‘Oh, my God, she does. They are bound to find me. I should never have met you.’
‘I understand that, but it is a murder. I would have found you anyway, the same way as the reporters. I’ve done the best I can.’
‘I know that. How am I going to protect my family?’
‘It may be best to go away for a while until it blows over. Why did you tell your husband?’
‘I had to. Too much guilt; he didn’t deserve to find out from someone else.’
‘How did he take it?’
‘What do you think?’
‘Badly?’
‘He’s in shock, not talking. I did the right thing telling him. I can only hope in time that he gets over it. Could you forgive someone you cared for?’
‘In time.’ He did not intend to elaborate that he already had.
The call ended; the phone rang again. ‘I’ve just come out of a long meeting. I’m pleased to hear from you,’ Aisha said.
‘I don’t think you’ll be happy when I tell you what has happened.’
‘Tell me?’
‘They’ve found Olivia.’ Farhan could
