Wendy, having returned with her signed expense sheet, bid farewell to Isaac and left the office early. It was the promised night out with Bridget. Next day, she would have a pounding headache and a rasping voice. A friend was coming over to her house to look after her husband that night, as she did not expect to be home until late.
Later that day, Farhan phoned to say that Marjorie Frobisher was awake and talking, but still mildly sedated. The doctor’s advice, another two days before she would be fully coherent. He also said that Robert Avers was there as the dutiful husband, while his young lover had left the waiting room at the hospital in disgust. Neither of the two children had been seen, and the media was a damn nuisance and interfering with the normal business of the hospital.
Chapter 35
Quinton Scott arrived at nine in the morning as agreed. His client did not. As a Queen’s Counsel, Scott was extremely expensive. He was a busy man, but as Isaac noticed, he did not seem to be in a rush to move on. Quinton Scott, if asked, would have said the meter’s running, it all goes on the bill.
Farhan had made himself available, substituting another detective to keep a watch on Marjorie Frobisher. Wendy had not shown up, phoning in to say she wasn’t feeling well and would be in late. Isaac knew, from the voice at the end of the phone, the nature of the illness.
It didn’t matter as she had little to do – all missing persons accounted for.
Approaching 10.30 a.m. and with no sign of Williams, even his QC was starting to look agitated. Isaac felt it was time to find the missing man.
A phone call to his office, no answer. Strange, Isaac thought. The production lot yielded no results either. Williams’ home phone and mobile, no answer as well.
Isaac felt there was cause for concern. Williams may have hidden a witness, may have committed an indictable offence, but he had one of the best Queen’s Counsels in his corner. His unavailability made no sense.
It was clear the man was not coming; the QC left soon after. The interview was rescheduled to the next day, same time.
Wendy came into the office shortly after. She did not look well. Isaac could have expressed some sympathy, told her to take the rest of the day off, but there was a job for her. A job for both her and Farhan – find Richard Williams.
His house, a three-storey terrace in Holland Park, was the best possibility. They drove out to the house. After two minutes knocking on the door, the last twenty seconds vigorously, they realised that no one was at home, or, at least, no one who was willing to answer the door. Unable to break the door lock with a swift and hefty shove, they relocated to the back of the house, down a narrow alley to one side. The door into the kitchen at the rear was unlocked.
Entering, they moved slowly around the ground floor, up to the first floor and, finally, the second floor. There on the floor in the main bedroom lay the body of Richard Williams, a gunshot wound clearly visible. It looked like suicide, but why? Farhan phoned Isaac, who phoned Forensics and a medical team. This time, Isaac made sure to call Richard Goddard.
***
Richard Williams was dead. Whether suicide or other was immaterial at the present moment. The case into the murders had taken an unexpected turn. Isaac knew that Marjorie Frobisher was the key, but she was still not fully conscious.
If he insisted, the medical team at the hospital would have been obliged to bring her around for him to ask a few questions. What were the questions, though? Isaac wasn’t sure, and Richard Goddard wasn't much help, constantly on the phone for an update: Who murdered Williams? Is it suicide or murder? What do I tell MacTavish?
Isaac had few answers, although some suppositions. He could not see Williams as the type to commit suicide, although the weapon that had delivered the fatal shot was next to the body. And if it was suicide, why? Hiding Marjorie Frobisher away at a secret location, protecting her, was at best a minor crime. There had been questions, but with a smart legal mind such as Quinton Scott’s and a solid reason in that the woman’s life was at risk, he would have probably got off with a suspended sentence, even credit from the admiring public for protecting the life of a much-admired celebrity. A true friend, a man worthy of admiration, would be how the public would see it; Isaac too.
If Williams had not committed suicide, then that meant murder or assassination. Was it a murder intended to look like a suicide? Was it part of a well-orchestrated plan? And where was Linda Harris? Isaac had sent someone to check out her accommodation, but it had been vacated; hurriedly, according to the landlady.
‘Paid me before she left,’ the landlady had said. ‘No, I don’t know where she’s gone, but such a lovely woman. Plenty of boyfriends, no doubt, but I never saw any here.’
Isaac failed to understand why Linda Harris was taking a room in a pleasant house when she dressed as if she could afford a place of her own, but then he did not know much about her. Sure, she was good company, obviously competent and certainly agile in his bed, but who was she? A minor functionary at MI5, or was she capable of more?
He had to find her, but who knew where she would be? Angus MacTavish, but could he be trusted? Richard Goddard? Isaac ruled him out. He would know little, maybe ask MacTavish, but suspected he would
