The police force was egalitarian, accepting of all religions, all colours, all sexual persuasions. A former prostitute married to a detective inspector should not have counted against him, officially that is; unofficially, he knew it would.
He was aware that eventually he would need to make a decision, but not yet. The inquiry into the two, now three, murders was coming to a climax, he was sure of it. Soon, he would be able to spend time with Aisha. Then he would be able to ascertain if the love between the two of them was real, or whether it was infatuation from him for a liberated, passionate woman, or from her for a reliable, decent man.
And besides, Farhan had to be honest. He was heading up to detective superintendent at most; she had the possibility of becoming a QC. Would a QC be comfortable with a mid-ranking policeman? He wasn’t sure – time would tell.
Wendy, feeling better after a few hours in the office on her own, welcomed both Isaac and Farhan on their return to the office. She had prepared some coffee for them, as well as a plate of biscuits. Chocolate, apparently her favourite, as half of them had already been consumed before Isaac and Farhan had a chance to take one.
Richard Goddard entered soon after, the frown on his forehead all too apparent – the pressure was getting to him. Wendy offered him a coffee; he accepted.
He felt no need to be discreet. Farhan and Wendy were there, and he wasn’t about to send them out of the room this time. ‘DCI Cook, it looks as if you’ve been sleeping with a murderer again.’
Wendy looked over at Farhan with raised eyebrows. Farhan just shook his head imperceptibly in return, a clear sign that he didn’t know either what the detective superintendent was referring to. Farhan had known about Linda Harris, but the ‘again’ he did not.
‘We’re assuming she’s the murderer,’ Isaac replied. No time for embarrassment, he thought.
‘And where is she?’
‘No idea, sir.’
‘What are the chances of finding her?’
‘She appears to have vanished. I was about to ask Constable Gladstone if she can find her.’
‘No problems, I can do that,’ Wendy said.
‘But where do we look?’ Farhan asked.
‘No idea,’ Isaac replied.
‘What do you mean, no idea?’ Normally a man who kept his emotions in check, Richard Goddard was clearly showing the early stages of anger. His impending promotion depended on the solving of the murders, yet he didn’t know which solution his superiors wanted. Did they want the culprit, any culprit? What if the killings were sanctioned assassinations? Was he expected to sweep them under the table?
‘Marjorie Frobisher seems to be the key,’ Farhan said.
‘Farhan’s right,’ Isaac added.
‘Then you’d better get over there and talk to her. That’s if she hasn’t been killed in the interim. As a team, your ability to get your key witnesses killed is outstanding. If you were as good at keeping them alive as you are at bedding them, then we would have wrapped this up weeks ago.’ Isaac and Farhan sat sheepishly. Wendy enjoyed the moment. She liked to gossip, although this was not the sort of gossip she could tell Bridget after a few too many drinks.
With little more to say, Detective Superintendent Goddard left the office.
For twenty seconds, no one said anything. It was up to Wendy to break the silence.
‘Do you want me to look for Linda Harris?’
‘She may be difficult to find,’ Isaac said.
‘I’ll do my best. Where do I start?’
‘Her accommodation, although the landlady won’t be much help.’
‘Leave her to me. They always know more than they admit to; busybodies, all of them.’
As soon as Isaac had passed over the details, Wendy left the office.
Farhan and Isaac continued to discuss the case.
‘What was Detective Superintendent Goddard referring to when he first came into the office?’ Farhan asked, not expecting an answer.
‘I made an error of judgement once before.’ Isaac did not feel the need to elaborate.
‘Another Linda Harris?’
‘Change the subject.’ An unusually curt reply from Isaac.
‘Apologies. If Williams was murdered by Linda Harris, and she bolted out the back door, then who came through the front?’ Farhan asked.
‘Good question, and why didn’t they phone the police?’
‘They had something to hide?’ Farhan answered rhetorically.
‘The only person who would have come in the front door would be Linda Harris.’
‘Or the cleaner.’
‘We’ve discounted her,’ Farhan said. ‘The one day of the week she doesn’t come. Besides, she would have phoned us.’
‘Nobody else to our knowledge had a front door key, apart from Williams, the cleaner, and possibly Linda Harris.’
‘Another woman?’
‘It’s possible. Williams may have had someone else.’
‘Let’s stand back and analyse this,’ Farhan said. ‘Linda Harris we know is MI5.’
‘Correct.’
‘Is she capable of murder?’
‘Unknown, but let’s assume she is.’
‘Did she give any indication of that in the time you were with her?’
‘No. But what does that mean? We’re not even sure of her name.’
‘Let’s assume she is, but not the murderer of Richard Williams.’
‘Then she disturbed the assassin.’
‘Assassin?’
‘Let’s call it that. Who else would feel the need to murder him?’
‘Nobody. This means he knew the identity of the mysterious child.’
‘Maybe. Maybe not. We’re assuming Charles Sutherland and Sally Jenkins did, but it’s pure assumption.’
‘But they died.’
‘As did Richard Williams.’
‘Can we stop this continuing if these people are determined.’
‘I don’t see how.’
‘Marjorie Frobisher?’
‘She’s a dead woman. We can’t protect her.’
‘We need to tread carefully here. Can we trust Richard Goddard?’
‘We must.’
The day had passed by the time the two men had concluded their discussion. Wendy
