‘She doesn’t look so attractive now.’
‘Professional?’
‘That’s what we reckon, but why? Whoever did this must know the pressure will be on us to solve it as soon as possible, no stone unturned.’
‘No shortage of resources, either.’
Wendy Gladstone eased her car through the London traffic, difficult at the best of times, horrendous as she had to divert to make her way through, even flashing her badge a couple of times to ensure the police officer on traffic duty let them through.
***
Challis Street Police Station, an edifice that had been built sixty years previously, had been modernised over the years. The Homicide department on the second floor was not the best area in the station: that was reserved for Detective Chief Superintendent Richard Goddard up on the top floor. However, Homicide was clean and modern and suited those that worked there.
Bridget Halloran, a long-time friend of Wendy Gladstone, looked after the administrative side of the department. She and Wendy had pooled their resources and moved in together a couple of years earlier, when Bridget, a woman in her late forties, had kicked her layabout lover out of her house, and Wendy’s husband had died.
In Isaac’s office, apart from the plant in the corner, a gift from Wendy and Bridget when one of his previous romances had ended, the furnishings consisted of a filing cabinet, a desk replete with laptop and monitor, a chair for the incumbent, and three more for the department’s core team.
‘We need to identify those at the scene,’ Isaac said. He was leaning back on his chair, glad of the chance to rest. The night before the team had worked late wrapping up a murder investigation, the death of an old man. In that case, it had been the daughter desperate for the man’s money who had been arrested, but now all she was going to get was a lengthy stay in prison. And besides, unbeknown to the woman, her father had changed his will six months previously, writing the daughter out.
‘Who do we have a positive ID on?’ Bridget asked.
‘Guy Hendry and Gillian Dickenson. Also, Giuseppe Briganti, the owner of the salon.’
‘Hairdresser to the Stars.’
‘Is he?’
‘Even to the Royals, so they say.’
‘They?’
‘The magazines that obsess about such matters.’
‘Pure nonsense, just entertainment. But Briganti is well known and expensive.’
‘Alphonso Abano was there as well. Two of the others appear to be employees of Briganti’s, so they shouldn’t be too difficult to identify. That leaves two others, a man in his thirties dressed in a suit. There was a car outside, appeared to be his. Follow up on the registration.’
‘I have,’ Bridget said. ‘Paul Waverton, banker.’
‘Who’s taken responsibility for informing the next of kin?’
‘It’s your job, although they won’t suppress Guy Hendry’s identity for very long.’
‘You’ve got the addresses?’
‘I have.’
‘Very well. Let’s go. There was also another woman there. She didn’t look to be an employee, and she was dressed cheaply. Not a customer, and not related to anyone else in the salon. Also, she was clutching a magazine, the type that you two like.’
‘A fan of Hendry’s?’
‘It’s probable. Let’s deal with the next of kin first. Who’s nearest?’
‘Gillian Dickenson’s mother lives five minutes from here.’
‘Okay, we’ll start with her. Wendy, it may be best if you come with me. Larry, return to the crime scene, follow through on the unknowns. And see if there’s any more evidence that we can work with.’
‘If it’s professional, then it’s unlikely.’
‘Then find out who the target was. The others would have been dispatched to prevent witnesses.’
‘It’s very sad,’ Bridget said.
‘It’s those who are left behind that suffer the most. And besides, we’re here to do a job, not to get emotional,’ Isaac said. ‘One more thing, I knew Gillian Dickenson. Nothing in itself, but she was at a party I went to about six months ago.’
Chapter 3
‘It’s Gillian, isn’t it?’ Maureen Dickenson, an attractive woman in her late forties, said as she opened the front door to her house. She was dressed similarly to the way her daughter had been when she was killed. Wendy thought that on another woman it would have made the person look cheap, but not with her.
‘Can we come in?’ Isaac said.
Inside the house the woman sat on the edge of her seat.
‘I’m sorry, but your daughter has been killed.’
There was no initial reaction for what seemed like an eternity.
‘How?’ Maureen Dickson eventually said.
‘There’s been a shooting. Your daughter was an unfortunate consequence,’ Isaac said.
‘Was she with Guy?’
‘She was. He has died as well.’
‘I knew no good would come of her associating with him.’
‘You knew him?’
‘I was younger than Gillian when I went out with him, but I saw through him soon enough, the same as she would have. But now, she’ll not get a chance. Can I see her?’
‘Later today, maybe tomorrow,’ Wendy said. ‘We’ll need an identification. It’s either you or her father.’
‘Her father’s dead, five years ago.’
‘Can I ask how?’ Isaac said.
‘There’s not much to say. He died in a car accident one night. It was late, not one block from here when a drunk ran a red light and slammed into Gerry’s car. He was a good man, strong on discipline, and we brought up our daughter well. But you know the young, always looking for that extra bit of excitement, and Guy was that.’
‘Is there anyone who can be with you?’ Isaac said.
‘My sister. Her number’s in my phone.’
Wendy took the woman’s phone and called the sister.
‘Five minutes,’ Wendy said after she had ended the call.
Isaac returned to talking with the dead woman’s mother. ‘Sorry about this, but I
