‘Yet he uses a false name and address.’
‘He’s been stringing along a married woman. We don’t know if it was love, or whether it was just a dalliance. Not that he ever took money from her, not that we know of. The woman’s husband is involved with military technology. It’s an avenue that may be pursued at some stage.’
‘Espionage, attempting to find out details of the technology?’
‘Something like that. We’ve not spoken to the husband, and his company is subject to the Official Secrets Act. We could go barging in, blow the woman’s alibi, or whatever she’s been using to hide the truth from her husband.’
‘You think that the dead man could have been involved with a foreign power?’ Goddard asked.
‘I hope not. We became involved with the secret service on a previous case. Ended up getting messy, almost destroyed our careers.’
‘It could have got you killed.’
‘That’s why I don’t want to go there,’ Isaac said. ‘Pandora’s box. If we open the lid, who knows what or who will come out.’
‘Don’t pursue that angle yet. You reckon that the dead man was involved with other women?’
‘Assumptions, and not very good at that. He used a bogus address and name, credit cards delivered to a post office box.’
‘Unusual in itself, not strictly illegal.’
‘The account where the credit card draws its money is offshore, but it’s paid off in full each month.’
‘He may be an overseas contractor, paid offshore.’
‘Then why the false name?’
‘I can’t help you there. How’s Jenny?’
‘She’s fine. We were going to Jamaica, but with this murder, I’ve put it on hold.’
‘Once it’s over, come over to the house, the two of you. You can call me Richard there, not sir.’
‘You know I can’t, never have, never will.’
Goddard laughed, knowing full well that in all the years they had known each other, the times they had met socially, his DCI had never once referred to him as anything other than ‘sir’ or ‘chief superintendent’.
Isaac left and returned downstairs to his office. A report had to be dealt with; he was not excited at the prospect. Too much time spent in the office, too much time dealing with reporting and budgetary constraints, trying to justify the need for extra staff, receiving the customary rejection.
Restless, Isaac left his office and went and sat with the two constables that were working with Wendy. ‘Any luck?’ he asked.
Katrina Taylor, he knew; Mortimer, he did not, other than by reputation. It was not for him to form an opinion of the man, and he could only be civil to him.
‘No luck, DCI. Sergeant Gladstone’s meeting with Christine Mason. We’re ploughing through the hotels, phoning some, emailing others. It could take some time,’ Katrina Taylor said.
‘We could do with some help, sir,’ Mortimer said.
‘We all could,’ Isaac replied. ‘Unfortunately, I can’t get you any yet. Find where Colin Young has been, and then maybe.’
As Isaac left the two constables, he leant over and whispered in Katrina Taylor’s ear. ‘Any trouble?’
‘Not yet. Best behaviour. You’ve heard?’
‘I have. If it happens, or you think it’s about to, give me a call. Wendy says he’s competent, just that his eyes are too big for his head,’ Isaac said.
***
Wendy could see that Christine Mason was an insecure woman. Even when meeting at a café close to Paddington Station, she was nervous.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ the Fitzroy’s account manager said. ‘Trouble with balancing the books.’
‘What sort of trouble?’ Wendy said. She had arrived earlier and had ordered a latte and a slice of cheesecake.
‘Can I see him?’
‘After here. You’re the only one, proof positive, that can confirm that it’s the man you knew.’
‘It’s him.’
‘We’re certain it is, but you seeing him may jog something in your memory. Something you’ve failed to tell us.’
‘I’ve told you all I know. I loved him, you know.’
‘That’s not what you said before. The truth, please. Did you love him, or are you now upset that he may have been playing the field, spending time with you for the benefits?’
‘What benefits?’
‘Financial.’
‘Well, I did lend him some money once, but he paid it back.’
‘All of it?’
‘Not all. That’s the problem at the hotel.’
‘You’ve been borrowing money from the hotel, IOUs, and you’ve not paid it back? That’s a criminal offence.’
‘I know, and now I don’t know what to do.’
‘Your husband has money, so do you.’
‘Joint accounts and he’s fastidious. He’d know if I did that.’
‘It’s going to come out at some time. Did you kill him?’
‘Who? My husband or Colin?’
‘Colin Young. Had you contemplated leaving your husband and moving in with him?’
‘Silly dreams, the same as a pubescent girl, her first crush on a boy. Imagining the two of you living the “happy ever after”.’
‘We grow out of it, most of us do,’ Wendy said, remembering back to Bradley Lawson. The two of them, just fifteen, and there behind the barn on his father’s farm. She had lost her virginity to him, him plighting his troth, telling her it would be forever. And then two weeks later, she had caught him with her best friend, Theresa. The same barn, the same corny lines, another gullible teenager. She smiled as she thought back to that day, not that she had smiled at the time. She had been so angry, and stronger than most of the boys at that age, that she had pulled him off her now ex-friend, his trousers around his ankles, Theresa’s skirt up high. With one shove, she had pushed him onto a cowpat, his naked backside sinking in deep. As he struggled to stand, she had hit him square in the face with a clenched fist, breaking two teeth and his nose.
Bradley, the young lover, had required dentistry to fix
