‘Six weeks ago, although it’s only just been published. This time it was next winter’s fashion range for one of the top labels. Norway, and it was cold. I can show you the proofs if you’re interested.’
‘You got all that?’ Larry said to Isaac.
‘Check the house, and then show a photo to Matilda’s friend. It looks as though we’re on to something,’ Isaac said.
***
Larry walked back to his vehicle. A parking enforcement officer – the term traffic warden no longer favoured – was looking at it suspiciously. The man’s attitude changed after Larry showed his warrant card.
‘You can never be too sure,’ the officer, a man in his forties, said. Judging by his accent, he was from Africa. Probably only in the country for a year or two, he had drawn the short straw in the job market. There wasn’t any profession that people disliked more than a traffic warden.
‘It’s a police vehicle, the sign in the car’s clear enough.’
‘Sometimes they forge the signs. I picked up an obvious forgery with a disabled driver. I was giving the vehicle a ticket. The driver, fifty yards away, stood up from where he had been slouching and made a dash for me, Olympic pace.’
‘Tough job.’
‘So’s yours. Can you make sure that you move the vehicle before 3 p.m.? We’d have to move it then, police or no police.’
‘I’ll remember. If not, I’m in the mews.’
‘I knock off in a couple of hours, so it won’t be me. I’ve made enough for the council.’
‘Not to deter the wrongdoers?’
‘What do you think? It’s for generating revenue, not that they pay me much. Back in Nigeria, I was a schoolteacher, a lot of respect.’
‘Why did you leave?’
‘Less money back there. I’m better off doing this, copping the abuse, and taking night classes to upgrade my qualifications for England.’
‘Best of luck,’ Larry said as he took three pairs of overshoes and gloves from the boot of the car.
‘Here, put these on,’ he said to Wendy and Amelia on his return.
Amelia turned the key in the lock of the front door of Matilda Montgomery’s mews house. Inside, Larry could see that the place was neat and modern. Whoever the woman was, she wasn’t poor. Larry stayed outside. The old man from further up the mews came over.
‘A good-looking woman,’ he said.
‘You know her?’
‘We speak from time to time. Very polite. If I’d been younger, she would have been my sort.’
‘You’re not that old.’
‘Eighty-three next month. My days of chasing pretty girls are over.’
‘For me, too,’ Larry said.
***
Inside the two-storey house, Wendy led the way, giving explicit instructions to Amelia to keep her hands in her pockets as much as possible, and not to deviate from the route she took through the house. It was clear that the house had been extensively renovated.
‘Was Matilda here when the renovations were done?’ Wendy said.
‘Some of the time. These buildings are old, they need constant work. She has good taste.’
The ground floor was open plan, and the kitchen, a skylight above it to let in natural light, could be seen from the front door. Where the garage door was at the front on the left, there was no room for a car, but there was a bedroom with an en suite instead. There was nothing out of place, and the cleanliness did the woman credit.
Upstairs, two more bedrooms and a roof terrace. Wendy checked the first bedroom, neat and tidy, everything in its place, a picture of a sea view on the wall, a flat-screen television secured by brackets. In the wardrobe, the woman’s clothes, some with plastic covers over them, the rest neatly pressed.
A scream came from the other room. Wendy, looking around, realised that Amelia Bentham, though under strict instructions not to wander off, had done so.
‘Oh my God,’ Amelia said as she staggered back, Wendy grabbing hold of her. She moved the woman to one side, a chair conveniently to hand for her to sit on.
Wendy rang Larry. ‘It’s a crime scene. Let DCI Cook know.’
‘I heard the scream. Is it…?’
‘She’s hanging from a beam.’
Wendy turned around, found Amelia blankly staring into space. She was muttering to herself.
‘Amelia saw the body. I’m leaving here and going over to her house.’
‘I’ll be up to have a look,’ Larry said.
‘No point, not unless you’re fully kitted up. I’ll backtrack with Amelia, try to keep the traces of our presence minimal.’
‘Suicide?’
‘There’s no sign of a struggle.’
Chapter 11
‘It’s not going to become a habit, is it? Two bodies in a week?’ Gordon Windsor, the senior crime scene investigator, said. It wasn’t the first murder investigation that he and Isaac had worked together, and the flippancy reflected the two men’s respect for each other.
Isaac looked up at the dead woman, considered what had driven her to such despair. She’d been dead for twelve to fourteen hours, Windsor had said, even though it wasn’t his responsibility to offer an opinion, knowing full well that the DCI would be anxious to follow up on the woman’s death.
The two men were both kitted in the standard wear for a crime scene: coveralls, overshoes, nitrile gloves. Larry was out in the street with the uniforms, and Wendy was across the road with the Amelia Bentham. Pembridge Mews, a cul-de-sac, was closed off at the junction of Pembridge Villas; the only traffic allowed through, the crime scene investigators and the local residents. The traffic on the busy thoroughfare on Pembridge Road was heavily delayed as a result of Matilda Montgomery’s death. The parking enforcement officer’s statement that after 3 p.m. any vehicle, police or otherwise, would be removed no longer held true, at least for the police. Camera crews from two of the television
