‘I’ve said all I intend to say,’ Montgomery said. The door had a security chain on the inside, and the man peered through the small gap that it allowed as the door was opened.
‘Mr Montgomery, this is a murder investigation. Either you cooperate, or we’ll haul you down to Challis Street, in handcuffs if necessary. Is that what you want? Flashing light, siren, the works. Let the neighbours get a good view,’ Isaac said.
‘What concern are they of mine, a bunch of low-achieving nonentities?’
‘Your attitude is noted. You’re either a complete moron, or you’re hiding something. It was your son that was murdered, your daughter that committed suicide. Doesn’t that mean something to you? Are you a sociopath, devoid of any feeling towards others? How about your wife? What does she have to say? Surely she must be upset?’
‘My wife is not of concern. She agrees with me.’
Isaac turned to Larry. ‘Phone for a patrol car. We’re taking this man in. I’ll go with him, you can stay with his wife.’
‘You can’t do that. I have my rights,’ Montgomery said. He released the chain on the door and opened it wide. ‘Come in, we can talk here.’
‘No, we can’t,’ Isaac said. ‘You are obviously mentally incapacitated and a possible suspect in your son’s murder. Challis Street is the only place for you. If you need a lawyer, you’ll be given the opportunity to make a phone call.’
‘My wife can’t stay here on her own. She’s too upset.’
‘And now you care about your wife? I don’t remember you showing her any consideration before,’ Larry said. ‘In fact, the opposite. She wanted to talk before, but you stopped her. What are you hiding? Your daughter, disturbed, struggling with her emotions? And yes, we’ve spoken to an ex-boyfriend, found out from him about her emotional detachment. Years of abuse in this house, your wife forced to turn a blind eye.’
‘How dare you accuse me of such a thing. I loved my daughter.’
‘Your son?’
‘Once, before…’
‘Before what?’
‘I’ve no more to say.’
‘How long before the car is here?’ Isaac asked Larry. Before Larry had a chance to reply, a siren could be heard. The curtains next door moved, a face appeared in a window across the street.
‘Bastards,’ Montgomery said as he slammed the door in Isaac’s and Larry’s faces.
Isaac knocked on the door again. It opened. ‘The choice is yours. You either come voluntarily, or I’ll have to arrest you as a hostile witness.’
‘You’ll need a court order.’
‘An expert in the law, are you? We’ll discuss it at the station.’
‘My wife...?’
‘She’ll be fine. Inspector Hill will stay with her. We’ll ask a uniformed officer from the local station to be present.’
‘Not him next door?’
‘A female officer skilled in counselling, not the man with the child’s football that you slashed.’
‘But…’
‘No buts, just step out here and get into the back of the police car, the one with the siren and the flashing lights.’
‘You can’t do this.’
‘We can, and we are. You, Mr Montgomery, who should be shown care and consideration for your loss, will receive none. Not this time or in the future. Where is your wife?’
‘She’s in her bedroom.’
‘Larry, we could have done with Wendy.’
‘She’s with the Benthams,’ Larry said.
‘That shameless hussy with her men and her wicked ways,’ Montgomery said.
The man was sociopathic, the two police officers could see that clearly. Not that it made him a murderer. Isaac and Larry could only imagine the torment that his wife and children had suffered over the years.
‘Constable Elaine Sands,’ said a woman, no more than mid-twenties, as she came through the gate at the front of the house. She shook hands with Isaac and Larry. Montgomery looked away.
‘Follow me, Constable,’ Larry said.
‘You can’t, not without a warrant.’ Montgomery, clutching at straws, continued to protest.
‘Your wife is in the house. We’ve not seen her, and her condition is our primary consideration. You, Mr Montgomery, are due at Challis Street. We are going to have a long chat as to why you disowned your son, how your daughter came to own a house in Pembridge Mews, and what it was that drove her to suicide.’
‘She killed Barry,’ Montgomery blurted out.
‘Proof?’
‘It had to be her. She was a sensitive soul. He was not.’
‘That’s hardly a reason for murder. Your proof?’
‘There is none, but I knew her, knew him.’
‘Challis Street, please,’ Isaac said. One of the police officers in the car came over and placed a hand on Montgomery. The man meekly complied and got in the back of the vehicle. The vehicle pulled away, its flashing light still going, its siren still wailing. A crowd had formed on the street outside the house.
‘I’ll wait for you at the station,’ Isaac said to Larry. ‘We’ll interview him together. Check on the man’s wife first. If she’s traumatised, phone for an ambulance. God knows what this man has put his family through.’
‘It doesn’t explain Pembridge Mews, does it? The place must be worth two million pounds, and we know it was in Matilda’s name and there was no mortgage. Could he have killed Barry?’
‘It still doesn’t explain what happened to Matilda,’ Isaac said. ‘Do what you must here, and ensure that Constable Sands stays with Mrs Montgomery.’
***
There was something about the Benthams’ house that made Wendy relax. She shouldn’t have liked Lord Bentham, but she did, and now, with Amelia still not back, she and Geoffrey, as he preferred to be called, were onto their fourth glass of wine. This time a Cabernet Merlot.
‘Cullen Diana Madeline Cabernet Merlot, 2001,’ Geoffrey said.
‘South African or Australian?’ Wendy’s slurred reply.
‘Margaret River, Western Australia. Seventeen months in French barriques, a great wine.’
‘Father’s found a willing
