‘Mr Montgomery,’ Isaac said, ‘why don’t we stop this charade? You are an insensitive man, a man that it is easy to dislike. You do not care what your neighbours think or do, as long as they keep away from you. A police car to bring you here can only enhance your reputation, or lack of it. You should be pleased with what we did for you.’
‘Is this it? A slanging match while you insult me. I’ve a wife to care for, a daughter to bury.’
‘A son that needs justice.’
‘I will not hear that man’s name mentioned.’
‘You’re not in your house; you’re in a police station. Barry Montgomery was your son. He’s been murdered. Now, we have some possibilities. One, it was a married woman he was having an affair with, or it was her husband. We’re not convinced about the woman, although the husband remains a possibility. Then we come to you and Matilda. You hated your son, and we are told he struck you, told you to let Matilda live her life the way she wanted.’
‘My wife was not there. She doesn’t know the truth, only what Matilda told her.’
‘Not Barry?’
‘He would not have said anything...’
‘Assuming it’s not you, then it’s Matilda, burdened with guilt over her relationship with her brother.’
‘Are you implying that my children were sleeping together? My dear Matilda with that brute?’
‘We’re implying nothing. It is you that is expressing the possibilities. Did you drive them together, their defence against you and their upbringing?’
‘They always had the best.’
‘You keep saying that, but they left as soon as they could. Your house is a prison. Tastefully decorated, and comfortable, but children, as they are growing up, need the chance to develop, to make mistakes, to fall in love, to fall out again.’
‘That may be your family, not mine. I protected them, and then they deserted me, left me with their mother.’
‘You don’t love your wife?’ Isaac asked.
‘She is getting old, and Matilda, she was so beautiful and innocent. I wanted her to stay that way.’
‘You transferred your physical affection from the mother to the daughter, is that the truth?’ Larry said.
Montgomery jumped up from his seat and grabbed Larry by the throat. The man’s grip was firm, and Isaac couldn’t release it. Two uniforms, on hearing the commotion, came into the room, separating Montgomery from Larry.
Larry took a seat, attempting to catch his breath. Isaac stood, not sure how to make sense of what had just occurred. Montgomery sat stunned, taking deep breaths, his face red.
‘Fifteen-minute break,’ Isaac said, pausing the interview. ‘Mr Montgomery, tea, coffee, something to eat.’
‘My apologies. You touched a raw nerve.’
Twenty-five minutes later, the interview resumed. By that time, Larry had had the chance to recover, and Stanley Montgomery had been looked at by a doctor. The man was declared to be in good health, but suffering from stress.
‘The man’s got a pulse, we know that,’ Larry said sarcastically when the doctor updated him and Isaac.
Isaac again went through the procedure before recommencing the interview. As far as he was concerned, Larry had baited the man, not that he could blame him. It should be kid gloves with the father of a murdered man, a daughter who had committed suicide. The man’s impenetrable barrier was unnerving Larry, and Isaac knew that he would have liked to grab the man and throw him about until he started telling the truth. Each time they met the man, a little more came out, yet where was the meat, the information that would allow the police to come to some conclusion?
‘Inspector Hill is probing, Mr Montgomery. You do realise this?’ Isaac said.
‘Insulting the memory of my Matilda, I could not allow that.’
‘Let’s go back to the beginning. You are not a pleasant man, certainly not charismatic, rude most of the time, dismissive at others. Is that a fair description?’
‘I love my family, always have,’ Montgomery said.
‘Let’s clarify what I said originally.’
‘Then, yes, I will grant you that. I mean no harm, I commit no crime, pay my taxes, clothe and feed my family. Although they don’t always understand.’
‘No one would.’
‘It was my childhood, harsh and uncaring, a brute for a father, a mother who didn’t care.’
‘No doubt of interest to a psychoanalyst,’ Larry said, ‘but it doesn’t advance the investigation, does it?’
‘I met my wife in my last year at university. We married within three months. Even then I was dismissive of people. But Janice, she understood. We were happy, and then along came Barry, followed by Matilda two years later. It was easy when they were young, always at our coattails, wanting to be with us, listening to what we had to say. Of course, they could be naughty, but it was harmless and childish.’
‘What happened?’ Isaac asked.
‘They grew up. Matilda started to develop adolescent crushes on boys at school, pop singers.’
‘The same as my eldest,’ Larry said. ‘They grow out of it.’
‘It was unhealthy, and her schooling suffered, and then she got in with a bad crowd, swearing, answering back to her mother, to me. I had to stop it.’
‘Patience and guidance work best.’
‘I tried them both, but to Matilda, as well as to Barry, I was steeped in the past.’
‘You stopped them finding themselves?’
‘Not all the time, and then Matilda came home from school, a flaming row with her mother, abusive towards me.’
‘What was said?’
‘Matilda was fifteen, almost sixteen. She’d met a young man at school, and…’
‘She told you that she had had sex with this young man. Is that what you are trying to say?’
‘Yes. After that, I kept her at home as much as I could. Picked her up from school, dropped her off in the morning.’
‘How did she respond?’
‘I loved her, you
