‘And then you phone us?’
‘The house had been quiet, the lights off. He could have been drowning his sorrows for all I know, but then the smell from the kitchen. And yes, I did stick my nose to the front door, the same as your sergeant. That was the signal that something was amiss.’
‘That’s when you phoned us?’
‘In my army days, it was a clear indicator that if the food was rotten, then no one was at home or they were dead, but I knew he was inside.’
‘You were certain of your facts when you phoned us?’
‘As certain as I could be. Of course, he could have left, and I had missed it, but why the open fridge, the rotting food, the smell of burnt meat?’
Larry left the man and joined Isaac and Wendy who were sitting in Isaac’s car. He couldn’t help but think that he had been talking to Sherlock Holmes and James Bond, both wrapped up into one man who walked with a limp.
***
Isaac removed the letter from the evidence bag. On the front of the envelope, ‘To whom it may concern’. He then withdrew the letter and unfolded it. The writing was firm and legible, the signature on the third page that of Stanley Montgomery.
‘What does it say?’ Wendy asked.
‘There’s a lot here,’ Isaac said as he scanned it.
‘Give us the précised version,’ Larry said. He didn’t need to know all the details, only if the letter was a confession.
I, Stanley Edward Montgomery, of sound mind and in control of all of my faculties, confess to the murder of my son, Barry Montgomery. I am also responsible for the suicide of my daughter, Matilda, the death of my wife, Janice.
None of the three in Isaac’s vehicle concurred with the man’s view of himself as sane.
‘There’s a page relating to the distribution of assets,’ Isaac said. ‘A brother in Scotland, a sister in Wales. No mention of his wife’s family, no bequests to charity.’
‘Is that it?’ Larry said.
‘There’s more.
I am sorry for what happened to Barry, and I wish that it could have been different. But he had chosen a different path in life. The need to rebel was strong in him, and whereas I had given him and his sister strong discipline and good values, he rejected them. I knew of his descent into depravity, his prostituting himself for money, something I abhor. It could not be allowed to continue, to sully the good name of Montgomery, to upset his mother, a fragile person but kindly and loving.
‘It’s a confession,’ Wendy said.
‘It’s a suicide letter, an unburdening of the man’s soul,’ Isaac said. ‘Wait till I’ve finished reading before commenting.’
Matilda, a young woman of good values, committed suicide because of my intractability, my unwillingness to embrace her brother, a person she loved dearly, as did her mother. My anger towards him had abated to some extent, and I had hoped that in time he would understand the devotion I had given to the family, the desire to protect them from the evils of the world, the wanton greed, the promiscuity. I now realise that I had failed and that Janice, my wife, and the mother of Barry and Matilda, was unwilling to continue. She died in great sorrow, and yet, even though I had wished to join her, I could not. My body is too strong, my resolve would not allow it. There was only one solution to my dilemma, and if you are now reading this letter, then I have been successful.
‘That’s it,’ Isaac said, ‘apart from his signature at the bottom.’
‘Date?’ Larry asked.
‘Two days ago.’
‘Is that it?’ Wendy said. ‘Stanley Montgomery was the murderer?’
‘He’s confessed but given no proof,’ Larry said.
‘That’s the crux of it,’ Isaac said. ‘We could accept the man’s letter at face value, and wrap up the investigation, but where’s the proof? What he’s admitted to is that he was responsible for his son’s murder. Does that mean that he hit his son on the head in Hyde Park and left him to drown in the Serpentine, or is he confessing that he failed to guide his son as a child, and then the man had left the family home and sunk into depravity and despair, which had ultimately resulted in his murder.
‘I’d say the latter,’ Larry said.
‘Are we agreed that this investigation is not concluded?’ Isaac asked.
‘We have to. If we don’t, then a murderer could still be free.’
Isaac knew that Jenny was out buying presents to take to Jamaica, and time was marching against them making the flight, but murder was murder; he couldn’t allow the easy option to take precedence over his professional responsibilities.
Chapter 30
Isaac was gratified that his team were not willing to accept the suicide letter as a murderer’s confession. Other police officers would not have been as thorough; some would have wrapped up the case, hoping that no one else was murdered. However, that wasn’t how he worked, although Richard Goddard, his chief superintendent, wasn’t pleased that the murder inquiry wasn’t over yet.
‘Are you certain on this?’ Goddard asked. He was in Isaac’s office.
‘He could have killed his son, that’s true.’
‘You’re not convinced?’
‘Not yet. We’ve not been able to connect him to the murder scene, although his alibi was weak. And then, he’s claiming that he was responsible for his daughter’s death, but why?’
‘His mind was disturbed.’
‘We can agree on that, and no doubt the trauma he had put his family through over the years rendered them all unstable, to some extent. Barry Montgomery seems to have been the sanest of the lot in that he got away from his father.’
‘But selling himself doesn’t seem such a great idea.’
‘Not in itself, although from what we’ve
