‘Mr McIntyre is expecting you. If you’d follow me.’
‘And you are?’ Wendy asked.
‘Not Jeeves, if that’s what you’re thinking. The name’s Armstrong, Gareth Armstrong. I’m Mr McIntyre’s butler.’
Isaac recognised the surly attitude of someone who had spent time in prison.
The two police officers followed Armstrong through the house and out to a conservatory at the back.
A man was leaning over flowering plants that were in pots on a raised platform. He looked up. ‘Orchids,’ he said. ‘What do you know about them?’
‘They’re beautiful,’ Wendy said.
‘You must be Sergeant Gladstone.’
‘That’s correct.’
‘Forgive me, an old habit of mine. I like to know who I’m meeting in advance. I checked you both out, nothing detailed, just entered your names on an iPad. And you must be Detective Chief Inspector Isaac Cook,’ he said, looking over at Isaac.
The man removed his gardening gloves. ‘I’m Hamish McIntyre. You’re here about Marcus, am I right?’ He was dressed in a suit, a lighter shade than that of his butler.
A firm grip, Wendy thought as the man shook their hands.
‘We spoke to your daughter about Marcus,’ Wendy said.
‘Unfortunately, the relationship between my daughter and myself has soured somewhat in the last few years. You’re aware of my love for her?’
‘She made it clear that you were always there for her, especially after her mother died.’
‘Tragic, Maureen dying like that, but it was quick and relatively painless. Ill health, none of us know when our number’s up, do we?’
Isaac could see where Samantha had acquired her charisma. How much of her father’s was feigned or real was unclear, but one thing was sure, this was not an uncouth man, not a fool, and although he had no academic qualifications, he was clearly exceptionally bright and streetwise. He wasn’t going to fall for any police interviewing techniques, any attempts to disarm him, to confuse him, to make him say things he didn’t want to.
‘Your butler was precise when we met him, although not pleased to see us.’
‘Gareth spent time in jail courtesy of your people. He has no love for the police.’
‘How about you?’ Wendy said.
‘A drink, you must have a drink. I’ll have Armstrong prepare us a pot of tea. I’m afraid we only have Earl Grey.’
‘Earl Grey will be fine,’ Isaac said.
The three moved into the house and sat in the expansive living room.
‘Beautiful house, you have here,’ Wendy said as Armstrong poured the tea.
‘Continuing from where we were,’ McIntyre said. ‘Gareth was one of the gang at the building society. You know all about that, so we don’t need to discuss it, and besides, it was a long time ago. Unfortunately, he didn’t leave it at that. He’s spent a few more years in prison since then, once for robbery, another time for selling drugs. He turned up here a couple of years ago, repentant for a life misspent. I took him in, gave him a job. I’d trust him with my life.’
‘And your silver?’ Wendy asked flippantly.
‘It takes a crook to know when another crook has decided enough is enough. Or in my case, an ex-crook. Gareth’s got what he wants here, a calm life, no need for any more. All the striving to better yourself, what’s it worth in the end? Peace of mind is what you treasure in your declining years. That’s what I’ve got.’
‘Mr McIntyre, if you don’t mind me saying, you have a fearsome reputation,’ Isaac said. ‘Yet you are as charming and hospitable as your daughter.’
‘I’m sure you know how I made my money. I wasn’t dealing with the Boy Scouts. You were either on top, intimidating others, not by violence but by the perceived strength of character, or they would walk over you. Believe me, I pushed the envelope, but I didn’t break the law.’
‘Some of the businesses were nefarious, socially unacceptable,’ Wendy said.
‘The strip clubs, that’s what you mean. They were good earners in their days, but they’ve gone now, at least they are for me. A more permissive age now, no need for the titillation and the harmless fun they provided.’
‘Were the girls selling themselves?’
‘Not in the club, they weren’t. If they were outside, then that was their business. As you say, nefarious, not illegal.’
‘And now?’
‘The clubs have gone, although I own the buildings. My money comes from owning real estate now, a less traumatic way of earning money. But you want to know about Marcus. Maybe we should talk about him.’
‘Very well, tell us.’
‘Samantha was mad for him. I don’t know why. She could have married someone of substance: a doctor, a lawyer, even an up-and-coming politician. Still, there’s no accounting for taste, and she chose him. I’m in jail for the robbery, a blot on my past.
‘The next I know she’s pregnant, and Marcus is almost wetting himself in the prison when he comes to ask for her hand in marriage. I’ll give him his due, he did the right thing by her, and he always loved her. She could have chosen worse, but he was a petty criminal, not the person I would have chosen.’
‘It was her decision,’ Wendy said, remembering that her father had lined up a wealthy farmer’s son in the remote part of Yorkshire where she had grown up. They had been out on a couple of dates, and although the man had been pleasant enough, and he was never going to be short of money, his conversation consisted of the weather, what crops to grow, and where to buy the best livestock. In short, the man was a bore. The problem was solved when she went to Sheffield, a large
