‘There’s no connection I know of,’ Stanford said. ‘We’ve been through this, now, how many times? As far as I’m concerned, the house can fall down. I’ve not been in it for more years than I care to remember, and I have no intention of revisiting it. Now, if you and your colleagues could leave my premises, I’d be much obliged.’
Regardless of Stanford’s protestations, Isaac had no intention of leaving. The man was a hostile witness, ex-judge or no ex-judge, and Isaac would not let him fob them off.
‘Then, Mr Stanford, I will require you to accompany us to the police station,’ he said.
The door finally opened fully to let the police officers enter the house.
‘I’ll be making a formal complaint to your superiors,’ Stanford said.
Isaac had heard the ‘formal complaint to your superiors’ many times before. He dismissed it without consideration.
‘Why would I be involved in the murder of a petty criminal, a person of little worth and less importance,’ Stanford said.
‘Mr Stanford, we are within our rights. However, we are willing on account of your past and illustrious career to allow our interview to be conducted at your house,’ Isaac said, aware that flattery would probably have little impact.
Inside the house, the four men entered a room to the right of the hallway. It appeared to be the one room in the house that was in good condition; it was the man’s library and study. On two of the walls, bookshelves reached to the ceiling. A cursory glance by Isaac showed that most of the books were legal references. He was impressed by the room, but not by the man who sat down in a voluminous armchair.
‘Get on with it,’ Stanford said. ‘I’ve no time for messing around with this.’
‘I don’t think DCI Cook is here to waste your time,’ Vincent said. He liked the DCI’s style, but didn’t think much of his inspector. Vincent was an ambitious man, he would admit that, and London was where he should be. He’d gone as far as he could in Brighton and dealing with the likes of Charles Stanford and the other troublesome people in the city no longer interested him. And as for murders, one or two a year, and most times a more senior officer would take the case. He, Wally Vincent, would be left with little to do, and the man who invariably took the case was not competent, and the man knew it.
‘It seems like that to me,’ Stanford said.
Isaac took no notice. ‘Mr Stanford, you’ve made it clear you do not know Marcus Matthews. If we accept that premise…’
‘Whether you accept what I said or whether you don’t,’ Stanford interjected, ‘is not important. I’ve granted you access to my house, now make the best use of it.’
Larry had not said much up until now, due in part, in his opinion, to the overbearing attitude of Wally Vincent. He felt the need to make his mark.
‘Mr Stanford, we’ve been to Bedford Gardens,’ Larry said. ‘There’s no way that Marcus Matthews would have chosen that house at random. He and whoever killed him must have had advance knowledge of who owned the house and the fact that it would be empty.’
‘I’m afraid that you, DI Hill, have a fanciful mind for the obscure,’ Stanford said. Isaac could see the man was irritable, verging on anger, and anger was a great asset in the hands of a seasoned investigating officer.
Sensing the change, Isaac seized the opportunity and raised his voice to indicate a new level of seriousness. Stanford was playing them for fools. ‘Inspector Hill is correct,’ he said. He was sitting on the front of his chair, bolt upright, his eyes focused on Stanford.
‘I don’t think so.’
Wally Vincent, not used to the approach that Isaac was taking, sat back. It would be he, DI Wally Vincent, who would have to deal with the flak; it would be he who would be called in to see the chief superintendent to answer Stanford’s complaints. Even if the man hadn’t been an ex-judge, a formal complaint always required an internal investigation and a response to the person who had instigated the complaint.
‘We checked you out,’ Isaac said. ‘We’re aware of your record of achievement; we’re also aware that you were involved in two controversial cases, a barrister in one and a judge in the other.’
‘I acted correctly in both cases.’
‘But they must give you cause for concern sometimes.’
‘If you must know, and I don’t see why I should tell you, then yes, the last case is never far from my mind. The woman, for reasons unknown, condemned herself.’
‘What do you believe was the truth?’
‘Her background, where she had come from, the trafficking of women from that country to England, she must have experienced it.’
‘But you as a judge had no option but to sentence her to prison.’
‘I was powerless to do otherwise. And then she committed suicide by throwing herself off the roof of the building. It continues to haunt me, the anguish in her mind, the despair of never seeing her children again. Mitigating circumstances could well have given her a much-reduced sentence, but I couldn’t do it, the legal system would not allow it.’
‘You defended a man against the charge of murder, he got acquitted. And then the man committed another murder. How did you feel about that?’ Wally Vincent said. He didn’t want to be left out of the investigation, although he felt they were badgering the old man.
‘Inadmissible evidence, I’m afraid. The police must accept the blame for that, not me. But yes, another person dead. It must have happened to the three of you,’ Stanford said as he raised himself from his chair, went over to a bookshelf and picked up a book.
‘These continuing delays can do you no good,’ Isaac
