‘I have no more to say on the matter,’ Stanford said as he put the book back on the bookshelf. ‘My conscience is clear as to what happened in one of my houses.’
‘Then, Mr Stanford, by your attitude and your reluctance to speak the truth, we can only consider you as a hostile witness.’
***
The visit to Stanford’s house, regardless of Isaac’s determination, proved to be a waste of time. It was agreed that either the man was up to his neck in what had happened or he was just an eccentric old man.
With no more to go on, Isaac and Larry made the trip back to London; there would still be time for the evening wrap-up meeting. This time it would be Isaac who would have to admit that he had failed in his objective.
In the office at Challis Street, four key team members sat down. Wendy had some updates, and she was keen to tell them what she had found out. Even though she had been a police officer for many years, over thirty now, she still got a thrill from doing her job well.
‘I’ve been working with Bridget on the cars that Stephen Palmer had sold from his used car lot,’ Wendy said.
‘It wasn’t easy,’ Bridget said. ‘The records from that far back are not as good as they are today.’
‘Bridget persisted, and with me doing some legwork, we made a connection to one of the persons of interest.’
‘Okay, let’s have it,’ Isaac said. ‘Who is this person?’
Wendy, a grin on her face, said, ‘Samantha Matthews purchased a car from Stephen Palmer, a Jaguar.’
‘Is she the woman at the funeral?’ Larry asked.
‘It’s a possibility,’ Isaac said. ‘Liz Spalding said her rival was a married woman.’
‘It makes sense,’ Larry said.
With the updated information, and Isaac keen to strike while the iron was hot, he and Wendy made the trip out to Samantha Matthews’ home. The woman was not pleased to see them.
Wendy instinctively knew why the woman was reluctant to let her and Isaac into the house; Isaac did not realise at first, but soon did. She was entertaining, and she did not want a disturbance while she had a man in the house.
‘Mrs Matthews, we have disturbing information regarding you and Stephen Palmer,’ Isaac said. Regardless of what the woman wanted and disregarding the probable reaction of her father, Isaac did not intend to stand on the front doorstep of the house for long.
‘Tomorrow, early,’ Samantha said. She was dressed casually in a loose-fitting blouse and a short skirt; she looked cheap and tarty, but then, Wendy thought, that was the effect that she wished to impart to her, as yet unidentified, lover.
‘Mrs Matthews, we believe that you may have been involved with Stephen Palmer at the time of his death,’ Isaac said. ‘We can either stand here and debate this matter, or else we can come into the house, sit down in your front room, and listen to your response as to whether we are correct or not.’
‘I can give you five minutes, but there is nothing to tell.’
Upstairs, in the house, the sound of someone moving around.
‘Mrs Matthews, we know there was a third woman at Stephen Palmer’s funeral. Were you that woman?’ Wendy asked. She had taken the direct approach; no need to procrastinate. If the woman was keen to be back up the stairs and in the arms of her lover, she would be more ready to tell the truth. And besides, she had not killed Palmer.
‘I met Stephen at a rough period in my life, my marriage to Marcus was not going well. He was increasingly involved with my father and his business enterprises. I was lonely, and Stephen was a charming man. In a moment of weakness, I allowed myself to be seduced by him.
Wendy, not as naive as the woman probably thought she was, knew that she had not been weak. Samantha Matthews was a woman of passion, and Stephen Palmer, by all accounts, was a tall, good-looking individual who women yearned for, and who knew how to treat them well. Marcus Matthews had only ever been described as a good man, a kind man, disregarding the fact he was a criminal. Wendy could understand Samantha’s weakness, as her husband had been more of a Marcus than a Stephen.
‘This is a serious matter,’ Isaac said. ‘You decided to keep this information secret. Why?’
‘It’s not something a woman is proud of,’ Samantha said.
‘And now you have another man upstairs in your bed,’ Wendy said. ‘You must have had concerns when Palmer vanished.’
‘I know what you’re thinking, but I’ll not believe it of Marcus or of my father.’
Wendy could see she was increasingly agitated to get her and Isaac out of the house. The previous good impression that the woman had given was rapidly being diminished.
‘Why did you attend the funeral?’ Isaac said. He had never been as enamoured of Samantha Matthews as Wendy was. She was the child of a vicious man, even if she was not vicious herself, and she must have known what the man was capable of, what he had done in the past.
‘He helped me out in a difficult period of my life. I had to pay my respects,’ Samantha said.
‘For three years, you believed that he had vanished, but at the funeral you were under no illusion as to what had happened. He had been murdered.’
‘Yes, I knew.’
‘But you didn’t suspect your father?’ Isaac asked. His patience was rapidly wearing thin.
‘Three years had passed, Stephen was dead, life was good.’
‘It’s hardly a reason not to believe that your father was responsible.’
‘It was to me,’ Samantha said flatly. She was a convincing liar, Isaac had to admit. She knew the truth, but why had she not confronted her father at the
