‘How tragic. Were you close to her?’
‘I hadn’t seen her since the funeral. She was Stephen’s girlfriend. She was a friend of mine, even though we had lost contact.’
‘I’ll pray for her,’ the vicar said. ‘Have they found the person responsible?’
‘Not yet. Tell me, Vicar. Do you remember another woman, dressed in black, wide-brimmed hat flopping down over her eyes?’
‘Vaguely. I’m not certain that I spoke to her. Or maybe I did out of courtesy.’
‘What can you remember of her?’
‘Ah, yes, now I remember. I did speak to her. She didn’t have much to say, and she was clearly upset. I could see that her eyes were red, so she had obviously been crying.’
‘What else? How did she speak? Educated, an accent, anything that could identify her?’
‘Let me see,’ the vicar said, resting his chin on one hand. ‘I see so many people, and it was so long ago. She spoke well, polite, educated, certainly not working class, probably came from money. Why do you need to know?’
‘It seems important to tell those who were at the funeral that Liz is dead. I can phone Bec, but the other woman was, I believe, a rival girlfriend. I’m afraid my brother played the field.’
‘He’d not be the first in this graveyard. We’re not here to judge, only to give comfort to those who remain, to bury those who have passed on.’
‘Anything else about this woman? No matter how minor you might think it is.’
‘I shook her hand. I remember that her sleeve moved up her arm a little and on her inside arm, just above the wrist, there was a small tattoo. I didn’t have long to look, but I think it was a small butterfly, the sort of thing people after a few drinks are inclined to do. Not that she looked like a person who drank and she wore a wedding ring.’
‘Stephen was one of your sinners.’
‘He’s forgiven now.’
Palmer knew he did not have the generous nature of the vicar. He would not forgive. Not until he had dealt with the person who had killed Liz.
***
Ten o’clock in the evening, the meeting had just concluded, and the team in Homicide were preparing to leave for the night. Jenny had said she would wait up, and Isaac and she would have a meal together and share a bottle of wine. Larry’s wife was equally agreeable, and she would be waiting for him as well. Bridget and Wendy were back off to the house they shared; both would have more drinks than they should. It had been a long murder investigation, and still nobody had been arrested.
It was Isaac who took the phone call. ‘Wally Vincent here, I’ve got an update for you.’
Isaac could tell that the man was pleased with himself. Also, that he had left work earlier than they had, and he was clearly on the way to being drunk.
‘What is it? Isaac said.
‘I suggest you get your team on a conference line. It could well have a bearing on the case.’
Isaac phoned Jenny; told her he was delayed. She took it well, didn’t offer any comment, only to say that she’d see him when she saw him. Larry didn’t phone his wife; he was hopeful that he would only be delayed for a few minutes. Bridget didn’t care either way. Wendy was tired, but she had eaten a cream bun twenty minutes earlier. Whatever time she got home was fine by her; the wine could wait, although the cat would be starving by the time they arrived.
Isaac’s desk phone was on speaker. ‘It’s all yours, Wally,’ he said.
‘I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve been following up on Charles Stanford. I’ve been to the house in Bedford Gardens. Spoke to a few people, met up with the two kids who found Matthews’s body.’
‘No problems from us, glad of the assistance,’ Larry said.
‘We appreciate the help,’ Isaac said. He was perturbed that Vincent hadn’t had the courtesy to phone him, but it was a minor issue.
‘It was one of the children, Billy Dempsey,’ Vincent said. ‘According to his mother, he can spin a tale, been in trouble a few times for telling lies. But this time I reckon he was telling the truth. He’s a smart kid, remembers a lot. The other boy didn’t help at all. But let me get back to Billy. He said he was out on the street. It was eleven months ago. He said he was skateboarding, not sure if they do that anymore. More likely he was up to mischief.’
‘What did he say?’
‘He said he saw an old man enter the house where Matthews was found.’
‘Are you certain he was telling the truth?’
‘I do. I could tell whoppers when I was younger. I knew what to look for.’
‘Did you show him any photos?’ Isaac asked.
‘I showed him one. I don’t think he was looking at the old man that carefully in Bedford Gardens, but he was certain the man in the photo was the person he’d seen.’
‘Stanford?’ Isaac said.
‘Spot on, Charles Stanford. There are no cameras in the street, so we can’t prove it one way or the other, but I reckon it’s him.’
‘If that’s the case, I suggest that Larry and Wendy get down to Brighton at the earliest opportunity,’ Isaac said. ‘The three of you can bring Stanford in and give him the third-degree.’
‘What time in the morning,’ Larry said.
‘I’ve got someone keeping a watch on Stanford’s house. He’s going nowhere, and I don’t want to conduct an interview at this time of night, harassment if it goes pear-shaped. Be down here by seven in the morning, and we’ll compare notes in my office. You can update me on the case,
