‘Thanks. Larry and Wendy will be down there tomorrow,’ Isaac said. ‘I’ll leave it up to you three. If what we have is proven, it brings the focus back on Marcus Matthews.’
Vincent ended the phone conversation. Isaac knew that the man had some drinking to catch up on.
Isaac phoned Jenny, the meal and a bottle of wine were still on. Larry, even though he would be late, knew his wife would be there for him. Wendy realised that she could only have one drink that night. She needed a clear head for the next day.
Chapter 20
Charles Stanford did not react well to the three police officers on his doorstep at eight twenty in the morning. Wally Vincent had taken responsibility for informing him that his presence was required at the police station; a marked police car with two uniforms was parked on the road.
‘We’ve received disturbing information about you and your house in Bedford Gardens. We can’t conduct an interview here.’
‘You’re making an error of judgement,’ Stanford said. He was dressed, as usual, in old clothes.
Only fit for a bin, Wendy thought.
‘Give me ten minutes,’ he said as he closed the door.
‘If he’s not out by then, we’re going in,’ Vincent said.
Stanford reappeared within eight. He had changed into a suit, and it was clear that he had washed his face and combed his hair.
‘You’ll rue the day,’ he said.
Vincent knew that he probably would. He’d be in the superintendent’s office later in the day, explaining what he was doing hassling an old man. This time he would have a satisfactory answer. He had enjoyed investigating Stanford, travelling up to Bedford Gardens, interviewing key people and finding out facts that had been missed by DCI Cook’s crack team.
Stanford did not need the marked police car. He sat in the back of Vincent’s car, alongside Wendy. He said little, looking out of the window during the journey. Vincent opened his passenger door on arrival. He even said thank you.
In a suit and at the police station, Stanford seemed to change. No longer the downtrodden antisocial eccentric, but a man of importance. Several of the other officers made his acquaintance.
Wendy gave Stanford a cup of tea, offered him a sandwich or something else to eat, which he declined.
‘Get on with this,’ he said.
‘Mr Stanford, you’re allowed to have legal representation,’ Larry said.
‘I know the law better than you do. Time is precious, and it's ticking away. Let’s get this fiasco over and done with.’
Wendy left the interview room. It would be Wally and Larry on the police side of the desk, Stanford on the other. Vincent went through the mandatory procedures, informed Stanford of what was to occur, his rights. The man opposite him sat back, his arms folded, taking no notice of what was being said. When asked his name, he answered clearly, concisely, and without hesitation.
‘Mr Stanford,’ Vincent said, ‘further investigation confirms that you visited 11 Bedford Gardens on or about the third day of June of last year.’
‘How do you know this?’
‘People have been interviewed. A man fitting your description was seen entering the property.’
‘I’ve not been there for a long time. I suggest you re-examine your evidence.’
The evidence of a young boy known as a habitual liar, a mischief-maker, was not solid, but if it was proven that Stanford had been at the house, then why was he concealing that fact? After all, visiting a three-storey home did not mean that Stanford had climbed up to the top floor. Even when he had climbed it, Larry had felt the strain, and the last flight was particularly narrow and steep.
‘We can provide proof,’ Vincent said.
‘If someone has been in there in the last nine or ten months, it wasn’t me.’
‘It’s eleven,’ Larry said.
‘Eleven, have it your way,’ Stanford said, a disinterested look on his face. ‘If you care to check you’ll find no record of my travelling to London. No train ticket or taxi and I don’t own a car.’
‘Very well, let us for the purposes of this interview agree that you were not in that house. We still believe there must be a reason for Marcus Matthews to have been on the top floor. It is not a coincidence. There is a connection between you and Matthews and without doubt Hamish McIntyre.’
‘Did he kill Matthews?’
‘We have proof he did not. It could have been you.’
‘I’m an old man. It’s a long way up those stairs. Have you tried it?’
‘I have, it’s a tough climb’ Larry said, or it had been, he thought. He was certainly more active than in the past; out in the park with his wife at the weekend he had managed to run for some of the distance, even putting on his shorts and his trainers too.
‘Mr Stanford, we’re getting nowhere,’ Vincent said. He was concerned that nothing would be said or gained to justify his actions. If that were the case, the superintendent with an almost certain letter of complaint would haul him over the coals. He did not relish that possibility.
‘Mr Stanford, let us go back to the reason for your retirement. You were a barrister, Queen’s Counsel and a judge, you must know the importance of us being able to do our job unhindered by people who do not reveal the truth. What would happen if someone had appeared before you, reluctant to say all that they knew, especially in a murder investigation?’
‘I’m not a judge here. I’m a private citizen, and I have my rights. I regard this as a severe intrusion, and now you want to ask why I retired. I believe that I spoke of that the other
