‘Sometimes, people die due to association, never knowing the reason.’
‘That’s why we think it might be professional.’
‘Whoever killed Hector Robinson wasn’t.’
‘Or doesn’t want it to look as if it was.’
‘Leave Robinson to us. I’ll keep you updated and don’t start driving down any back streets, not around here, and don’t go visiting pubs, nor start asking questions.’
‘Bill, it’s all yours; you’re welcome to it,’ Isaac said.
***
Larry was waiting at Challis Street for Isaac to return; the address found in the box was under surveillance.
The armed response team thought it was an overreaction from Homicide, but they were ready to play their part, and they knew DCI Cook from other investigations.
The raid was to go ahead, although delayed by twenty-five minutes as Isaac had an onerous duty to perform first. Wendy removed Brad Robinson from school and took him to Compton Road.
At the house, on Isaac’s arrival, Gladys Robinson, Brad and Rose.
Isaac looked over at Wendy on seeing the young Winston; Wendy lifting her eyes to indicate that the two couldn’t be separated.
‘Ask Rose’s mother to come over here,’ Isaac said.
‘What is it, Chief Inspector?’ Brad asked.
‘I’m afraid your father has died.’
‘He died a long time ago when he left us,’ Gladys said.
The reaction of the mother wasn’t unexpected. Rose went and put her arms around Brad’s mother.
‘That’s alright, dear. Nothing lost, not to us.’
‘How?’ Brad asked.
‘He was killed in Canning Town. We don’t know who or why.’
‘Was he living there?’
‘I met with him yesterday. Jim had known about Canning Town.’
‘Is this to do with the woman in the cemetery?’ Rose asked.
‘We have no proof, no reason to think it should be. Canning Town has a bad reputation. It could have just been a gang after his phone or his wallet.’
Isaac had wanted to discount the more obscure theories, but events were moving fast. And if they killed a woman selling herself, a father doing it tough, then no one was safe, not even the young Rose or her boyfriend, not even their parents, not even the police.
‘I’ve got to go,’ Isaac said as he stood up. ‘Wendy, stay here, phone Inspector Bill Ross, arrange for Mrs Robinson to identify her husband.’
‘I’ll not do it, not after what he did to Janice.’
Paranoia on the woman’s part, Isaac was sure.
‘Very well. Wendy, get the details from Bridget, contact Maidstone Prison. Jim can do the necessary.’
‘I can do it,’ Brad said.
‘I’m sure you could,’ Wendy said, ‘but you were only young when he left. It would be better if your brother identified him.’
‘I still want to see my father.’
‘That can be arranged,’ Isaac said before he left in a hurry. He should have stayed longer, but time was of the essence, and those entering the mysterious house were ready and waiting.
***
Wendy would stay with the Robinsons, smooth the inevitable from the Winstons, ensure that security was upgraded for both families – safe houses if Chief Superintendent Goddard would approve, which he probably wouldn’t, not yet.
Isaac looked over at the imposing house hidden behind a high wall, the best part of Holland Park. Whoever they were, they had money and good taste. A police helicopter had flown over the building at sufficient height not to raise suspicion, low enough to suss out the detail. Larry remarked after he had seen the images that Google Streetview would have revealed as much for less cost. However, it wouldn’t have shown two vehicles at the rear of the property; one of them a Bentley, the other a white people carrier, suitable for twelve.
The armed response team waited, poised to act, binoculars trained on the windows of the house. Isaac preferred a softly-softly approach, a knock at the door, await a response.
The inspector in charge of armed response wasn’t so keen on the idea, but he had to concede. After all, it was Homicide’s show, not that they could tell him much about why they were there; some conspiracy, things that go bump in the night, three deaths, apparently unconnected but probably were.
On the hour, watches synchronised, one of the armed response team, bullet-proof jacket fastened, helmet on, opened the garden gate. Even though it was locked, he had seen an exit button on the other side, four feet in. An extended rod that he carried soon dealt with it.
Inside, the armed men fanned out, some taking crouching positions, others standing behind trees. In the house, nothing changed. A light upstairs, a flickering shadow.
The front door was reached, the bell rung, an anxious pause. The bell in the house would be allowed to sound twice before the team would knock the door aside.
It wasn’t standard procedure, not when there had been no proof of weapons inside the house or criminal activity, but Homicide had used influence to get their compliance.
A sound in the house, the door opening, a petite Asian woman in her twenties.
‘All clear,’ from the armed response team.
Isaac walked up to the front door, showed his warrant card to the woman who opened the door fully. ‘Follow me,’ she said.
Alarm bells rang in Isaac’s mind, although so far nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
Larry slipped past armed response who were maintaining a standby position, their weapons at their sides.
Isaac followed the woman, saw Larry looking around and into the rooms on each side of the hallway, a winding staircase heading up, the sound of music.
At the rear of the house, a man sat looking out at the garden.
‘Chief Inspector Isaac Cook,’ Isaac said.
The man was tall and slim. In his late forties or early fifties, he had an air of breeding. ‘Ian Naughton,’ he said, his accent English, as he shook Isaac’s hand vigorously. ‘And to what do I owe this pleasure?’
