‘If he were paid for two, he’d not kill any more unless he was compromised,’ Goddard said.
***
Wendy dropped in on Mrs Hawthorne, Aberman’s next-door neighbour. It had become a weekly routine, and the woman always seemed to remember something on each occasion. She found her not to be her usual cheerful self.
‘What’s the problem?’ Wendy asked as she sat down in the front room.
‘It’s her next door. She reckons I’m nosey, always looking over the fence. She used to be friendly in the past, but now, it’s as if she’s hiding something.’
Wendy thought the woman’s observations were nothing more than feeling unneeded. In all the years since Aberman had disappeared, she had kept watch on his house, but now, her looking over the fence from behind a drawn curtain in an upstairs window was not wanted. Wendy left the house and walked next door.
At the front door was Ben Aberman’s ex-wife. ‘She’s been accusing us in the neighbourhood of killing Ben,’ she said. Wendy could see that the woman was agitated.
‘Is that it?’
‘Not totally. My husband, he’s not so keen on the place. I thought it would be relaxing here, but he wants to go back to London.’
‘And you?’
‘I’m staying. Mrs Hawthorne, if she continues, will have a writ against her for slander. There are a few others around here who’ll back me up.’
‘You know some of the locals?’
‘One or two. I lived here for a while, and they didn’t like it when I left, and then Ben was flaunting the debauchery.’
‘Debauchery?’
‘You know what I’m referring to, the same as the nosey old woman next door does. This place was depraved, women everywhere, and not too fussy who was watching.’
‘Ben?’
‘I was told he behaved himself, not sure if that’s true.’
‘Who told you?’
‘Some of those who attended.’
‘Important people?’
‘I never pried into who they were.’
‘We were told Ben paid for everything.’
‘He did.’
‘But how? He couldn’t have afforded the parties that often.’
‘Every other week, regular as clockwork. Arrive at the house eight at night on Saturday, leave midday on Sunday.’
‘But you attended the parties.’
‘The earlier ones, but they were tame by comparison. It was only after we separated that they changed, Ben changed.’
‘The people who attended?’
‘I’ve told you all this before. Slater was there, so were some of the girls from the club. Not the one that was killed with James Holden. I told you I saw Gerald Adamant at the house once, angry as well, but that was a long time ago. Apart from that, no one I knew.’
‘Your husband?’
‘We met some time after. He never met Ben.’
Wendy wasn’t sure where the conversation was heading. She’d been invited in, and she approved of the work that had been done in the house. It was freshly painted, and there was a pleasant feel to the house. It was hard to envisage it as a den of iniquity, but that was what it had been once.
‘What about where they buried Ben?’
‘We’re putting a concrete slab over it.’
‘No issues moving into the house, considering?’
‘I’m not squeamish. My husband is.’
‘I feel that you know more than you ever tell us,’ Wendy said. ‘You knew the people who came to the parties while you were here. Who were they?’
‘Slater, my husband. The others I never knew. Barry Knox, he used to come here.’
‘Gus, the doorman at Dixey’s?’
‘He was here, but I can’t remember him taking an active part unless getting drunk qualifies.’
‘Any dubious characters?’
‘None that I remember.’
Wendy knew the woman was lying. She had played the game strategically. She was isolated from the parties, from the deaths, and now she was back at the house in Bray. Wendy was not sure of her innocence. She had divorced Ben Aberman several years before his death, and her life since then had been one of normality. With no more to be achieved, the police sergeant left the house and headed back to Challis Street and the police station.
Chapter 23
Barry Knox looked at the monitor in his office. He could see the club was filling up, and his decision to bring in fresh women was working. His new doorman, a tough, tattooed individual by the name of Doug, was not as good as Gus. He’d upset the women backstage on a couple of occasions by walking in and staring while they were preparing to go up on stage.
Knox had had to explain to Doug, a former bouncer at an illegal gambling club, that the women didn’t mind being gawped at up on stage where they were being paid. However, backstage they hung on to their modesty for as long as they could. Knox did not elaborate that they found Doug repulsive. Gus, not the most attractive of men, had always been pleasant to the women, opening the door for them, helping them to carry their bags into the club. Doug was not.
The bed in the rear room was unused, the occasional favour from one of the women to Knox missing. A better class of women, a better return on the investment, but no more late-night romance.
Knox was pleased with the way the business was going; he was not pleased with the man sitting opposite.
‘He said he knew you,’ Doug said as he let the man into the office.
‘Did you check him out?’
‘He showed his ID.’
After Doug had left, Knox turned to Isaac. ‘Are you here to ask questions? I’ve told you all I know.’
‘Not all.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Ben Aberman’s ex-wife. What can you tell me about her?’
‘She never came in here, and besides, when I took over, Aberman was with Helen.’
‘You used to go to the parties out at Aberman’s house before you took
