‘I was told our father was involved in Ben Aberman’s murder,’ Abigail said. She was sitting in the living room of the Adamant house. To one side of her was Howard, his feet hanging over the arm of the sofa. Archie sat square on, his tie loosened, his top shirt button undone.
‘So what?’ was Howard’s reply.
‘Did you know about this? Abigail said to Archie.
‘Aberman was being difficult. Someone had to deal with him,’ Archie replied. He resented being questioned by his sister.
‘Are you condoning murder?’
‘It’s unproven, and since when did you care about our father as long as you had sufficient money to squander?’
‘If our father killed Ben Aberman, could Helen have murdered our father?’
Howard turned around from where he had been feigning disinterest and placed his feet on the ground. ‘We’ve been through this before. We supported Helen. If we let the police suspect we have doubts, they’ll believe what Abigail has just said about our father.’
‘They believe it already,’ Abigail said. ‘Archie, what is the truth?’
‘Our father may have had another side to him. There are some discrepancies in his finances, large sums of money going in, going out.’
‘Did Helen know this?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Did you know about our father when he was alive?’ Howard asked.
‘Not totally. I knew about the parties at Aberman’s house. But that was a long time ago.’
‘How?’
‘He wanted to talk one day. He admired people such as Aberman, not concerned about their reputations, what people thought of them.’
‘Was our father a crook?’
‘He was a businessman who lent money.’
‘High risk, high interest?’
‘To people such as Ben Aberman. Our father enjoyed the subterfuge.’
‘You’ve not answered the question,’ Abigail said. ‘Did our father kill Ben Aberman?’
‘Not personally, but it’s possible,’ Archie said.
‘And since then, Helen’s killing of our father?’
‘I still believe Helen’s account of what happened,’ Archie said.
‘Archie, did you kill Helen?’
‘I’ve not been responsible for any murders.’
Howard Adamant looked over at his half-brother. He wasn’t sure what to believe. Abigail sat down resignedly and looked into space. Her only concern, the impact the truth would have on her lifestyle.
***
Ten o’clock in the morning, and in Homicide the team were focussing on their individual activities. Bridget was dealing with the administration, Wendy and Larry were working on their weekly reports. Isaac was in his office checking his emails.
None of them expected Gwendoline, Daisy’s former flatmate, to walk in the door. Wendy saw her first and went over. ‘I had to come,’ the prostitute said.
‘Take a seat and take your time,’ Wendy said. ‘That’s a nasty cut you’ve got there.’
‘It was him,’ the woman said. Wendy could see that she had slept rough the night before. Her clothes were in disarray, her hair was tangled, and the handbag she carried was open.
‘Him?’
‘The man who drugged me when the two were killed in the hotel.’
‘What happened?’
‘I’m looking at him. There’s something familiar, but I can’t make out what it is. I’ve got my money, he’s had what he wanted, and I’m ready to go. He’s holding my arm. I finally remember who he is. I’m frightened, trying to get free, but he’s hanging on. I grabbed a knife from my bag and stabbed him.’
‘When was this?’
‘Last night. I’ve been keeping out of sight until now.’
‘The cut on your arm?’
‘He lashed out at me as I ran out of the room. I caught my arm on something sharp.’
Bridget came in and administered first aid. Wendy gave Gwendoline a hot drink and attempted to calm her.
‘Where is he now?’
‘I’ve no idea, and I’m scared to go home. I phoned my flatmate not to go there either, but I doubt if she listened to me.’
‘Would he have your address?’
‘Some of the contents of my handbag fell out. I can’t find some of my cards, one of them has an address on it.’
‘The address?’
‘15 Brixham Street, Shepherd’s Bush, Flat 5,’ Gwendoline said.
Wendy made a phone call. ‘There’s a police car on the way to check it out. You should have come in here earlier.’
‘I was frightened. He’s killed two people, three if I include Daisy. He could have killed me.’
‘Did he take you to that room to kill you?’
‘I don’t think he recognised me. Before I had red hair, now it’s blonde. He wanted me for sex, that’s all.’
‘Describe the man?’
‘I told you before, I don’t look. I only do it for the drugs.’
‘What do you remember?’
‘He smelt nice.’
‘Perfume?’
‘Aftershave. He was dressed smartly.’
‘A suit?’
‘Yes, although I don’t remember a tie.’
‘Anything else?’
‘The man, nothing. Maybe you think I’m lying, but I’m not. I never remember them after they’ve left.
‘You’d recognise the smell again?’
‘I think so.’
‘Very well. Let’s get you cleaned up and fed. After that, we can go and see if we can find what the aftershave was.’
Isaac and Larry, realising that Wendy would be the best person to talk to Gwendoline, left her alone. After the woman had eaten breakfast at a café across the road, she and Wendy walked back to the police station. ‘I wanted to join the police when I was younger,’ the woman said.
‘What happened?’
‘Drugs. I tried them once, and I was hooked. There’s nothing that can be done.’
‘With treatment, it may be possible.’
‘That’s the problem. They give you the methadone, the counselling needed. After that, it’s up to the individual to deal with the problem, but the craving, it never goes away.’ Wendy, even though she had been nearly two years without a cigarette, still savoured the smell on the street. Wendy knew that heroin was different, and it had destroyed Gwendoline, a woman in her mid-thirties.
Wendy received a phone call. ‘Are you certain?’ she said.
She then
