‘Isn’t there always?’
‘Not always, but money often causes conflict.’
‘Our father divided his assets between Gilbert and me, fifty-fifty. Our mother had passed away by then. Gilbert reneged on the agreement, only paid me a quarter.’
‘Any reason why?’
‘I was irresponsible. He was right, of course. I was always falling in love, always falling out. I had racked up an appreciable debt by then, and Gilbert had always bailed me out.’
‘Why not your father?’
‘We weren’t talking when he died. I was close to Gilbert, even if we quarrelled, and he’d complain, but he always helped.’
‘I take it that it changed,’ Isaac said.
‘He changed when he took control of our father’s money. Up until then, Gilbert had been buying properties, renovating them and then selling. He was doing well, but once he had the cash injection from our father, he became a different man. Always arguing the cost of everything, checking that nothing was wasted. No throwing out a pot of jam or honey unless it was licked clean.’
‘Licked?’
‘You know what I mean. The man became a skinflint.’
‘Dorothy, your sister-in-law?’
‘It was remarkable. Gilbert met her two years after our father died. She was working in an estate agent’s office. For whatever reason, my brother fell for her, she for him. They were married within months, and then Ralph and Caroline came along.’
‘Did you go to the wedding?’
‘I did, not that I could forgive Gilbert.’
‘Did you need money from him?’
‘Not any more. At that time, I had embraced minimalism, and I was living in a commune. Gilbert didn’t approve, and he knew even if he helped, that I’d give it to them.’
‘Was he right?’
‘Yes. It was silly really, and now I live on my own in a modest flat. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining. I have all I need, and I don’t need any of Gilbert’s money.’
‘No reason to wish him dead?’
‘What for?’
‘Tell us about Dorothy,’ Wendy said.
‘They worshipped each other and the children. With them, Gilbert was generous and made sure they had everything they wanted. You’ve seen the house, met Caroline.’
‘How do you know we’ve met her?’
‘I read about Gilbert in the newspaper. I phoned her.’
‘You’ve had no contact with your brother for nearly thirty years, yet you knew how to contact Caroline.’
‘Why not? And besides, I always met with Dorothy once a year on my birthday. It was our little secret. She was devoted to Gilbert, but she never told him about us.’
‘Why was that?’
‘I’m not sure. The reasons that separated Gilbert and me were never spoken about. I suppose we just drifted apart. Caroline contacted me a few years ago, and we’d meet occasionally. A lovely woman, similar to Dorothy, although Ralph hasn’t turned out too well.’
‘How much do you know about your brother’s death?’
‘I know about Dorothy upstairs in the house. Did Gilbert kill her?’
‘Why? Should he have?’
‘I’m not talking murder, but Dorothy, she would have these periods where she’d go a little crazy.’
‘What can you tell us?’
‘Manic-depressive. Not that it happened often, and very few knew outside of the house. Gilbert gave her the best medical treatment that money could buy, and after a few weeks, she’d be fine again. I know she never left the house during those times. That’s why there were shutters on every window, to keep her isolated from the influences outside, to keep people from peering.’
‘A virtual prisoner?’ Wendy said.
‘In her own home? I don’t think so. If she had been in a hospital, it would have been a straitjacket and isolation.’
‘She could be violent?’
‘Very. Whenever it happened, Ralph and Caroline would go and stay with friends. They may have known, but probably not the full story.’
‘But you did?’
‘Dorothy told me everything. The darkness she felt, the despair, the need to lash out or to sit and cry for hours. We became very close.’
‘Yet you never spoke to your brother.’
‘Never. I don’t know if he knew that Dorothy was meeting me, although he may have. Regardless, he never interfered. She could have flung herself down the stairs, broken her neck.’
‘Do you know this is what happened?’
‘I don’t know what killed her. The only certainty is that my brother is not responsible.’
‘Let us go back to when Dorothy disappeared,’ Wendy said. ‘What do you remember?’
‘I remember trying to contact Gilbert, but he wouldn’t talk to me. I spoke to the housekeeper.’
‘Molly Dempster?’
‘That was it. She said that Gilbert did not want to have any contact with me.’
‘Were you surprised by his reaction?’
‘Not really. Gilbert was always a private man, and if Dorothy had disappeared, then he would deal with it himself.’
‘She could have been kidnapped, murdered.’
‘Molly said she hadn’t and my brother was convinced she had had one of her turns and would not be coming back.’
‘How could he be so sure?’
‘It’s too late to ask him now.’
‘Are you sad that he’s died?’
‘I would like to have become friends with him again. To have sat down and reminisced. We had a shared history, a devotion to Dorothy.’
‘Are you surprised that he kept her upstairs in the bedroom?’
‘He would not have wanted to be parted from her. He was a decent man, even though he had treated me poorly over the years. I had seen him walking out in the street once or twice, but he seemed a broken man. I suppose having his dead wife upstairs in that house for all those years must have driven him crazy.’
‘He never spoke one word to anyone, apart from his solicitor.’
‘Leonard Dundas. He’ll know more than me.’
***
Detective Chief Superintendent Richard Goddard, never far from Homicide when there was a murder, sat in Isaac’s office. ‘Tough one, the corpse upstairs,’ he said.
