Murder of a Silent Man Read online

  Frost sat nearby, attempting to assess the man opposite. Was he a major player? Was he trustworthy? Would he ever get any of his father’s money, or should he just break one of his legs now and squeeze him for whatever was owing? Or should he pressure the son, even the new-found ex-wife?

  ‘What do you want?’ Ralph said as he put his drink to one side.

  ‘What I always want: money. And your friendship.’

  ‘Frost, you’re not the sort of man who wants or needs friends. You enjoy threatening people, gaining an advantage, and having them thrown into the back of a car and brought to you here.’

  ‘There was no throwing, just gentle coercion. You’ve kept away, Ralph, not even answering my phone calls. I was worried, thought you may be ill, coming down with a cold.’

  ‘Cut it out, Frost, and get to the point.’ Ralph knew that acting firmly with the man was risky, but he had little to lose, and besides, he had leverage, money leverage. With his sister and him working together, even his brother-in-law, there was a possibility that they might bring it off. Now they only had Jill Dundas to deal with, given that her father had done them all a favour and keeled over with a heart attack.

  ‘You’re pushing your luck here, Ralph.’ That was one thing about Frost’s intimidating tactics, he always maintained the same calm manner of speaking. No bad language, no raising of his voice, no leaning over the hapless fool who had got into his clutches. It was more frightening than a thug looking you in the face from one foot away and shouting at you, Ralph knew that. He wanted to leave, but he couldn’t.

  ‘I still intend to pay you back. The situation’s changed.’

  ‘I know that. Dundas has died, and your wife is back in town.’

  ‘Ex-wife. We haven’t had anything to do with each other for many years.’

  ‘She’s a gold-digger from what I’ve been told.’

  ‘Just you leave her alone. Our arrangement is between you and me, not Yolanda, not Michael, and definitely not my sister. Is that clear?’

  ‘You still owe me money.’

  ‘If I pay you now?’

  ‘The original four hundred thousand plus interest.’

  ‘How much?’ Frost’s offer seemed the preferred option to Ralph, but he wasn’t sure how to get the money. Gilbert Lawrence’s fortune would take years to sort out, although with the money he had been given by Caroline, plus a share of the shopping centre sale, another three to four hundred thousand, then it may be possible.

  ‘Pay me today, and it’s just over one million two hundred thousand.’

  ‘How? That’s outrageous!’ Ralph said, getting up from his chair and pacing around the room. ‘I can give you two hundred thousand now, more when the sale of one of the properties goes through.’

  ‘How much and how long?’

  ‘Four to five months, and then I can only give you another four hundred thousand.’

  ‘What a shame,’ Frost said. ‘Such a pleasant meeting and you go and ruin it by giving me bad news.’

  ‘What do you mean? You’re ahead on the deal.’

  ‘You’re forgetting the interest. It’s ten per cent per week.’

  ‘I never agreed to that. That means I can never pay you.’

  ‘Pay me now what I want, or in four months when we have another conversation, it will be at least five million, probably closer to six.’

  Ralph had been feeling good that morning when he had woken. The first meeting since Dundas’s death had been scheduled for the following day, and he was going along as Caroline’s adviser, not that Jill Dundas would approve. She’d complain, both he and his sister knew that, but not as effectively as her father. And now, as he sat with Frost, Ralph knew that he was back where he had been before. In Spain, he had had the money, or he did until his partner upon release from prison had absconded with the lot. It was either pay Frost what he wanted now, and only Caroline could help, or he could not afford to wait for his father’s fortune. He’d have to make a run for it, hope that Frost and his men could not find him, and then somehow ensure he could maintain his stake on his father’s fortune. And then there was the added complication of Michael and his association with the anarchist fool Helmsley. And what about Yolanda? She still looked lovely, though mercenary, and when he had picked her up at the airport, he had recognised that she was still fond of him, and he of her. It had only been money that parted them, but now he had the chance for that money. He had known when she had come out from customs that he wanted her back in his life.

  But Frost was in the way, and if Caroline wouldn’t help with the money, then Yolanda wasn’t possible.

  Ralph knew he was compromised. He had to act quickly and decisively. He was afraid. ‘One week,’ he said. ‘The money in full.’

  Chapter 18

  Michael Lawrence met up with his mother on a Tuesday in a restaurant not far from the Waverley Hills Centre. Neither was comfortable in the presence of the other.

  ‘Mother, a long time,’ Michael said.

  A pregnant pause before Yolanda responded. ‘You’re looking well,’ she said. She looked inside herself for the emotions that she knew a mother should have for her child.

  ‘Twelve years since I’ve seen you.’

  ‘A long time.’

  Ralph Lawrence, who had driven Yolanda to the meeting of mother and son, watched from outside. It was not intended that he join them, as he had made his peace with his son, difficult as it had been. It was now time for the mother, but he knew it would not be easy. Yolanda had left her son in the care of others, mainly the various boarding schools he had attended, and apart from the occasional difficult weeks during holidays when it had been impossible to avoid, they had barely sat down together. But now they were two adults, the son older than the mother had been when she had abrogated her responsibilities.

  Yolanda moved forward and wrapped her arms around her son. A brief embrace, followed by a longer and more sincere one, though neither felt the warmth that should exist. Ralph watched as they sat down at their table. He then returned to his car to wait and ponder his next move.

  ‘Why did you come?’ Michael said.

  ‘Your father told me that you wanted to see me,’ Yolanda replied, realising that the child she had emotionally rejected as a babe in her arms had grown into a good-looking man. She liked what she saw, unable to make the connection between mother and son. It had been a rainy day the last time they had met in a café in Hyde Park, not far from Buckingham Palace. Michael had been at his worst, his speech slurred, a new tattoo showing the redness of being freshly inked. On his arms she had noticed the needle marks, the sign of the tie-off that had been wrapped around his upper arm to make the vein more pronounced. Then she had been ashamed of him, and apart from having a cup of tea and a sandwich neither had said much to the other. Their parting had been no more than a brief embrace, as one shuffled off looking for somewhere to sleep, the other to find a taxi to take her to Heathrow and the first-class cabin on the flight to the Caribbean. She remembered that she had shed a tear in the taxi cab.

  And now, here was a person to be proud of, a son to show to her friends. ‘It is hard to answer. I had not heard from your father for many years. He phoned, I came,’ Yolanda said, her voice choking with unexpected emotion.

  ‘Not for my grandfather’s fortune?’

  ‘I don’t need it, and that’s the truth,’ Yolanda said, but it meant staying with a man in Antigua who did not move her the way that he should. Ralph still did, although he was older and definitely fatter, and the innate charm he’d had when he was younger had diminished. She knew that she would choose him over her current man. Ralph had been a dreamer who was always living on the edge, one day rich, another poor, but if he could secure some of his father’s fortune, then maybe…

  ‘I sorted myself out for it,’ Michael said.

  ‘You were in a bad way the last time I saw you.’

  ‘Once an addict, always an addict.’

  ‘And this Giles Helmsley that your f
ather mentioned?’

  ‘I’m not sure now although he made sense before.’

  The two, if they would admit it, would have said that they were enjoying talking to each other. Ralph Lawrence took another quick look through the window of the restaurant, anxious to ensure he wasn’t seen by Michael. He returned to his car and made a phone call.

  ‘People like Helmsley prey on the weak and vulnerable,’ Yolanda said. ‘Are you vulnerable?’

  ‘If I hadn’t been neglected, then maybe it would have been different.’

  ‘Don’t lay your guilt on me.’

  ‘I’m not. Off the drugs, I realise that life is not certain. Sometimes, certain events are for the better, sometimes they aren’t. If we had lived a conventional life, you and my father, as well as me, it still would have given no guarantees.’

  ‘It wouldn’t, and you’ve fared well, although you’ve made some bad decisions, so has your father.’

  ‘Have you, mother?’

  ‘Your father still moves me, but he was not a steady provider. He could have made something of himself, but in the end, he only managed to stay one step ahead of the law, and to bed as many women as he could.’

  ‘Mother, you’ve bedded enough men from what I’ve heard.’

  ‘I’m not innocent, none of us is, but I’m here in England. What are we going to do? Can you forgive? Can I love you as I should?’

  ‘We can try,’ Michael said.

  Neither drank alcohol, ordering instead orange juice. Yolanda knew that she had been drinking more than she should in recent months, an attempt to compensate for the boredom of living in a hot country, and friends who judged you by the money in your bank, not your worth as a person.

  ‘Then we need to help your father,’ Yolanda said.

  ‘If I have money, I’ll weaken. You must know that?’

  The two finally ordered a meal and made idle conversation. Yolanda talked about her travels, not mentioning all of the men, even the ones who had treated her badly, one who had even hit her. Michael talked about his time on the street, his attempts to sort himself out, the places he had slept, the people he had met. Even the woman he had wanted to be with, but she had overdosed on heroin one night, and he had watched her die.

  It was late when they left the restaurant, Yolanda walking with her son to the centre, leaving him at the door and kissing him on the cheek, Michael responding by putting his arms around his mother and holding her close.

  Outside on the road, Ralph waited. Once she was in the car, they spoke, but not for very long. Yolanda, emotionally drained, soon succumbed to sleep as Ralph drove. At the hotel, Ralph escorted her to her room. He did not return to his car that night.

  ***

  Molly Dempster walked into Challis Street Police Station. She was well dressed and had applied make-up. Isaac and Larry did not recognise her at first, although Wendy did.

  ‘Miss Dempster, what brings you here?’ Wendy said.

  ‘I’ve got a confession to make,’ Molly replied, her voice quivering.

  Wendy feared for the worst and called over Isaac. ‘It’s not that,’ Molly said. ‘Is there somewhere we can sit?’

  An interview room was found along the corridor. It was not intimidating, and it was just the three of them. Isaac felt obliged to follow the correct procedure and to advise the woman that her conversation was being recorded. She acknowledged the fact.

  ‘You spoke of a confession,’ Wendy said.

  ‘I’m embarrassed to tell you. It complicates your enquiries.’

  Apart from the standard activities, the investigation into the death of Gilbert Lawrence had stalled, and it was causing problems, not only within Homicide and for Detective Chief Superintendent Goddard but with Commissioner Alwyn Davies, the head of the London Met. Neither Isaac nor Goddard had any time for Davies, with both regarding him as the worst head of that august organisation in living memory, but he couldn’t be ignored.

  ‘Take it nice and slow,’ Wendy said. In another situation, she would have gone and sat with the woman, but in the interview room, she sat alongside her DCI.

  The two police officers waited while the woman composed herself.

  ‘Ralph is my son,’ Molly said. Wendy almost fell off her seat, Isaac’s mouth opened with a gasp.

  ‘This comes as a great surprise,’ Isaac said.

  ‘It’s something I’ve lived with for many years. Nobody knew except for Gilbert and Dorothy, and now they’re both dead, the secret could have gone to my grave.’

  ‘You’d better take your time,’ Wendy said. She felt a flush of emotions come over her: horror, disgust, love, confusion. She didn’t know which one was prevalent, although she had always regarded the housekeeper as one of life’s gentle souls, a person who never sought attention or fame or wealth but completed her daily tasks and went home to watch the television or to read a book. And in one sentence, the woman had changed totally, no longer the innocent, but a woman with a history.

  ‘I had been with Gilbert and Dorothy for a year, and Caroline was there, a lovely little girl, similar in so many ways to her father, but she had her mother’s looks. I never wanted much out of life, just somewhere to live. My father had been a good man, hard-working, but with a reckless streak. That explains Ralph’s impulsive behaviour. My mother was the same as me, a stay-at-home mother who always ensured we were clothed, and there was a meal on the table when my father came in. It was a good life, but when I was seventeen, they both died suddenly. My father from too many years down the coal mine, my mother from grief. I was distraught and had nowhere to go. I thought to go into service, work in a grand house somewhere, a domestic. I found an agency, and they put me in contact with Dorothy. We hit it off straight away, and I moved in above the garage. I was happy. I knew my place and they treated me well. Gilbert was always exceedingly polite to me, not abusing his position, no pushing up against me in the house, pinching my bottom. Always the perfect gentleman. I grew to love them both very much.

  ‘One day, Dorothy was in the kitchen. She was sad. I went over to her, and she told me what the problem was. It seemed that Gilbert was desperate for a son, but Dorothy couldn’t give him one. She had had a difficult birth with Caroline, and she was incapable of bearing another child.’

  Wendy sat transfixed by the story, Isaac couldn’t say a word, only to listen to Molly recount an incredible tale.

  ‘I had never considered motherhood, not for myself. All I wanted was a quiet and simple life, but I could see the anguish in Dorothy. I offered myself.’

  ‘Her reaction?’

  ‘Shock, what else? To me, it seemed the ideal solution. They were my family, and I was always a practical person. I could see a way out of any dilemma.’

  ‘She agreed?’

  ‘Not then, but over a few months she’d occasionally raise the subject, and I would always reply in the positive. It was a great deal of trust we placed in each other, in Gilbert. Not once did the bond break between the three of us. Eventually, we all sat down and discussed the matter. It was me who convinced them that I was the best, the only opportunity for them to have a son. No guarantees you realise, as it could have been a daughter.’

  ‘Any legal agreement between you and them?’

  ‘I would never have accepted it. They were family. This was my gift to them.’

  ‘You became pregnant how?’ Isaac said.

  ‘Men, they always see the difficulties,’ Molly said to Wendy. ‘It was a long time ago, no visits to a fertility clinic. I slept with Gilbert on three separate occasions, Dorothy and me calculating the optimum times.’

  ‘Dorothy?’

  ‘She wasn’t there when I slept with Gilbert. She always went out those times. Anyway, the third time I’m pregnant. six months later, I left the house and checked into a place up north, Dorothy coming with me. Caroline was at a boarding school for two months, and then she spent the next holiday with Gilbert and then a cousin in Cornwall. After the birth, Dorothy and I returned with Ralph, his
mother holding him close to her body.’

  ‘Dorothy was now the mother?’ Wendy said.

  ‘Oh, yes. I was delighted in that I had given birth to Gilbert’s son. You must have realised that I always loved him. Dorothy was pleased, and her husband now had a son.’

  ‘After that day?’

  ‘I was there as my son grew up, although he never knew, and I never spoke to Gilbert and Dorothy about the matter. Nothing changed after our return, and I loved them both all the more.’

  ‘Did you…?’

  ‘Never. Apart from becoming pregnant, Gilbert and I never slept together again.’

  ‘Yet Ralph became trouble, a disappointment to his father.’

  ‘It was my side of the family, don’t you see. My father could be reckless, but I still loved Ralph regardless. He was a lovely boy, a charming man, and he has never found out the truth.’

  ‘Why have you told us this?’ Isaac said.

  ‘I had to. My friends are dead, and I am slowing down. One day it will be my turn to pass on. I need, at least once, to hold my son and for him to recognise me for who I am. It’s the foolish request of an old woman, and it might cause complications, but I had to tell you first.’

  ‘Why?’ Wendy said, a lump in her throat, a tear forming in her eyes.

  ‘Someone murdered Gilbert. Your investigations need the facts, and my relationship with Gilbert and Dorothy may have some bearing on your investigation.’

  ‘Do you think anyone else knows the truth?’

  ‘It was a long time ago, and none of us ever spoke of the matter. It was always our secret. You must understand why I have come here today.’

  ‘We do,’ Isaac said, feeling the same emotions that Wendy did.

  Chapter 19

  Michael checked out of the rehabilitation centre, and after a few days at Yolanda’s hotel, moved in with Ralph. It was not an ideal situation. For one thing, both men still felt uneasy in the other’s presence, and also Michael proved to be untidy, open toothpaste tube in the bathroom, dirty clothes thrust into the washing machine looking for someone else to wash and dry them.