Murder in Room 346 Read online

  The one skill that Caddick had, apart from irritating Isaac, was that he was an accomplished public speaker. At the wrap-up press conference after someone had been charged with murder, Caddick was able to give the impression that he had single-handedly solved the crime, with Isaac and his team mere functionaries following instructions.

  Richard Goddard had been willing to acknowledge his team’s contribution, but in front of a microphone and a camera the man was a wet blanket. It had been Isaac who had saved him on several occasions from the ignominy of saying something silly and fluffing his speech. Caddick didn’t need any such help, although the interviewers invariably wanted to hear from the tall, good-looking and very dark DCI, not from a dishevelled-looking man with a Welsh accent.

  ‘What do we have on James Holden?’ Isaac asked his team. The initial research from Bridget Halloran in the office had been precise, but nothing of a surprise, as the man was well known to the general public.

  ‘Apart from the fact that he was seventy-two with a wife and two children?’ Bridget said.

  ‘We need something more than that.’

  ‘James Holden was elected to parliament thirty-three years ago. He held the post of Minister of Health in a previous government, but currently is in opposition.’

  ‘Not much chance of their being returned to power anytime soon,’ Wendy Gladstone said.

  ‘Regardless of his party’s electoral prospects,’ Isaac said.

  ‘James Holden took up the cause of declining moral standards eight years ago,’ Bridget continued. ‘He’s stated on many occasions, passionately in the Houses of Parliament, that more should be done to encourage the institution of marriage, and that graphic violence and sex on the internet and the television are detrimental to society. In the last few years, he’s taken on prison reform. According to him, prison is there for rehabilitation, not just for punishment. Holden has made an effort to take recently released prisoners who showed remorse for their crimes and to find them suitable employment, not a dead-end job paying the minimum wage.’

  ‘Helen Langdon, is she one of these prisoners?’ Isaac asked.

  ‘Helen Langdon, previously known as Helen Mackay, had served four years of a seven-year sentence for the second-degree murder of Gerald Adamant, a man who had inherited a fortune from his father at the age of fifty. At the time of his marriage to Helen Mackay, he was sixty-eight, she was twenty-four. The media soon dug up dirt on Helen, not that there was much. She had briefly appeared onstage at a risqué club, but apart from that, she’s clean. Her family were found to be decent people with a daughter who, through no fault of her own, men lusted after. According to Helen, it was love for Adamant, the only person who had seen her inner self, and Adamant, if you remember, wasn’t a bad-looking man. He certainly looked younger than his age, and she definitely looked older. The marriage cost plenty, the honeymoon even more, and for a few years, no more was heard of them, apart from Adamant’s philanthropic work, his wife at his side.’

  ‘And then?’ Isaac said.

  ‘Adamant is dead, Helen is charged with murder. According to her, the marriage was fine. He treated her well, she loved him. And then, one day, he snaps, accuses her of sleeping with other men, never loving him.’

  ‘Any truth in his accusations?’

  ‘No proof was ever found. The evidence at the trial showed that Gerald Adamant and his wife did have a good marriage, and there was no indiscretion by either person.’

  ‘But she killed him.’

  ‘The two of them are in the kitchen of their house. Renovations are going on, he’s got his hands around her throat. She grabs hold of a hammer lying to one side and strikes him on the head to make him back off. Adamant died later that day. The rest you know.’

  ‘Let us give the woman the benefit of the doubt,’ Isaac said. ‘Is there any information as to how she came to be working for Holden?’

  ‘Holden was known for his frequent visits to the prisons throughout the country. On one of these prison visits, he befriends Helen Mackay – she’s reverted to her maiden name – and subsequently makes an impassioned plea for her release, due to disputed evidence at her original trial.’

  ‘Since her release, she’s been vindicated of the crime,’ Larry said.

  ‘Carry on, Bridget.’

  ‘Helen Mackay changed her name on her release. She had a degree in accountancy; his organisation needed an accountant. After a couple of years, Helen Langdon, as she is now known, was largely forgotten.’

  ‘She was living well in Kensington,’ Wendy said.

  ‘Adamant’s family, supporters of hers during the original trial, bequeathed her the apartment and sufficient money to live.’

  ‘She wasn’t entitled to more?’

  ‘A pre-nuptial had been signed. Technically, she was entitled to nothing, but Adamant was a good man, so was his family, and Helen had made the man happy, even if she ultimately killed him.’

  ‘It’s one hell of a story,’ Larry said.

  ‘Life is often stranger than fiction,’ Isaac said.

  ***

  Violet Holden, as distraught as she was, realised the situation was delicate. Her husband, believed by the man in the street to be a moral man, had a dark side. Not that she had been under any illusion for many years, not since the first time he had erred. Back then, their son was up and walking, no more than one year old, and in walked the father, a look of guilt on his face.

  That time he had confessed, as he would every time afterwards. That was why she had been able to tell the police in all honesty that her husband had only been with Helen the one time. If he had lived, he would have come back to the family home and confessed, and each time there’d be the pledge that he would never do it again. Violet knew full well that he would; not often, but often enough.

  ‘Why was he with her?’ Linda Holden, the younger child of James and Violet, said. Her mother knew that Linda was an unattractive woman of thirty-three, having inherited her father’s bulbous nose and his blotchy skin, and her mother’s slender frame. The mother consoled herself with the knowledge that her daughter had a kind heart, like her father.

  ‘It’s not the first time,’ her mother replied.

  ‘But Helen, why her?’

  Violet, an attractive woman, a beauty in her youth, knew why, even if the daughter did not. Helen Langdon, regardless of her history, was a beautiful woman, the sort of woman that her husband liked.

  Violet remembered when they had met, she and James. He had not been a handsome man, but he had an inner strength, an inherent sense of decency. He was also the most intelligent man she had ever met, able to converse about any subject that interested her. They had become a couple, and they married within six months; he, a virgin, she, not so chaste.

  They had been happy years before their son had come along, time enough for James to be elected to parliament. Even then he had been an ardent moralist, a clear and concise debater, a man going places, and in politics that meant the prime ministership. But then, another general election and James Holden was in opposition, a repeating event in the intervening years until his death. It was that first time he realised he had joined the wrong party, but there was no changing. He was not like Winston Churchill who had managed to move across the political divide; he was James Holden, a loyal party member, an ardent believer in doing the right thing, regardless of personal cost.

  ‘She was devoted to your father, you knew that,’ Violet Holden said.

  ‘But why the two of them in bed?’

  ‘There was empathy between the two of them, almost a melding of the minds. It’s as if they were father and daughter.’

  ‘How could he? It’s almost obscene.’

  ‘It was inevitable. Your father, like all great men, needed to rebel occasionally.’

  ‘Are you saying that Helen offered herself as the object of his rebellion?’

  ‘Helen would have done anything for him.’

  ‘Aren’t you upset, Mother?’

 
; ‘Your father’s legacy must be preserved; his good work must continue. Linda, you must be the one.’

  ‘But I don’t have my father’s skills.’

  ‘Yes, you do. It is for all of us to be willing to portray my husband, your father, as the man he was, a man who was flawed. His indiscretion with Helen must be used to portray him as a sinner who repents, a man who would admit all to his family.’

  ‘And Helen?’

  ‘She was a good person, regardless of her past and what has occurred. We will not conduct vendettas against anyone. We, the Holdens, will be the face of equanimity, of kindness, of charity to all.’

  ‘It’ll be hard for John,’ Linda said.

  ‘Then we must work hard to bring him around. He has a mean streak, and he will want to portray Helen as a wicked woman.’

  ‘Not as someone he loved, but who ultimately rejected him for his father.’

  ‘Precisely, and John doesn’t have your and your father’s kind nature,’ Violet said.

  Chapter 3

  Isaac recognised trouble, not with a capital T, but with a capital C: Caddick. The man was sitting in Isaac’s office; he appeared to be friendly, which meant only one thing, he was going to be difficult.

  ‘Now, look here, Cook, I want this case run by the book. Commissioner Davies is taking a keen interest in this police station, especially this department, and James Holden was well respected. There’s bound to be a lot of focus on us to provide results.’

  ‘On me,’ Isaac corrected the man.

  ‘You think you’re so smart, don’t you? Well, let me tell you, I’m the superintendent, you’re not, and unless your attitudes changes, I’ll have you out of here in a flash.’

  So much for the friendly, Isaac thought. He could see the hand of the commissioner in Caddick; he was not going to rise to the bait.

  ‘We’ve just taken on the case. You’re not expecting us to solve it that quickly, are you?’ Isaac replied.

  ‘I am. The demands on my budget are too much as it is. I’ll not be paying for you and your mollycoddling of your people. And if your sergeant is too old, replace her. I can find you someone else, younger, keener, more willing to get out there and mix it on the street.’

  ‘Sergeant Gladstone pulls her weight. She’ll not let this department down.’

  ‘On your head. I’m just giving you fair warning.’

  Straight out of the Alwyn Davies book of policing, Isaac thought but decided to say no more. His superintendent had irritated him, not for the first time either. Isaac had wanted to tell the man that he was a snivelling little weasel, not even competent to shine the boots of his predecessor, Detective Chief Superintendent Goddard. Goddard had confided to Isaac that the forces were continuing to rally, and ongoing discussions were being conducted to allow Commissioner Davies to resign with grace, which would probably amount to a hefty payout, and possibly a knighthood.

  Isaac had baulked at the mention of the knighthood. ‘I thought they were awarded after you had done something, not destroyed it.’

  ‘That’s not how the real world works, and you know it,’ Goddard had replied.

  There was plenty to do, but Caddick’s visit had left Isaac devoid of enthusiasm. He got up from his desk and walked out of his office.

  Isaac sat down next to Wendy Gladstone. He could see she was struggling, and Caddick was right in that her performance was down from a year previously. He also knew that he would protect her at all costs. The times when she was needed out on the street, she had never let him down, and she was totally loyal to him, as were the others in the office. Isaac knew that Caddick’s approach did not work. People under pressure perform as long as that pressure is reasoned and progressive, not by threatening their jobs.

  ‘We need to find out why they were shot,’ Isaac said. ‘What do we know about Helen Langdon?’

  ‘I can check out where she worked, talk to her colleagues. They’re bound to be in shock after the executive director and the financial controller are both killed.’

  ‘And in the same bed. Let’s go, I’ll come with you,’ Isaac said. ‘After five minutes with our senior, I need to be out of here.’

  ‘Begging your pardon, sir, but Superintendent Caddick is a pain in the rear end,’ Wendy said.

  ‘Don’t even think it, don’t ever say it. You know how we’re meant to act with the man.’

  ‘It’s hard. Sometimes I feel that I could tell him what I think of him.’

  ‘I know what you mean,’ Isaac said. ‘Where’s Larry?’

  ‘He’s back out at the crime scene. The CSIs are wrapping up. He wants to see what he can find out.’

  ‘If it’s a professional slaying, then probably not much.’

  ‘There are still cameras in the street. Bridget can look through them once we have some idea of the murderer. She’s collating what she can find on Holden and Langdon. It’s a sorry mess, that’s what it is.’

  ‘A mess. I’m not so sure about the sorry. James Holden can only blame himself.’

  ‘What did you make of Holden’s wife?’ Wendy asked.

  ‘There’s not much to say. She looked upset.’

  ‘She was, but she wasn’t surprised her husband had been in another woman’s bed.’

  ‘How can you know?’

  ‘I observed her reactions when she spoke. She wasn’t happy about the situation, although she was shocked it was Helen Langdon.’

  ***

  The offices of James Holden’s organisation were located in Paddington, no more than a six-minute drive from Challis Street. Isaac parked the car in a bay reserved for the executive director. ‘He’ll not need it today,’ he said.

  Inside the office, freshly painted judging by the smell, a middle-aged woman sat behind reception. ‘Can I help you?’ she said.

  ‘Detective Chief Inspector Cook, Sergeant Gladstone,’ Isaac said.

  ‘You’re here about James?’

  ‘That’s correct.’ Isaac took note of the fact the woman did not mention Helen.

  ‘It’s a sad day. Everyone’s a bit lost. His daughter’s here if it’s any help.’

  ‘It will be.’

  Isaac and Wendy took a seat. Isaac flicked through some brochures on the table in the reception area; Wendy checked the news on her phone. After a few minutes, Linda Holden appeared. ‘We’ve been discussing what to do. We need to make a press statement.’

  ‘I’ll be asked to give a press conference at some stage,’ Isaac said.

  The three walked through the offices to the rear of reception. It was a better office than Homicide, Wendy had to admit.

  ‘What can I do for you?’ Holden’s daughter said. ‘As you can understand, I’m not really in the mood to answer too many questions. I should be with my mother.’

  ‘That’s understood. In fact, we’re surprised to see you here.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be, but my father’s work is important. It can’t be allowed to fail.’

  ‘Tell us, how do you plan to handle your father’s death? How will you word your press statement?’ Wendy said.

  ‘How can we be accurate and ignore the fact he was murdered?’

  ‘You can’t,’ Isaac said, ‘but you’re the second person in this office who has purposely not mentioned Helen Langdon.’

  ‘We decided the best way to deal with the media would be for us not to mention Helen.’

  ‘She worked here?’ Isaac said.’

  Yes, and very efficiently.’

  ‘Then some advice. Don’t ignore her, and don’t try to hide the fact she was in bed with your father.’

  ‘We thought it would be best.’

  ‘Maybe you did, and if you were dealing with friends and relatives, then fine, but you’re not. You’re dealing with the British press, and they’ll smell a rat if you try to hide the truth.’

  ‘Then what do we say?’

  ‘Words to the effect that tragically James Holden and Helen Langdon were killed in Bayswater today. The full details of how they died a
nd what the motive was behind the slayings are still unclear. The police are conducting an investigation, and it would be inappropriate to comment further until more information is available. In the meantime, the good work of Mr Holden and his team of loyal supporters will continue.’

  ‘You said everything without saying it,’ Linda Holden said.

  ‘You’ve not lied. You’ve acknowledged that Helen was killed, yet you’ve given no details.’

  ‘And later on, when the press continues to pry?’

  ‘The matter is with the police. It would be inappropriate to comment or speculate.’

  ‘But everyone will know the truth.’

  ‘It’ll be headline news tomorrow, but you’ve not fuelled the fire.’

  ‘Thank you. We’ll follow your advice. I’ve made a note of what you just said.’

  ‘Now, coming back to our investigation. What is your position in the organisation?’

  ‘I was here in an advisory capacity, but now I’ll be taking my father’s position.’

  ‘Are you qualified?’ Wendy asked.

  ‘I hope so. My father schooled me well in his beliefs. Beliefs I share as well.’

  ‘Your father has died, upsetting in itself, no doubt. What we need to know is why?’

  ‘My father did not make enemies intentionally, and he was not a firebrand. He was pragmatic, fully cognisant that in all of us is the need to rebel, to be bemused by the frailties of the human condition. He only wanted to control the descent into barbarism, not to curtail it totally.’

  ‘Barbarism?’

  ‘My father believed society was descending into a moral abyss as a result of modern technology. His opponents portrayed him as puritanical, against anything and everything. He was not that, but he held views, dated in modern society, which he put forward. He was vigorously opposed to the gratuitous sex and violence that pervade our lives.’

  ‘There are people making fortunes out of those. They would be powerful enemies.’