DCI Isaac Cook Box Set 1, стр. 356
***
Ed Barrow knew that the situation was tenuous. For almost fifteen years he had held the position of director of the research department. With that had come an appreciable salary complete with benefits: the car, the superannuation, the budget to continue with the projects that interested him. Regardless of how Malcolm Woolston saw him, he knew that he was a decent man who had been placed in a difficult position. There had only been one option that fateful day when the two men had visited him: he agreed to the military men’s demands, or they’d ensure the department was closed down and he would be evicted from the building.
It was as if it was only yesterday, when he and Sue, Malcolm, and Gwen would spend most summer Sunday afternoons barbequing or taking trips to the sea for the day. He had envied his friend with his perfect wife and his perfect child.
He knew he could never have what Malcolm had, it was not possible medically, and Sue, an attractive woman in her thirties then, a lot of fun, physically very demanding, was not interested either. They had discussed marriage, but she was not overly keen. ‘I like to keep my options open,’ she had said.
Ed knew that what she meant was that she liked the freedom to date other men, to sleep with them, to discard them. Sue was an independent woman, he knew that, and he had always realised that she was not wife material, but he had asked her anyway. They had been together two years by that time, and the openness had been more on her side than his.
He knew that he had been disturbed that day when they had grabbed Malcolm as he was preparing to leave the building, after he had made it clear to everyone that he had solved the final problem and that he was able to create energy at minimal cost, limitless energy in his estimation.
He had watched Arbuthnot and the other man laying into his friend the following day until he had become too sickened to watch. He had seen Harold Hutton countersign the documents with him on behalf of his government for the treatment to continue, and now Hutton and Arbuthnot were both dead. And now Malcolm was coming for him and, no doubt, for Sue.
He loved Gwen, he knew that, and with Malcolm’s death, the field had been clear for him to press his suit with her. He remembered how Gwen had reacted that first time, six months after Malcolm had disappeared. That had not been a good day when he confronted her in the kitchen of her house, told her how he felt. She had reacted with a gentle rebuke, then with soulful sobbing for the husband who was not coming back. He had tried to put his arms around her to comfort her, but she pushed him away.
He had left that house that day with her in tears, telling him not to come back. It was another three months before he saw her again, and the tears had stopped. As she said, she had to remain strong for their daughter. For nearly two years, they kept in touch, his helping as he could, sometimes acting as a substitute for the child’s father, sometimes babysitting while Gwen ventured out into the world of dating again.
One night when she had come home late, complaining that her date had drunk too much, made too many offensive remarks, they had ended up naked on the floor. The young child, by that time thirteen going on fourteen, was fast asleep upstairs. It was only the second time that he had told Gwen that he loved her, and he wanted to be with her and Malcolm’s daughter. They married two months later, a quiet ceremony in a local registry office, a reception back at the house, a honeymoon in the Canary Islands, the daughter accompanying them.
And now Malcolm was back, and to complicate matters, he knew about Sue. If he knew how to access Ed’s laptop and to switch on the camera, he must have seen them making love in the office.
Ed knew he had tried, and for three years he had resisted the advances of his former lover, but she could not be dissuaded. ‘I need to be loved,’ she had said.
Eventually, he had given in and slept with her once again. In the years that followed, their coupling would be an accepted routine every Thursday night when the office was quiet, and everyone else had gone home. Once back home, later than usual, his dinner would be on the table, Gwen smiling, happy to see him, never suspecting, never questioning.
***
The cameras at Harold Hutton’s house had been effective. For the first time, the Homicide department had a clear picture of the man who had knocked on the door. Not only that, the man had not been wearing a cap.
‘Malcolm Woolston,’ Bridget said. ‘I’ve compared the old and the new photos, they match.’
‘Good work,’ Isaac replied, temporarily distracted by DCS Goddard on the phone.
‘Are you certain?’ Wendy asked.
‘Ninety-five per cent,’ Bridget’s reply.
‘Did you get that, sir?’ Isaac said into the mic on his phone.
‘Keep me posted. I’ll make sure the commissioner knows.’
‘Best of luck.’
‘With that man!’
***
Sue Christie was the first to see them as they entered the building. She was soon in Ed Barrow’s office. ‘It’s the police,’ she said.
‘Again. They were here yesterday,’ Barrow’s reply. ‘How do we handle this?’
‘Act natural.’
Sue left Barrow’s office, giving him a few minutes