Chapter Twenty Four

 

Isabelle Dwyer was frightened. She and Tommy had never been close, but their relationship had deteriorated since Charles had died. Tommy had become morose, his mood had spiraled downwards sending him windmilling into a deep well of depression. He’d turned on Isabelle, blaming her for his father’s death, lashing out at her with vicious threats. Isabelle didn’t know how long it would be before he would lose control completely and strike out. At one point she had her suspicions that he may have discovered her dirty secret. But how could he have known? Charles didn’t know about Rose and William. Or did he? Isabelle was now beginning to wonder.

Isabelle knew that Tommy was jealous of the love his father had for her and knew he couldn’t see anything in her character worth loving. Tommy didn’t particularly like women, especially older women, he thought they were vile and pathetic.

When Tommy learned from his father what his mother had done, he went into a rage. His father pleaded with him to forgive her and insisted that he take care of her after he was gone. Tommy promised his father that he would, and he did, but in his own way. Two hours after their conversation he sent her a letter and demanded fifty-thousand dollars from her.

Within a week of his father’s death he travelled interstate for two weeks. When he returned to the family home he sat with Isabelle at the kitchen table and plied her with gin and antidepressants and didn’t listen when she pleaded with him to call an ambulance.

He left her dying, satisfied that a part of the debt Isabelle owed him and his father had been settled, and walked away from the house. He waited for an hour before hailing a taxi. Obscured by the dark shadows, seated in the back seat of the taxi, he arrived at Kingsford Smith International Airport. He didn’t say a word when he paid the taxi driver in cash.

The next day, on the other side of the world, he waited half an hour before his bag finally appeared on the luggage carousel at Charles de Gaulle airport. The woman behind the Europcar rental counter didn’t pay much attention to the man with the strange accent. She accepted his euros in exchange for the keys to a black, two door Peugeot. He placed the keys in his pocket and caught a shuttle bus to the rental car pickup area and headed out onto the A1 towards Gonesse. He had a long, lazy trip ahead in which to plan and fine-tune the next stage of his revenge. He travelled from country to country, from small village to small village, never staying in one place long enough for the authorities to find him. Six months later he returned home to learn that his mother had committed suicide and her estate had been dealt with by the executor, a Mr Martin Bartholomew. He disguised his rage when he learned from Martin Bartholomew that his mother’s entire estate had been left to a long time friend, a Mrs Rose Phillips and disguised his relief when he learnt that the Coroner’s findings were that her death was a result of a combination of alcohol poisoning and an overdose of prescription medication; a case of suicide brought about by the loss of her beloved husband Charles and the sudden disappearance of her only son.

 

*****

My Dear Rose

I hope this letter finds you well. I was so pleased to receive your letter. Thank you for your sympathetic and kind words but the doctors have told me that Charlie won’t last the week. He is very frail but still manages to understand what is going on around him. I will miss him, he has been a good husband to me and a good provider. I know that Tommy will miss him too, of course, because they did everything together before he fell ill. They were more like brothers than father and son.

Rose dear, it is because of Tommy that I felt that I had to write to you. A week ago Tommy came to me and told me that he knew all about Father Patrick and our little arrangement regarding William. I don’t know how he found out, but he did, and he has been blackmailing me ever since. He asked me to give him fifty-thousand dollars to stop him from going to Charlie and telling him everything.

I just couldn’t have Charlie knowing about William and going to his grave with such a terrible opinion of me. I was also worried that at the last moment he might decide to change his will in favour of Tommy and leave me without a cent.

Speaking of wills, Tommy asked me to show him mine just the other day, which I thought very strange. He knows that Charlie has left everything to me of course and I am sure he is expecting to inherit everything once I die. Tommy promised that he wouldn’t tell anyone about William if I gave him the fifty-thousand dollars and he also promised that he would never raise the subject again. I hate to say it Rose, but I don’t trust my son.

I hope you have fared better with Billy. I have never been very close to Tommy as you know, so I have decided to change my will. What a surprise is in store for him when I die and he is left nothing. I have made an appointment with your lovely solicitor friend, Mr Bartholomew, because I have decided to make you the sole beneficiary to my estate. You may die before me of course and in that case my assets will go to my two favourite charities.

My private funds that I kept from Charlie all these years are almost depleted mainly because of the recent fifty-thousand dollar payment to Tommy and the years I supported Billy. But I’m not really worried about that; that was the arrangement we agreed to and I stuck to it, didn’t I?

Rose, do with the money what you will, but I must warn you that Tommy will not be pleased when he finds out that you have inherited everything. Perhaps you can introduce him to his half-brother and with Billy being a barrister and everything, it might just be for the best that the truth finally comes out into the open after all these years. Don’t judge me too harshly, you know what I’m like, I always was one to stir the pot!

I haven’t been very well lately and I am tired, but don’t worry, I don’t intend to kick the bucket anytime soon. Tommy tells me he is going overseas with the money I gave him, good riddance to bad rubbish I say. I really don’t know where I went wrong with him. I know I must sound unkind, but you don’t know my Tommy.

Anyway take care and I will keep you informed about Charlie. I don’t expect you to come to the funeral because that would be too complicated and I wouldn’t want Tommy asking any more questions. I will miss my husband, he was always so understanding.

 

Keep well

Your friend, Isabelle

 

*****

Rimis returned the letter to the file marked PHILLIPS-Rose FILE NO 234/088B and placed it on his desk. He leant back in his chair, stretched out his legs in front of him and rubbed his face with the palms of his hands. ‘This case just gets more complicated, Brennan. I think after reading these letters again that you’ve probably come to the same conclusion as I have. The Phillips case has just turned into a homicide enquiry.’

Jill nodded. ‘It gets worse Sarge. Suellyn Phillips’s alibi doesn’t stack up. Rosalind Duncan said she did go shopping with Suellyn but she rushed off around three-thirty after she received a phone call. They had planned to go to Eccos but they didn’t end up going. Suellyn told Rosalind that she had something important she had to do.’

‘I think it’s time for us to go and pay Tommy Dwyer a visit to see what he has to say about all of this. What’s the name of the hotel he’s staying at?’

‘The Barclay, Sarge.’