The two other taskforce members stood side by side on the doormat and George held back to allow Gladys to enter in front of him. She was in what Cynthia was prone to think of as “bursting mode” when she was demonstrably keen to impart information. George by contrast looked rather downbeat. They sat in what were now their customary chairs round the kitchen table. “I’ll kick off, if you like,” George opened up, “as I have very little to say, so I can then hand the floor over to you. I checked into Charlie’s record as agreed but I’m no further forward in identifying to whom he owed money and why. I keep thinking of the risks involved in him carrying the body a considerable distance across the common from the car park. It would have been a big weight and must have taken some time. I suppose that, had he been stopped with such a flimsy explanation about what he was doing, the suspicion would automatically have fallen on him, so whoever was behind it was pretty safe. It was very important to someone to get the body to that place. Anyway, that’s it from me—unfortunately my boxes hadn’t been opened at all since I arrived here so there’s an awful lot to sort through. That’s what I have so far.”
Cynthia waved a hand at Gladys. “You carry on, dear.” She saw little point in resisting the unstoppable force and her friend required no further encouragement.
“Well,” she started, “when I put in Richard Pennington’s name there was a lot about the court cases, but I went past that because I thought you’d be looking at those.” She glanced at Cynthia for confirmation, which came in the form of another wave. “So I concentrated on Richard Pennington, the man, and he was quite a man.”
“Whatever do you mean by that, dear?”
“Exactly what it sounds like,” trilled Gladys boisterously. “He was chief executive of a private bank in the City of London, you know, the sort which manages other people’s money and where you have to possess a small fortune to cross the threshold. There were several women who complained about him being over-familiar and making suggestive remarks, but there were two cases which stood out. One of them concerned a woman who worked for the bank who accused him of taking her across his desk when she was called to see him after working hours. He agreed they had had sex but claimed that she knew what she was coming for and that it was all consensual. The police dropped the enquiry.”
“And the other?” George was clearly engaged with what he was hearing.
“The other later one was much more damaging.” Gladys lowered her voice as though concerned that an eavesdropper might have concealed himself behind the door. “The woman accused Pennington of picking her up at some cocktail party and forcing himself on her in an empty room elsewhere in the building. She went to the police in a distressed state to report the incident. Well, he denied it all and said he’d never met the woman concerned.”
“So did he get away with that one as well?” Cynthia asked.
“He did.”
“Even though there had been other complaints about him.” Cynthia primly patted her hair into place. “That seems hardly credible…”
“I don’t disagree,” George told her, “but you have to remember that this all happened thirty years ago when attitudes were rather different to what they are now.”
“You mean that, if a woman was wearing a short skirt, she was asking for it?”
George shifted around in his seat. “Well, not quite that bad, but rape cases have always been a very difficult area for the police, let’s just put it that way.”
Cynthia shook her head in frustration and Gladys took the opportunity to come back in. “In the first case after the woman made the complaint she lost her job.”
“Was that Pennington’s decision?” George wanted to know. He asked the question quickly before Cynthia could have another go.
“The report simply said that she was fired by the bank for poor performance, but he was the managing director.”
“Hm, so we have two women who have the motivation to hate Pennington’s guts. It would be interesting to know how deeply the police went into that at the time. I’ll see what I can find out. Good work, anyway.”
Gladys beamed at the endorsement. She looked at Cynthia. “Your turn, dear.”
Cynthia slowly pushed forward the paper stack she’d printed and Gladys grabbed at it to help her. “Come on,” she urged her, “we want to know what’s in there.”
Thus encouraged, in her quiet and thorough way Cynthia gave an account of what she’d discovered, finishing with the contact details for Shamira Iqbal. When she finished George was deep in thought. “That’s very interesting,” he said, “especially as there is a means to get in touch with her. She could give a first-hand account of what took place with Pennington and their reaction to his death. Now we know who placed the body, we could see if there are any links.”
“But how would we approach her?” Gladys enquired. The tough question hung in the air.
“Ah,” Cynthia responded after leaving the question hanging for a few moments. “I have an idea about that. Do you still have your press pass?”
“Yes—I kept it as a souvenir.” A light dawned in Gladys’s eyes. “You don’t mean…?”
“What’s this all about?” George cut in.
“I was a journalist before I became a teacher. I worked as a junior reporter for a magazine and then decided to go freelance, where I thought there might be more money to be made. It was hard going and the commissions started to dry up a bit, so I was looking for something new to do. I decided to retrain and changed my career. This all took place around twenty years ago.”
“But didn’t you tell me the other day that your editor is still in place—you’re still pretty close friends, aren’t you?” Cynthia pressed.
“We were.” Gladys didn’t seem to wish to elaborate.
“Sorry—could you fill me in please?” George asked.
“Yes, well what Cynthia’s talking about is a magazine called Behind the News.”
“I’ve heard of it.”
“I wrote a lot of pieces for them but that all finished long ago.”
“But surely Cynthia’s right.” George was becoming excited now. “Surely this is something the magazine might be interested in, an interview with Shamira Iqbal. After all, the cold case has recently been highlighted in the press. Her inside story about it could work well. And if you still know the editor, that would be the route to them giving you the commission. This is our foot in the door.”
Gladys’s lips were pursed. She was silent for a long moment before responding. “We can’t be sure this Shamira Iqbal is the right person. And it’s not quite as easy as you make it sound.”
George’s excitement turned just as quickly to evident disappointment. “Will you at least give it some thought?” he asked. “After all, at least you’ll be sowing the seed.”
Gladys looked from one to the other. “All right, I will.” She got up. “Come on, it’s dinner time and they won’t wait!”