DCI Isaac Cook Box Set 1

did you find out from the husband?’
‘Made me very welcome.’
‘But what did you find out?’
‘Her husband believes she’s just annoyed and has taken off to cool down. She’s done it in the past when they’ve had an argument. I suspect they have arguments quite frequently. Not my idea of an ideal marriage, but he seems devoted to her. Whether it’s reciprocated, I don’t know.’
Isaac attempted an evaluation of the facts so far. ‘What do we have? Firstly, there is an assumption by persons unknown and influential that her disappearance is suspicious. Do these persons, whoever they are, concern themselves with her safety, or is that a minor consideration?’
‘Why is she so important?’ Farhan asked.
‘You can focus on that,’ Isaac said. ‘Secondly, what was the blazing row between Marjorie Frobisher and the executive producer? What was said in anger? Was it just her sounding off at him for dumping her, or was there more to it?’
‘Everyone has skeletons in the cupboard. We just need to find theirs.’
Isaac appreciated his colleague’s style of thinking. Farhan had been born in Pakistan and had, like many thousands of others, made the trip to England and its cold and damp climate. A Muslim, his faith was private and pragmatic, and he blended into the department and society well. He was not averse to a half pint of beer on a Friday night – team building he would say – but his mother would have been shocked and his wife disappointed. There had been a murder six months previously in a pig abattoir, and he had even conducted the investigation. Pork was ‘Haram’, forbidden, but he was a serving police officer, and he carried out his duty without complaint. He never told Isaac about the three showers with a scrubbing brush when he arrived home that night, trying to remove the stench from his body.
‘Thirdly,’ Isaac continued, ‘Does someone know something that we don’t?’
He laid out a plan. In the absence of a body, it was just the two of them. Confidentiality required that no one else could be brought on board. ‘Farhan, this is what we do. We’ll follow your suggestion and try and find out what Marjorie Frobisher’s importance is, and why someone influential is interested. I’ll head back out to the production site and keep quizzing the people there. I’ll also speak to the executive producer. See if he’ll tell me all that happened between him and his star, or soon-to-be-ex star.’
‘You’ll need corroboration from his personal assistant,’ Farhan said.
‘You’re right. I’ll ask her confidentially, see if it aligns with what he says. I’ve also got another source that may or may not give me some further insights.’
‘Jessica O’Neill?’ Farhan quizzed. Isaac had already told him that she was giving the right signals, and he knew his superior’s reputation.
‘Don’t look at me like that. If it turns out there’s been a murder, she could well be a suspect.’
‘I realise that. Until the mysterious lady deems to make a grand entrance, then we treat everyone with suspicion.’
It had been a long day. There was a slight drizzle as they left the office, and both knew that they were in for a slow drive to their respective homes. Farhan had managed to buy a small terraced house in Wimbledon, not far from the railway station. Isaac had secured a loan on a two-bedroom apartment in Willesden. It cost him more than his salary could bear, but he was an ambitious man. He felt he could stand the financial strain until his next promotion.

Chapter 3
The next day Farhan met up with Robert Avers at the Churchill Arms in Kensington. Farhan felt a neutral location may be preferable. It was evident that Avers appreciated good food. The Thai restaurant at the back of the public house served a good meal, and with a couple of pints down him, Farhan thought the man would be even more open than at their previous meeting.
His estimation proved to be correct. They had managed to secure a table inside, and there was no fear of being overheard. It was crowded as usual, and the noise from the increasingly inebriated patrons would ensure that no one could hear what they said.
‘I’ll be straight with you,’ Avers said. He had just consumed his meal voraciously, almost shoved it down. His approach to a pint of beer was similar, down in two gulps. ‘We had what is quaintly called an “open marriage”. Hope I don’t shock you there.’
Farhan, a conservative Muslim in an arranged marriage understood what he meant, not sure if he approved. ‘Shocked? Not at all. It seems incongruous in today’s permissive society,’ he said.
‘You’re right of course. The young people of today certainly would not understand the concept. They no longer see the need for marriage, and having multiple partners without the sanctification of a priest is accepted nowadays. Marjorie and I come from a different generation, and we both came to the marriage bed, if not entirely chaste, at least relatively naïve. We’ve been married a long time, and for the first ten we were faithful, but then her career blossomed, and my business took me away from home for lengthy periods at a time.’
‘So it was a mutual agreement?’ It was not a subject Farhan felt entirely comfortable discussing, but he felt a direct answer from Avers could well prove to be significant. The well-fed and well-drunk husband continued to down the pints. Farhan stayed a distant second with two half pints of beer.
‘I suppose so,’ Avers replied. ‘I don’t know who was first to stray, and initially there were some incredible rows at home and over the phone, but then we came to an agreement. It’s held us firmly together for the last fifteen years. I’ve shocked you, haven’t I?’ He repeated his previous statement.
Farhan was indeed shocked by the frankness of the