The Hero's Fall (DCI Cook Thriller Series Book 14) by Phillip Strang (best classic romance novels txt) 📗

greatest of friends, men who trusted each other with their lives, cognisant of the risks, able to mentally compartmentalise them, knowing that if there was a problem up high on a mountain, it was about teamwork and self-sacrifice if needed. Yet, Hampton maintained a pathological hatred of Simmons. It concerned Isaac more than it should. To him, there was something amiss in the animosity, a missing piece of the jigsaw, but if there was, did it matter?

Putting Hampton to one side, the team refocussed on Simmons’s father. He was a wealthy man, but none of it had been forthcoming to his son.

‘I used to see my son from time to time,’ Simmons, an eccentricity about him, said. His house, more of a museum than a home, the lights dimmed, the curtains closed, the smell of leather and wood. To one side of the front door, a full set of armour.

‘Japanese,’ Simmons said. ‘I’m a collector, war paraphernalia, weapons, that sort of thing.’

He spoke casually, a throwaway line as if he collected matchboxes or stamps. Isaac, not an expert on ancient weapons of war, knew one thing, reinforced as they entered a room at the rear of the house, two large swords crossed and mounted above the fireplace – that what was in the place was worth millions of pounds.

Another suit of armour in the room, English this time.

‘Genuine?’ Larry asked.

‘Everything in this house is,’ Simmons replied. He was impressed by Isaac, tall, black, a proud bearing, elegantly dressed. His reply to Larry was casual and disparaging, not pleased to be questioned by a person who should have recognised quality but didn’t.

Another time, Isaac would have gladly spent an afternoon at the house, going from one item to another, quizzing Simmons about where he had obtained each piece, its history, construction method, and its significance.

‘Angus met a tragic fate,’ Isaac said as he sat down in a plush chair. He thought it to be from the nineteenth century, Napoleon the Third.

‘My son was a unique individual, a man who lived life to the fullest. I can’t say that I’m pleased he died, but if you challenge yourself, take risks, no doubt alienates people, then sometimes it comes back to bite. My ex-wife, Angus’s mother, raised him well. I did what I could, but it wasn’t that much, not as much as I would have liked.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘We weren’t destined to be together for long. I’m too impatient, irascible, whereas my ex-wife is more easy-going. There’s nothing wrong with either, but hardly the requisite for a long and happy marriage, and we didn’t want Angus to be the meat in the sandwich. My wife took Angus up to Scotland, gave him the upbringing that he needed. I stayed here, made money, and ensured he had the best education he was willing to accept and all the opportunities he wanted. Neither of us agreed with mollycoddling the boy: too much of that in society these days. What he achieved, he achieved through tenacity, the right attitude. We made a man out of him.’

‘He’s dead,’ Larry said, not as diplomatically as he should.

‘If by your tone, you believe that I should show more remorse, Inspector, then you are sadly mistaken. The Simmonses do not show weakness; a proud tradition of military service, stiff upper lip.’

‘I’m sure Inspector Hill didn’t mean to offend,’ Isaac said, ‘but this is a murder enquiry. If it had been a climbing accident, we wouldn’t be here, nor would we have spoken to your ex-wife, but this is different, one that is proving to be frustrating.’

‘I can understand your concern,’ Simmons said. ‘However, in my defence, life is finite. If life has been abruptly terminated, the reason why is immaterial. He risked his life on many occasions, somehow always came back intact from wherever. Murder or a genuine mishap, the reason is unimportant. It may be for you. It’s not to me.’

‘Will you mourn him?’

‘Behind closed doors, Chief Inspector. Not here with you and your inspector, not in public.’

‘Our problem is that we’ve only found one person who disliked him,’ Isaac said.

‘Hampton knew the risks. There was no reason to have blamed Angus. It shows a weakness of character on the man’s part. Don’t consider him a suspect.’

‘Due to his disability?’

‘Not that it would help, but that’s not what I meant. Hampton hasn’t enough nerve to do it.’

‘You’re ex-military?’ Larry asked, choosing his words carefully.’

‘I am. That’s why the interest in historical war memorabilia.’

‘An impressive collection,’ Isaac said.

‘It is. Cost a fortune, but that’s not the point.’

‘We believe your son had a cavalier approach to money.’

‘An admirable trait garnered from his mother, approved of by me. If you do what gives you the greatest satisfaction, then money will never be an issue. This collection that you see. I never considered the cost, only the joy of these items, not caring at the time, but now, worth a fortune, not that I’d ever part with them.’

‘Your wealth? This house? Where did it come from?’

‘In part, inheritance from my father, and after that, trade.’

‘What type of trade?’

‘It’s not relevant, as you’ve already said, considering you’re here about the death of my son.’

‘Possibly not, but we need an angle as to why someone would go to the extreme of killing your son.’

‘Are you sure that it’s murder? It could have been a warning.’

‘A warning about what? Is there something we don’t know about? Although it’s murder, the intention was obvious.’

‘Angus and Hampton’s wife, you’ve been told?’

‘Hampton’s wife has denied it; her husband believes it to be true.’

‘It was. He came here once with her, spent the night upstairs.’

‘You knew?’

‘It was supposedly a domestic argument, Hampton and his wife, and Angus, the Good Samaritan, was consoling her.’

‘More consoling than she needed?’

‘He spent the