He frowned, as if puzzled by the question, then after a few seconds smiled. ‘It was obvious,’ he stated. ‘Obvious!’
‘It’s not obvious to me,’ said Holden, her autopilot betraying signs of irritation.
‘You didn’t know him,’ he said calmly. He was still smiling, not at Holden though, but at his hands. He held his left palm open, and with his right he traced a pattern on it – a figure-of-eight, Holden reckoned – first one way, and then the other. ‘I did. And from that day, he was different.’
‘How do you mean, different?’ Holden asked.
Danny looked up from his hands, but he was still smiling, almost beatifically. Holden was reminded of a picture of a saint that had adorned a notebook once given to her by her Aunt Ida. ‘Different like two identical apples,’ he explained, and his hands
traced smooth patterns through the air as if he was a priest standing before the altar. ‘One apple is green and shiny, and when you bite into it, it tastes like the best apple you have ever tasted, like the one your dad picked off the tree that day he took you to the fair and you sat on his lap down the helter skelter. And the other apple is green and shiny too, but when you bite into it, the flesh is soft and brown, and in the middle is a long black worm that has gorged itself so full that as soon as your teeth reach it, it explodes like a landmine of bitterness inside you. That was what Jake was like after I’d smashed his car.’
Holden leant back. She had turned the autopilot off, but the feeling that she was wasting her time was growing by the second. She looked back at Danny’s grinning face, and then up at the looming figure of Fox. Her eyes sent out a SOS, and he dutifully responded.
‘Can you give us a description of this man that was following Jake?’ he asked.
‘A description?’ Danny replied with puzzlement in his voice.
‘Yes Danny,’ Fox said firmly. ‘How tall was he? What colour hair did he have? Or was he bald? What was he wearing?’
Fox paused, but Danny made no reply. His right hand was tracing patterns on his left hand again, but the movements were faster than earlier, and jerkier. ‘You did see him, didn’t you Danny?’ Fox pressed. Again there was silence. Danny’s right hand began to slow down, until it stopped moving altogether. There was a slight shrug of the shoulders, and a single muttered word: ‘No.’
‘In that case,’ Holden smiled, ‘I don’t think we need to ask you any more questions, Danny. But thank you. You’ve been very helpful,’ she lied.
As Danny got up from the chair, Holden motioned to Laing to stay. She waited until Fox had closed the door before asking her question. ‘So what is your take on all of this, Ms Laing. I gather you know something about the vandalizing of Jake’s car?’
‘Who doesn’t here? It was the big day centre news when it happened.’
‘And when was that?’
Laing shut here eyes briefly as she tried to focus on the detail. ‘About three months ago, I should reckon. But you can check that in your records. Jake reported it to the police because his car was so damaged. But until just now, I had no idea that it was Danny who did it. Will you be prosecuting him for it?’
‘I’m not sure there’s a lot of point,’ Holden said with a slight shrug. ‘Not now that—’ Her sentence dribbled to a halt. ‘Look,’ she said, ‘what really matters here is not who smashed Jake’s car. It’s who killed him. Why did Danny smash up his car? Did Danny hate him enough to smash his head in too?’
Laing took a noisy intake of breath, then released it as if warming up for some imminent physical effort. ‘When Danny smashed Jake’s car, it was parked in Marston Street, right outside Sarah Johnson’s flat. This took place roundabout 11.00 o’clock at night. It caused some friction between Jim Blunt and Jake when it became apparent that Jake had been visiting Sarah Johnson, and Jim thought he was overstepping the boundaries. ’
‘But Jake was gay?’ Holden said.
‘Yes!’ She almost snorted the word. ‘Sure he was gay. No one was saying he was sleeping with Sarah, but being round at her flat, and being there late at night – well, it suggests a degree of friendship that was well ... some would call it unprofessional. But personally, I would call it bloody stupid.’
‘And what about Danny?’ Holden said, determined to steer the conversation in the direction she wanted it to go. ‘If he was jealous enough to smash up Jake’s car, then he must have been very fond of Sarah?’
‘Yes,’ Laing said again, this time with something close to a sigh. ‘I would say he was very fond of Sarah. Devoted. Like a puppy. Always ready to make her a cup of tea, or nip down to the Londis to get her some cigarettes. But she kept him at a distance.’
‘But she didn’t keep Jake at a distance?’
For a second time Laing sucked air in and out of her lungs while she pondered her response. ‘In my judgement, her relationship with Jake was at an altogether deeper level than hers with Danny. She both humoured and used Danny, but Jake—’ Laing paused and resumed again her deep breathing, in, out, in, out: ‘Jake she needed. And on Jake she became, I fear, dangerously dependent.’
‘And Danny became very resentful of this relationship, did he?’ Holden pressed.
‘I would say so, yes.’
‘Would you say he hated Jake?’
‘Hated him?’ She leant back into the chair, and looked up at the ceiling. Unconsciously, she pursed her lips, before lowering her gaze until it met Holden’s. ‘Hated, as in hated him enough to have killed him? I think not. Disliked, yes. Hated no.’
‘Really?’ said Holden, a note of scepticism in her voice. ‘I’m surprised that you should be so naïve, given that you work with people. You must know how things can grow and grow. Small resentments can become large resentments. Large resentments can turn into jealousy, which can turn sooner or later, if not checked, into hatred. And hatred can lead to murder.’
‘If you say so,’ said Laing, in a voice which said quite clearly that she didn’t share the detective’s gloomy assessment of human character. ‘Is that all?’ she said, ‘because if it is I ought to be getting out into the centre and helping the others.’