Blood on the Cowley Road (DI Susan Holden 1)

‘And if, Wilson, you happen to let slip to her the information that we are also pulling Ratcliffe in for questioning, then that won’t matter to me. Understood?’

‘Absolutely, Guv.’

It was almost 9.30 a.m. when Holden and Fox arrived at the allotments and the first thing Holden noticed was the smell. A smell of badly burnt meat that still drifted through the air along with the flecks of ash being disturbed by the freshening morning breeze. The blackened remains of Martin Mace’s shed and the immediate area around it had been surrounded by a makeshift barrier of garden cane and police tape. Four uniformed police, two men, two women, stood uneasily at its four corners, eyes firmly fixed on the crowd of rubbernecking locals and press who had been drawn by the news of unexpected excitement. Cameras clicked as Holden and Fox pushed passed them. They both fought a temptation to scowl, wishing they could get on with their job without interference, yet knowing only too well that violent death both alarms and compels.

‘Is it Martin Mace, Inspector?’ one of the reporters called out. Holden recognized the rather high-pitched male voice as belonging to Don Alexander, a reporter at the Oxford Mail. ‘It’s his shed, you know.’

Holden turned. ‘We will be giving a press conference in due course, Don. I’m sure you don’t want me to speculate and give you misleading information. Now, if you don’t mind all moving off, we’ll try and concentrate on investigating this death.’

Holden waited and watched as the onlookers began to retreat reluctantly from the scene.

‘Hey!’ she said suddenly to Fox. ‘Over there, on the left, in the black jacket. Isn’t that—?’

‘Danny Flynn!’ Fox said, completing her sentence. ‘It certainly bloody is.’

‘Well!’ she added. ‘Curiouser and curiouser.’

‘Not so odd, if you ask me Guv.’

Reluctantly, Holden pulled her eyes away from the now fast-retreating Flynn, turned and resumed her walk towards the tape barrier.

‘Good morning, Dr Pointer!’

It was several seconds before one of the two figures in white protective suits stood up and turned towards the two detectives.

‘Not a good morning for this chap.’

‘Do you have an ID?’

‘Martin Mace is his name. Probably. I understand this is, or rather was, his shed. The fire has done a lot of damage, but the contents of his wallet have survived pretty well. So I think we can say with some considerable expectation of accuracy that either this body is that of a pickpocket, or that he is, indeed was, Martin Mace.’ Pointer smiled. ‘And the next question?’

‘Without wishing to commit you to one hundred per cent at this stage, Doctor,’ Holden said, ‘can you tell us how Martin died.’

‘Well, I think I can say with some certainty that he was alive when the fire started, so I guess we can safely say he burnt to death. His hands had been tied behind him with wire. So had his feet. There are traces of a plastic covering which has burnt off it, so I imagine the killer used garden wire. Plenty of it here,’ she said gesturing towards the immaculately cared for plants and canes. ‘Also, there was tape round his mouth.’

‘To stop him shouting? So he was conscious as well as alive?’

Dr Pointer frowned, then pulled something out of the pocket of her overall. ‘I guess so. But the tape had another purpose too. To keep something in his mouth.’ She lifted the plastic bag in her hand up high. ‘Look! It’s amazing how well it has been preserved. But then his mouth was firmly shut.’

‘Money?’ Holden said in surprise.

‘Do you fancy a few new clothes, inspector,’ Pointer said with a laugh. ‘Maybe we could go fifty-fifty. There’s plenty of it.’

‘How much?’ Holden asked, but without even a hint of humour.

Pointer shrugged. ‘I need to keep it for tests, obviously, but its all twenty pound notes. We reckon £500.’

‘This is more like it!’ WPC Jan Lawson said as Wilson manouevred the car carefully out of the cramped car park at the back of the Cowley Police Station. ‘A proper murder case!’

Wilson said nothing. He was trying to concentrate on avoiding the riot van parked immediately to his right.

‘Is this your first?’ she continued, but he again made no reply beyond an indeterminate grunt as he swung cautiously left past the Chief Superintendent’s BMW.

The smile on Lawson’s face hardened into a pout. Normally she had little difficulty in getting a man’s attention, so Wilson’s indifference irritated her. It wasn’t that he was that dishy, but when she set her sights, however temporarily, on a man, she expected him to show an interest. She decided to try a different tack.

‘I bet you’re a virgin.’

The different tack worked: the car lurched suddenly forward then rocked to a halt as Wilson’s attention was well and truely grabbed.