Blood on the Cowley Road (DI Susan Holden 1)

Lawson grinned. ‘Hey, Constable, lighten up.’

Wilson tried to smile back, but somehow his face wouldn’t cooperate. He tried to think of some appropriate response, but his brain wouldn’t cooperate with that either. In the end he just nodded, before getting out of the car.

‘Is that it?’ Lawson said, indicating a red door immediately opposite them across the road.

‘Yes,’ Wilson replied.

‘Right,’ she said, marching towards it. ‘I’ll be the bad cop, then.’

Wilson locked the car and strode anxiously after her. What the heck was she going to do?

Lawson got to the door first and pressed the bell, once, twice and then again. ‘You can lead,’ she said, as Wilson caught up with her.

Anne Johnson opened the door. This time, there was no towel swathed round her head, but her welcome was just as hostile. ‘Not you again!’

‘Good morning, Miss Johnson,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid we need to ask you a few more questions.’

‘Questions?’ she exclaimed.

‘Down at the station.’

‘What the hell do you mean?’

‘Do you mind if we come in for a moment?’ Wilson pressed on patiently.

‘Yes, I blooming do,’ she said firmly.

‘I really do need to use your toilet,’ WPC Lawson said, stepping forward from behind her much taller colleague. ‘You know what it’s like.’ Anne Johnson opened her mouth to object, but Lawson wasn’t waiting for an answer. ‘Coming through,’ she said, and pushed her way past the astonished woman.

‘Really!’ Anne Johnson huffed, but she knew she had lost the skirmish.

‘And who might you be?’ Lawson said, as she entered the living area. A tousled figure in crumpled white T-shirt and jeans was just getting up from the sofa. The man said nothing, but Wilson, following his colleague, recognized him instantly.

‘Bicknell!’ he exclaimed.

By the time Holden and Fox had returned to Cowley Police Station, both interviewees were ready and waiting for them. Ratcliffe was in Room B, on his own, while Anne Johnson was in Room C, with WPC Lawson standing discretely in attendance. Holden, however, was in no mood to rush. She spent some ten minutes in the ladies toilets, took another five minutes to make herself a mug of coffee, and then strolled casually along the corridor to Wilson’s office. The detective constable was bent over the printer next to his desk.

‘Any problems, Wilson?’

‘The printer’s jammed,’ he said, without looking up.

‘I meant with Anne Johnson.’

‘Oh,’ he said, looking up with a sheepish look on his face. ‘Sorry. No, no problems.’

‘Good.’

‘But there was one interesting development.’

‘Oh?’

‘Ed Bicknell was there.’

‘Bicknell!’ she exclaimed. ‘How very interesting. What was he doing there?’

‘Can’t say they volunteered any information. He just said he had to be off. In the circumstances, I thought it might be best for you to pursue that line of enquiry.’

There was a coughing sound from the corridor. Holden turned, to see Fox entering the open door. ‘I hope I haven’t been delaying you Guv?’