Blood on the Cowley Road (DI Susan Holden 1)

‘No,’ he said. ‘Definitely not.’

‘When did you leave her house that night?’

‘What the hell has this got to do with anything?’ He displayed anger now.

‘Please answer the question,’ she insisted.

‘I don’t know. About ten o’clock probably.’

‘Probably!’ She frowned again, and rubbed briefly at her chin. ‘I suppose ... I suppose your wife can confirm what time you got home, and then we can knock off the time for travelling and—’

‘Do you take pleasure in wrecking lives?’ This time the anger was genuine, fuelled by fear. ‘My affair with Anne Johnson has absolutely nothing to do with the death of her sister. Sarah killed herself the following morning. Just after 9.00 o’clock, wasn’t it? You have no right to destroy my marriage, the lives of my two children, by bringing this to court, or revealing this to my wife.’

DI Holden leant back in her chair, and brought her hands up together in front of her mouth. If she had been sitting in a church pew, the observer would have concluded that she was praying, but in the context of a police interview, deep thought was more likely. She remained in this pose for several seconds, before abruptly standing up.

‘Interview terminated,’ she said.

‘Are you ready, Guv?’ Fox was standing cautiously at the doorway of DI Holden’s room. Wilson was half a pace behind him, also unsure whether to enter or not. ‘We’ve kept her waiting quite a long time now.’

‘He’s a slimy creep, that Ratcliffe,’ she snarled. ‘Hell, I’d like to hang his balls out to dry!’

‘Being a creep isn’t a crime,’ Fox said patiently.

‘Well it bloody well ought to be,’ she said defiantly, but the snarl was gone.

Fox stepped forward, apparently satisfied that it was safe to do so. ‘Wilson here has got a list of all the phone calls to and from Sarah’s mobile.’

Holden looked past Fox at her detective constable and beckoned him. ‘Let’s be seeing it then, Wilson.’

He moved forward, placed it on her desk, and stepped back. For a full half a minute Holden studied it. Then her finger stabbed down at one particular entry. ‘What about this one, Wilson?’

He moved forward again, bending down to get a clear view. ‘That’s a phone box, Guv. In Iffley Road. Opposite the Cricketers. That’s on the corner—’

‘Thank you Wilson,’ she said firmly. ‘I do know where the Cricketers is, as it happens.’

‘Sorry!’ he replied, stepping back again as his did.

Holden looked up from the list of phone numbers. ‘Don’t apologize all the time, Wilson, unless you’ve got something proper to apologize for. You’ve done a good job’

‘Yes, Guv.’

‘Now, whatever happened to Sarah Johnson, we know we’ve got two other murders to solve, so I want you to turn your attention to them. In fact, to Martin Mace. I want you to follow up the money that was stuffed into Mace’s mouth.’

‘What money?’ said Wilson, who had yet to be updated on the allotment details.

‘There was a wadge of money,’ Holden replie

d, ‘probably £500, stuffed in the dead man’s mouth. Assuming, as we are, that the dead man is Mace, I want to know if the money was his or his killer’s. Ring Pointer. She’s got the wallet that Mace was carrying. Presumably, there’ll be a debit card in it. Go to the bank. Check his withdrawals over the last few days. Five hundred pounds is too much to withdraw at a slot machine, so if he withdrew it, he’ll have done it in person. We need any clues we can. OK?’

‘Yes, Guv. Thank you Guv.’

‘For God’s sake, Wilson, don’t thank me either,‘ she said wearily. ‘Unless I’ve done you a real favour.’

Wilson opened his mouth to apologize, but shut it again just in time.

‘Sorry to have kept you for so long,’ Holden said, as she and Fox sat down at the table opposite Anne Johnson.

‘Oh, I assumed it was all part of the softening-up process.’ Anne Johnson said this without emotion, a bleak smile across her face.