Blood on the Cowley Road (DI Susan Holden 1)

‘Is that what DI Holden expects?’ Pointer said.

The question, not surprisingly, threw Wilson. A pause was followed by an ‘Um, er’, and only after another brief silence did Wilson come up with a coherent response. ‘I’m not sure I know what you mean, Dr Pointer.’

At the other end of the phone line, a laugh rang out. ‘Does she expect you to say thank you all the time? Because you’ve said it three times to me already!’ And she laughed again.

A wave of embarrassment swept over Wilson. He felt himself flush, and ridiculously had the thought that Dr Pointer could detect this even down a phone line. Desperately, he tried to think of something to say in defence of his own boss, but he could think of nothing. In the end, all he was able to utter was the rather feeble ‘DI Holden treats me very well’, which in turn provoked another distant burst of savage laughter. Wilson felt very small and inadequate, and was glad that this conversation was all happening over the phone.

‘You’re beginning to sound like her lapdog,’ Pointer concluded viciously. And with that parting shot, she hung up.

‘Are you all right?’ It was ten minutes later, and it was Lawson who was speaking. By this time they were already halfway to Headington, travelling smoothly along the Slade after a slow, stop-start procession along Holloway. Lawson had been notably silent so far, and Wilson, after the sharpness of Pointer’s tongue, would have preferred anything – even her joking about his virginity, in fact especially her joking about his virginity – to silence.

‘Yes,’ he said automatically. The car in front pulled to a halt as a mother and pram waited to cross at the pedestrian crossing. ‘Actually, what I mean is, no! Dr Pointer gave me a bit of an earful.’

‘Ah!’ Lawson said. Wilson waited in vain for her to say something more. The car in front moved forward again, and he in turn followed.

‘I’m not sure she likes the Guv,’ Wilson said.

Lawson, as Pointer had at the other end of the phone line, laughed, but it was a harmless, tinkling laugh. ‘Haven’t you heard the rumours?’

‘Rumours?’

‘You’ve not heard, have you?’ Lawson continued with delight.

‘No,’ admitted Wilson.

‘Well, the story is,’ she said with another giggle of pleasure, ‘the story is that Pointer hit on Holden the first time they met, and Holden freaked out and—’

‘I don’t think we should be gossiping about the Guv,’ Wilson said prissily.

‘OK,’ Lawson replied casually, but ignored his admonishment nonetheless. ‘I’ll gossip. You stay quiet. Anyway, the story is that Pointer put her hand on the Guv’s arse, and Holden slapped her round the face.’ She laughed again. ‘I wish I’d been there to see it. Imagine!’

Wilson, despite his best intentions, smiled. He looked across at the profile of WPC Lawson, who was now looking forward. He noticed that the right-hand corner of her mouth was twitching, in response no doubt to her imaginings. He turned his eyes back to the road in front, and frowned as the sun suddenly emerged from behind the clouds and forced him to squint against the intense change of light. But inside, his smile remained.

‘You going to do the talking?’ Lawson said as they approached the door of the National Exchange bank.

‘I could do,’ Wilson said uncertainly.

‘I’ll act the dumb blonde,’ running her hand through the back of her neat bleached hair.

‘Is that a threat or a promise?’ he replied.

It is amazing what a police uniform can do. Even before Wilson had displayed his ID card, the sight of Lawson brought immediate attention from behind the glass security panels. They were ushered through to a small office, where the manager, a Mr Ronald Knight, greeted them, rising anxiously from his seat.

‘How can I help you?’ he said, holding his hands up in a feebly melodramatic gesture. ‘I hope you haven’t come to arrest me!’ he joked.

Wilson ignored the opportunity to respond in kind. ‘We want to check out a withdrawal by one of your customers. A Martin Mace. We believe he may have withdrawn £500 in cash in the last few days.’

‘Can I ask why?’ Knight said. ‘We do have rules of confidentiality.’

‘He’s dead,’ Wilson said firmly. ‘So he’s not going to object. And we wouldn’t have trailed up here unless it was important for our investigations.’

‘Of course,’ Knight replied. ‘It may take a few minutes. Please sit down.’

‘Thank you,’ Lawson said for both of them, and flashing one of her brightest smiles at Knight. ‘That’s very kind of you. And if Mr Mace came and collected his money in person, perhaps we could talk to whoever it was gave him the money?’

‘Of course,’ Knight said again.

‘And coffee for three?’