Blood in Grandpont (DI Susan Holden 2)

‘Not even Dominic Russell?’ Susan had asked, switching her line of attack.

But Geraldine had merely broken into peals of laughter. ‘Are you kidding, Inspector. Especially not him. Rumour has it

that he tried it on with her soon after she married Alan, and she turned him down flat. Dominic thought he was God’s gift to women, but only the young and the naïve fell for his dubious charms. And the bottom line is, when Sarah cracked the whip he used to come running.’

‘So when did you last see Maria alive?’ She had intended it as her last question; she hadn’t expected it to reveal anything interesting, but it had seemed like an easy way to wind the interview to a suitable conclusion.

Geraldine had frowned, and sucked in her lips. ‘It must be two or three weeks ago. I bumped into her outside the Playhouse.’

‘What did you talk about?’

She had shrugged. ‘This and that. I admired her handbag. It was very stylish, just like her. And she asked if I’d been away on holiday. And she told me she was giving a series of lectures on Venetian art.’ Geraldine had stopped at that point. Holden remembered noticing that something changed in her. ‘I rang her about it,’ she had said with intensity. ‘On the night she was murdered, I rang her on her mobile to find out when she was starting her lectures.’

‘You mean you spoke to her?’ Holden had been suddenly alert. ‘When was this?’

‘No,’ Geraldine had replied. ‘She never answered my call.’ She scratched her head, trying to recall the details. ‘It must have been a bit after six o’clock. I had a feeling she had told me that her lectures were starting that night, but I had nothing written down, so I wanted to check. Her mobile rang several times, but she didn’t answer. So I left a message, asking her to call me, and then I hung up. I never did speak to her.’

She had fallen silent then. They both had, as each wondered what might have been. If Geraldine had got hold of her and gone along that evening, would it have changed what happened?

Susan Holden yawned, and felt an almost physical jolt of tiredness sweep over her. She looked down at her piece of paper. Still only two words: ‘Maria Tull.’ She picked up the biro and started writing underneath. ‘Missed phone call from Geraldine? [Check with Wilson, esp. time.] Why did Maria not answer? Does it matter?’

Then she put down the biro, picked up her mobile, and made her way upstairs.

It was the sound of her mobile that woke her. She scrabbled around on her bedside table for it, conscious that if she didn’t pick up by five rings, it would go into the answering service. ‘Yes,’ she said, just in time.

‘Are you all right?’ It was Karen’s voice. God, was it nice to hear her voice!

‘I think I might be cracking up.’ Susan hadn’t meant to say anything as dramatic as that. But the words popped out as large as life and twice as unsettling.

There was an intake of breath at the other end of the call. ‘Are you serious?’

‘I had a nightmare. A pig of a nightmare.’

‘Do you want to talk about it?’

‘Have you time to listen?’

‘For you, babe, all the time in the world.’ It could have been a line from a cut-price B movie, and it was delivered by Karen as if it was, but cliché or not, it had a startling effect: Susan Holden burst uncontrollably into tears.

For twenty minutes they talked. Or rather for twenty minutes Susan Holden talked and Karen Pointer listened. And at the end of it Susan no longer felt like she was about to explode. ‘Thanks,’ she said simply at the end. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you.’

‘It’s all part of the deal,’ Karen said, trying hard to distance herself from her emotions. For a minute or two in their conversation she had feared she was in danger of losing the best person who had ever happened to her.

‘I love you,’ Susan said.

‘I love you too.’ And tears had begun to well up in Karen’s eyes too.

‘Can I come round and stay tonight?’

‘Of course. Any night, or every night’

‘Really?’

‘Really. The only problem is I’ve lost a filling.’

‘You’ve what?’

‘I’ve lost a filling,’ Karen said, more slowly and more loudly, as if talking to a call centre in Mumbai. ‘From my back tooth.’ She was louder now, fully into the part. ‘I ate a toffee. Do you understand?’ she said with exaggerated gaps between each word.