Blood in Grandpont (DI Susan Holden 2)

Then she swung round and pointed an accusing finger at him. ‘What other view is there?’

‘A lawyer could make a case to say that Karen was the aggressor. That she lost her temper or her mind, took one of her own knives, and tried to stab Lucy, who had just kindly helped her home from the dentist.’

‘When I saw Lucy, she had the knife in her hand. And there was blood on her. I could see it. She had stabbed Karen and pushed her over the edge of the balcony. Just as she stabbed her stepmother and Jack Smith.’ Holden’s voice had risen to a frenzy, and her previously white face was now suffused with red. ‘And what does ten seconds of film prove? Maybe Lucy got the knife first, in the flat, then Karen disarmed her, and then Lucy retreated to the balcony, while Karen picked up the knife for her own protection, and followed her out.’

‘Maybe,’ agreed Fox, but there was no conviction in the way he spoke.

‘Karen wasn’t like that.’ Like a tempest that has blown itself out, Holden’s voice had collapsed, and these words were barely audible to Fox. He wanted to leave right then, but he knew he couldn’t. It wouldn’t be right. Besides, he needed to cover everything now, and to leave nothing unsaid.

‘I’m on your side, Guv. I agree with you. Karen was terrified that Lucy would kill her, so she got hold of a knife and went for her. But the only thing is it doesn’t look like that on the film. And then there’s the forensic evidence.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘All the blood on the knife was Lucy’s blood. There were no knife wounds on Karen. She was alive and uninjured at the time she fell. Of course, there are two sets of fingerprints on the knife handle – Karen’s and Lucy’s.’ He paused, conscious of the blow which he was about to administer. ‘But analysis suggests that Lucy Tull held the knife only after there was blood on it. And that Karen held it beforehand.’

‘God!’ Holden was still standing near the garden door, and now she dropped her head forward into her hands, and began to rock forwards and backwards in distress.

Fox, who had himself risen from his chair, now moved a step towards her, fearful that she might suddenly collapse. He ought to do something comforting, like put an arm round her, but hugging his DI – that really was no-go territory as far as he was concerned. Best just to get everything said. ‘And then there’s the fact that you pushed Lucy over the balcony only a few seconds later. Not to mention the fact that you and Karen were lovers. You know what a good barrister will say, Guv, don’t you? That once you’d disarmed Lucy, being a police officer with training you should have been able to get her down on the floor and disable her safely. Only you didn’t.’

He paused, and Holden stopping rocking. She straightened up, and looked at her sergeant. What did he really think about her? Was he just being nice? Mind you, he was dead right about the barrister. She was sure about that.

‘Luckily,’ he was saying, ‘nobody filmed you and Lucy fighting. But at least I was there to see what happened. I saw how when push came to shove, it was just one of those things. She lost her balance just as you disarmed her, and then she fell to her death.’ He paused. He knew, and she knew, it hadn’t been quite like that. But he knew too where his loyalties lay. ‘I’m quite clear about that. Absolutely clear! I’d stake my professional reputation on it.’

Holden let out a howl of pain. ‘I don’t care,’ she wailed. ‘I don’t care what people think and what people say. I let her down. I let Karen down. If I’d been smarter, I’d have saved her. It’s all my fault.’

‘It’s our fault, all of our faults!’ Fox insisted.

But Susan Holden was not listening. For she was pacing around the kitchen now, her left hand on her forehead, while her right hand slapped increasingly harder and harder on the back of her neck. Fox watched, paralysed, unable to intervene in her pain. She stopped eventually, in front of the side window a metre to the right of the door. It was an old sash window, and it gave a view of nothing. Or as good as. Not that Fox could be sure, because since the clocks had changed, 5.45 meant not light or dusk, but darkness. Fox doubted if even in the full light of day it could offer any view other than the fence or the neighbour’s side wall. The glass was uneven, old – not necessarily as old as the house, but old enough. Easy for a burglar to smash. He could see no sign of security bolts on the frame. That did surprise him. She knew the score, after all. She knew how vulnerable that window must be. He must point that out. Later.

‘Eoooh!’ A thin wail of agony, more intense even than the earlier one, was emitting from Susan Holden’s lips. Fox was wrenched back to the present moment. He tensed. He had to do something. But what?

However, Holden had fallen silent again. She turned her head round, looking back at her sergeant, and smiled. Then everything happened in slow motion, as if the world had turned to treacle. Her smile faded to a slit, and she turned her face away. Fox lifted his hand in comfort or supplication or greeting. But she was already adjusting her balance, transferring forward her body weight, and throwing her whole being into the window. Fox saw her upturned face crash into the glass. For milliseconds it appeared to resist and hold firm, but then it disintegrated into a shower of fragments, as Detective Inspector Holden (temporarily suspended on full pay) hoped desperately (but vainly) for death.