Blood on the Marsh (DI Susan Holden 3)

Bella showed no sign of being affronted by Holden’s accusation, but she rebutted it firmly. ‘Look, I know I’m not pe

rfect, but I can assure you that I’m not lying. Ask Mr Greenleaf.’

‘I will.’

‘Of course, he may try to deny it.’

‘Oh?’ Holden was puzzled by the ‘of course’.

‘Well it wasn’t exactly his finest hour.’

‘Not his finest hour?’ Holden paused. ‘What do you mean?’

Bella smirked. ‘I’m sure you can work that out for yourself, Inspector.’

‘So what happened after that?’

‘He asked if he could come over again another day.’

‘And what did you say?’

‘The very worst thing.’ She paused, milking the moment, and turned to look back again out through the window. The chill sun had disappeared as suddenly as it had arrived. ‘I laughed at him,’ she said.

CHAPTER 4

She came back. The woman with the red hair came back to the shop yesterday morning. I think she’s mad.

She brought a picture with her this time. She said it came all the way from New Zealand. It wasn’t very big. It was a painting of the sea, and there were very steep cliffs, and a rock with seals on. She said it was a place called Doubtful Sound. Doubtful Sound! What sort of name is that? I think she was kidding me. People do. They think I’m stupid, so they tease me.

We’ve got lots of different samples of frames on the wall, and she chose one, and I worked out how much it was going to cost. I wanted to check the price with Jaz, but she had popped out again, and the woman told me not to worry. She’d pay whatever it cost when she collected it.

At lunchtime, I ate my sandwiches in the shop like I always do. Then I went for a walk, ending up at George and Delila’s for an ice cream. I always eat it very slowly, and I never have the same ice cream two days running. Yesterday I had pistachio.

And then the woman with the red hair walked in. Her name is Bella. I didn’t call her that, of course, because she is a customer, but it’s easier than describing her as the woman with the red hair. She bought me a passion fruit and mango ice cream. I shouldn’t have agreed to that, but I got flustered, what with her coming in and saying at the top of her voice what an amazing coincidence it was us meeting again, and maybe it was written in the stars. She started to sound really weird, so when she asked me if I wanted another ice cream, I said ‘Yes’ even though that broke all my rules. Only one ice cream at lunchtime. And then she sat down opposite me. She had got herself a chocolate ice cream, and as she ate she waved her spoon around and talked about how great it was to be in Oxford and how she loved shopping in the Cowley Road. I could smell her perfume, only it wasn’t as nice as Mum’s.

‘Tell me about yourself,’ she said eventually.

I looked at my phone. It was only 12.42. I couldn’t go back to the shop yet. ‘I’m David Wright. I live in a flat in Barns Road. It’s what they call a studio flat. I like it.’

‘Tell me about your family.’

‘I have a mum and a dad, and a sister called Vickie. There used to be Nan Nan too, but she died.’

‘How old is Vickie?’

‘Twelve.’ I stood up then. I didn’t like her asking all these questions. ‘I’m going to the toilet,’ I said.

I took as long as I dared in the toilet, and then I went back over to the table, and looked at my phone and said I’d have to go because I had to be back at the shop. Actually, I could have stayed for five more minutes, but I didn’t want to hear any more questions. ‘Thank you for the ice cream, Ms Sinclair,’ I said. It is important to be polite, even to people who are a bit mad.

‘Call me Bella,’ she said.

But I didn’t.

‘Goodbye.’

‘I’ve got the results on the flask back from forensics.’ Holden spoke without enthusiasm. It was Tuesday morning, shortly after 8.30 a.m., and DS Fox had just sat down opposite her, a coffee in his right hand, a pad and pen in his left. Despite the necessity for all detectives to grapple with the wonders of information technology, he remained at heart a pad-and-biro man. He took a sip and waited for Holden to speak.

‘Not a trace of anything in the flask. It had been washed out very thoroughly.’