Fox wasn’t surprised. There hadn’t been the slightest whiff of anything when he had sniffed it. ‘What about fingerprints?’
‘None.’
‘Not even the old woman’s?’
‘Not a single print.’
Fox grunted, and took another sip of coffee. He wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he recognized the importance of this. ‘So the flask was washed and wiped clean. By the person who put the morphine in the flask, presumably.’
‘Or maybe by someone who likes washing up in rubber gloves.’
Fox looked at Holden sharply. He didn’t like being teased. Was she being serious? It was hardly a joking matter.
‘If that was the case,’ he replied, ‘then they would admit it. And so far no one has.’
‘No. But maybe we’ve just not asked the right person.’
‘Is that what you think?’
Holden smiled bleakly at her sergeant. Sometimes she liked to wind him up a bit, but right now it was more a need to distance herself from the tension she felt inside her head. ‘Not really. It’s a possibility, that’s all. But what this does indicate is that in all likelihood we’re dealing with murder, or at the very least, homicide.’
‘In which case, we’re looking at someone who works at Sunnymede, or one of her family.’
‘Or someone who visited her at Sunnymede.’
‘Do you think her family could have got hold of morphine?’
‘If they wanted to kill her, yes. But Sunnymede seems the most likely source.’
‘So what’s the next step?’
‘I think I’ll ring the super, and ask for some extra help. I bumped into DC Lawson when I arrived this morning. I know she’s up for it. And from what she said, Wilson would be too.’
Vickie Wright half ran along Barracks Lane. She had twenty minutes before the next lesson, and she wanted them to herself. It was colder than she had thought. She’d left her coat in the classroom, but she wasn’t going to go back and get it now. As she came to Fitzroy Close, she almost turned right into it, and then upbraided herself for being an idiot. That was force of habit, she knew. How many times had she gone up there at lunchtimes to pay her Nan a visit? But there would be no more of that. Even so, she was tempted to head up towards Sunnymede. It would be a way of remembering her Nan. But then she remembered her dad. He might be there. He was doing a few jobs for the care home. He had been talking about it the night before. The boss – Paul something – sometimes gave him jobs to do around the place, and the last person she wanted to run into was her dad. She continued walking along Barracks Lane, her pace now more regular. The wind was blowing from the northeast, down across the sports fields and straight through her. To make things worse, she could feel rain in the air. She stopped and pulled out her mobile. What was the point of rushing all the way to the framing shop, when she could much more easily ring David? Her fingers flickered across the key pad, and she put the phone to her ear. He answered immediately:
‘David Wright speaking.’
She smiled. There was something very reassuring about his predictability.
‘Hello, David Wright,’ she replied. ‘It’s Vickie.’
‘I know it is,’ he said.
‘How are things?’
‘I’m working. Jaz doesn’t like me stopping to answer my phone.’
Vickie made a face. Jaz wouldn’t care at all. She knew that. Jaz was really nice, the nicest of all her mother’s friends. ‘Shall we meet up after you’ve finished work? I could come to your flat for a bit.’
There was silence at the other end of the phone. She expected that. David didn’t like sudden changes to his plans. He would need to think about it.
‘Please!’ she implored. ‘Mum and Dad are both working late today.’ That was a lie. But not an important one.
‘All right,’ came the reluctant rep
ly. ‘I finish at 4.30.’
‘I’ll meet you outside the shop.’