Blood on the Marsh (DI Susan Holden 3)

‘No visiting of his mother during his working time. I made that clear from the word go. If he wanted to see her, then it had to be in his own time, after he had gone home and cleaned himself up.’

‘Do you have a list of the days he has worked?’ Holden couldn’t help the feeling that Greenleaf’s blustering manner was deliberate ploy, designed to distract.

‘Of course I have. If you want, I’ll get the timesheets he’s submitted from my office. But basically he’s been working here most days for the last month.’

‘I’d like that,’ Holden said. ‘Sergeant Fox will come and get it all now.’

Greenleaf rose to his feet, as did the silent Fox. Holden waited for them to reach the door. ‘One more thing,’ she said, forcing Greenleaf to turn. ‘Tell me about Roy Hillerby.’

‘What do you want to know? He’s our odd-job man, as I have already mentioned.’ There was an edge of irritation in his voice. ‘He’s been working for us for about two and a half years. He’s a very useful chap to have around.’

‘I gather he and Bella Sinclair have a relationship?’

‘You gather they have a relationship!’ Greenleaf laughed dismissively. ‘Where do you get your gossip, Inspector?’

‘Oh, my constable is very good at extracting information from gossip, and usually it turns out to be remarkably accurate.’ Holden knew that wasn’t entirely true, but right now her only focus was to get Greenleaf rattled. ‘Given that you’ve slept with Bella, I thought you might be a good man to double check the gossip with.’

‘Yeah!’ he sneered. ‘Well what I can tell you is that Hillerby has been buzzing round her honeypot ever since she started here. But I doubt very much if he’s had even the slightest taste.’

Holden recognized the detective superintendent’s voice instantly, and just as instantly she felt anxiety grip her stomach. ‘How are things going, Inspector?’

It was the same question as before, and yet here she was three days later and there was nothing significant to report.

‘I’m fine and the case is progressing, Sir,’ she said, knowing that it wouldn’t satisfy him.

‘Is it murder or not?’ Collins was in no mood to exchange politenesses.

‘I’m not sure yet, Sir.’

‘In that case, I need Wilson and Lawson back.’

‘What?’

‘Are they there?’

‘Lawson is.’ In fact, she was standing opposite Holden. She had just finished reporting what she and Wilson had been up to, and now she was pretending – and failing miserably – not to be interested in the telephone conversation going on in front of her. ‘Wilson has just gone to check the records at Oxford Waste Ltd. We think morphine that should have been destroyed by them may never have got there.’

‘Well, you and Fox will have to follow that up yourselves. We’ve got a big operation coming up tomorrow, so I need both Lawson and Wilson back at the Cowley station within the hour.’

‘Is that absolutely necessary?’

‘It’s an order, Inspector, not a request. You can have them back on Monday. Maybe.’

‘Hi!’ A man had appeared in the doorway of the staff room. ‘I understand you want to see me.’

Roy Hillerby was relatively short – about five foot eight, Holden reckoned – with dark curly hair, a lean face and an impressive scar on his right-hand cheek. He looked like a man who kept himself fit, and when he smiled it was with a slightly lop-sided grin. In fact, the first thing he did when he came into the staff room was to smile. Fox put it down to nerves – or maybe guilt. Guilt about what, it didn’t really matter. Everyone feels guilty when they’ve been summoned by the police.

‘Yes, we do.’ Holden didn’t bother introducing herself or Fox. The chances were that everyone in Sunnymede who wasn’t suffering from dementia knew exactly who they were now. She waved him to the chair opposite her.

‘How do you get on with Jim Wright?’

The question seemed to take Hillerby by surprise. He opened his mouth slightly, but two or three seconds passed before he actually spoke. ‘We get … get on all r … right.’

It was Holden who paused now, taken off guard by Hillerby’s stuttering. It wasn’t something you came across so often these days, though she remembered being fascinated by one of her grandfather’s friends, and her mother later telling her off for staring at him right the way through tea. ‘How long have you known him?’ she asked.

‘He’s been w … working here f … f … for a month or so, h … helping me.’

‘Had you met him before that?’