‘It might be a good idea to keep him in the loop,’ Fox had said, as he turned into the peculiarly named Between Towns Road.
Holden had emitted a guttural noise that might have meant ‘yes’ or ‘no’ or indeed anything.
‘You know what he’s like,’ Fox had pressed.
This time, Holden had made no audible response beyond a slight sniff.
But Fox, having started, had no intention of stopping. ‘Why don’t you ring him before he rings you?’
‘Christ, Sergeant,’ she had exploded. ‘You’re not my mother. I’ve got one of those, and one is quite enough.’
Fox had said nothing. How had Lawson once put it? That half the time it was as if Holden didn’t want to be mistaken for a member of the human race. Lawson could be an irritating so and so, but she had got that right.
‘All right then, I’ll ring him,’ Holden had snapped, suddenly conceding. ‘I’ll ring the detective superintendent, and then, Sergeant, perhaps you’ll revert to the role of detective.’
Fox said nothing.
After all this preamble, it was inevitable that Murphy’s Law kicked in. Holden’s phone call was answered by Amanda Blenkinsop, the DS’s guard dog of a secretary.
‘I want to speak to Detective Superintendent Collins.’
‘He’s not available at the moment,’ came the reply. Ms Blenkinsop was notorious for her ability to not give out information.
‘When will he be available?’ Holden asked testily.
‘Would you like me to pass a message on to him?’
Holden was conscious of Fox’s presence next to her. They had stopped at a pedestrian crossing, and she had glanced across to find him watching her, though whether to give her moral support, or whether to check she didn’t misbehave, she wasn’t quite sure. Whatever the reason, it had an effect.
‘Thank you, Amanda,’ she said with a huge effort. ‘The message is this.’ And she proceeded to tell her, in short sentences, about the death on the railway, the identification of the body – or rather its remains – and the disappearance of David Wright.
‘And this David Wright, the adopted son,’ Blenkinsop said, ‘who has disappeared.’ She liked to demonstrate her ability to summarize. ‘Am I to tell the detective superintendent that you believe his disappearance to be connected with the death of Mr Jim Wright?’
‘No, you may not,’ Holden replied firmly. ‘You may tell him the facts only. If he needs to know more, or if he wishes to know my current thinking, then he can ring me. Can’t he?’
‘I understand.’ Blenkinsop spoke smoothly and calmly. Getting flustered, getting irritated, indeed getting any sort of emotional high while on duty, was quite out of the question. ‘Rest assured, Inspector, I will pass your message on.’
Holden terminated t
he call with a snort. Rest assured! Who did the woman think she was?
‘Happy now, Sergeant?’ she snarled.
Fox again said nothing. All his energy and attention was being poured into parking the car tidily and turning off the engine. They were halfway down Barns Road, outside a featureless three-storey block of flats. Holden had despatched Wilson and Lawson to pick up Maureen Wright from her house, so now they had at least five minutes to check David’s flat out before they arrived, just in case there was anything there that Maureen would be best not seeing. Like David’s dead body.
Maureen had given them the entry code for the main entrance, and her spare key for the flat, so they gained access without a problem. The studio flat – essentially one large room with kitchen facilities at one end, a bed, desk with computer, one armchair, two upright chairs, and a built-in wardrobe, plus a door which opened onto a tiny en suite shower room – was tidy. Whatever and whenever he had had his last meal there, he had washed up and put everything away afterwards. The flat was also, thankfully, free of human corpses.
Holden opened the wardrobe. Clothes were hung and folded with a neatness and sense of order that matched the rest of the flat. Underneath the rack of shirts, T-shirts, and trousers lay a small suitcase with wheels and a handle, small enough to be treated as hand luggage if you’re flying off on holiday or business. Next to it was an empty space.
‘If that’s a missing case,’ Fox said, ‘then it looks like he’s done a runner.’
Holden nodded. It seemed a fair enough inference, but she didn’t want to jump to conclusions. ‘We’ll see what Maureen can tell us.’
When Maureen arrived, she soon demonstrated that she wasn’t going to jump to conclusions either. She looked at the gap by the case, and then she opened the other end of the wardrobe and looked there. She studied the footwear. ‘Oh!’ she said. Then she stood up and moved over to the cooking area, opening a cupboard above the sink. It contained various food items – a tin of tomatoes, two jars of pasta sauce, a bag of white rice, a box of cornflakes, a carton of apple juice, gravy granules and tomato sauce.
‘There’s no baked beans,’ she said.
‘No baked beans?’ Holden felt she needed some guidance.