Blood on the Marsh (DI Susan Holden 3)

‘That’s stupid.’

‘Don’t call me stupid.’

‘Sorry.’ It was a trigger word with David. She knew that. ‘Mum’s out of her mind.’ Involuntarily, she was whispering back. ‘She’s looking for you.’

‘I’m not coming home. Ever.’

‘You must, David. We’ll look after you.’

‘Never, ever, ever, ever.’

‘David.’

‘Dad is a bastard. He’s a lying bastard. I’m never coming home.’

‘David, Dad is dead.’

There was silence.

‘Dad is dead,’ she repeated. ‘Somebody killed him.’ She paused, willing him to say something, but he didn’t. ‘Was it you, David? Because Mum and I will protect you. We’ll lie for you. They’ll never know.’

There was silence, except for the sound of heavy breathing. She tried to think. She had to say something else. Keep him from hanging up. ‘I’m glad he’s dead, David. If you killed him, it’s the best thing you ever did.’

She paused and waited for a response. But this time there was no breathing to be heard. David had terminated the call.

‘You weren’t very kind to your mother.’ Fox spoke with care, a man treading gingerly through a minefield, conscious of the explosion that one wrong step might provoke.

They were standing in the parking area designated for the use of residents of the south-eastern corner of Grandpont Grange. They had seen Mrs Holden up to her flat, and left her in the rather fussy hands of her friend Doris. Fox was by the driver’s door, but had made no attempt to get in. Holden glared at him. ‘Wasn’t I!’ It wasn’t a question. It was a red and white ‘No Entry’ sign, and spoken in a tone that told her sergeant to drop the subject.

But Fox wasn’t quite ready to give up. ‘You weren’t.’

‘Thank you, Sergeant. But if you don’t mind, we’ve got a murder case to solve.’

‘She’s your mother, for God’s sake.’

‘Don’t I know it!’ Holden gave a sigh. She felt tired all of a sudden. She looked up towards her mother’s flat. There was no sign of her at the window, but she was there, inside, an old lady longing for a grandchild, for something worth living for as death loomed larger and closer. And she, her only daughter, was failing her.

Fox shrugged and unlocked the car. ‘So where do you want to go?’

‘Let’s go and see Vickie.’

‘Why?’ Fox was startled. ‘We saw her earlier.’

‘I want to ask her some questions while her mother isn’t there. Why the hell do think, Sergeant?’

‘But she’s a minor, Guv! You can’t just turn up and question her without an appropriate adult present.’

Holden was about to bite back, but beyond Fox’s head she could see an elderly couple in matching tan mackintoshes making their way unsteadily across the quadrangle towards them. She opened the door, got in, and slammed it shut.

‘Whose side are you on, Sergeant,’ she demanded as soon as he had shut his door. ‘Do you want to find out who the killer is, or not? Because let me assure you that it certainly matters to Detective Superintendent Collins, and for that reason it sure as hell matters to me. It is Vickie’s father who has been murdered. It is Vickie’s brother who is on the run. And in case your memory doesn’t stretch back that far, let me remind you that it was Vickie that Paul Greenleaf was taking dodgy photos of shortly before he was murdered. So maybe, just maybe, Sergeant, Vickie hasn’t told us everything she knows.’

Fox nodded, acknowledging her authority. ‘Even so, Guv, she is a minor.’

‘Which is why we are only going to have a chat. A nice, informal, off the record chat. And you’re going to be there bearing witness to the fact. OK?’

Fox said nothing. The act of manipulating the car out of its parking place had suddenly become a thing that demanded all of his attention.

‘Is that clear, Sergeant?’ Detective Inspector Holden had raised her voice even more. She had no intention of being second best to a driving manoeuvre.