Blood on the Marsh (DI Susan Holden 3)

But the not so fragile Ms Althea Potter had had enough. ‘My client has said all she is going to say until we have had a chance to discuss the matter further. I suggest you formally charge her, or release her.’

It is 7.45 p.m. on 21 December. Mrs Jane Holden and her daughter sit in the dining room of the Shillingford Bridge Hotel and watch in silence as the waitress removes their plates. The dining room is quiet, too, the other occupants are speaking in hushed, intimate tones. Several tables have been placed together for, presumably, an office party, but if the staff attending have arrived, they are still lubricating themselves in the bar. Apart from the Holdens, there are five other couples of various sorts taking advantage of the last Monday before Christmas, treating themselves to a restful meal out before the frantic assault of last-minute shopping, demented cooking and dreaded relatives overwhelms them. Not that this is the type of festive season that awaits Jane and Susan. There is no family beyond themselves, and a quiet, even lonely Christmas awaits them.

‘I do miss Karen,’ Susan says. Christmas has that effect, making you miss those who will not be there. She looks down, not able to look at her mother, but she yearns to be comforted by her, to be hugged and told that it will be all right.

Jane merely nods. ‘I know.’

Susan’s eyes grow moist. A tear runs down her right cheek, but she makes no attempt to rub it.

‘You do know that Karen would want you to move on.’ It is not a hug, but advice that Mrs Holden gives.

‘Yes.’

‘We are not designed to live alone.’ Susan looks up, and finds her mother looking at her with a glare of such intensity that she flinches. ‘Believe me. I know.’

‘You do?’

‘Perhaps you should join a dating agency.’

‘Mother!’

‘Or take out a small ad. Get yourself out there.’

This time DI Holden is speechless.

‘It would make me happy. If you would just find someone. Then I would die happy.’

‘Die happy? We’re meant to be having a nice evening out….’

‘And I would live happy too, for however much longer I’ve got.’

‘God!’ Holden picks up her glass and lifts it to her mouth, but there is only a dribble of white wine left.

The waitress appears at the side of the table, bearing coffee and chocolates. They relapse into silence until she is out of earshot, and then Mrs Holden tactfully changes the subject.

‘So what do you think will happen to Bella?’

This is more comfortable ground for her daughter – violent death. ‘I expect she will plead involuntary manslaughter. Throw herself on the mercy of the judge. Play the mother card – how David will need her now that Jim is dead and Maureen is likely to be in prison for a long stretch.’

‘Poor Maureen. She was only protecting her family.’

‘She killed two people. And she knew what she was doing.’

‘But who will look after David and Vickie?’

‘Christ, Mother. I’m a detective, not a social worker. I’m paid to solve crimes, not save the world.’

‘I know. But I can’t help feeling—’

‘Feeling?’ The word explodes across the room. Several pairs of eyes turn involuntarily, and then turn away as Susan Holden sweeps the room with a ferocious scowl. Then she focuses her baleful gaze on her mother. ‘Feeling is a luxury I can’t afford. Not as long as I’m doing this job.’

Mrs Holden says nothing for half a minute. She has too much experience in dealing with emotional fury. Not just recently from her daughter, but long before that, from her husband. Eventually, she speaks softly, so softly that her daughter is barely able hear what she says. ‘To feel is to be alive.’

Detective Inspector Susan Holden is briefly tempted to make a dismissive remark about people who read too many fortune cookies, but instead she looks across at her mother and bursts into tears.

THE END