Blood on the Marsh (DI Susan Holden 3)

‘Hey, listen Inspector. When I tell you that the victim was on his feet, that really is all I can tell you. The driver had only the briefest glimpse of him. He saw him at the last moment. A single nightmarish moment where a man appears in front of his train and disappears almost in the same fraction of a second, with a thud that

will live on in the driver’s dreams for months to come. Or maybe even years.’

‘I see.’ Holden paused, as she tried to frame her response. ‘Do you think I might be able to talk to the driver myself?’

‘Absolutely not.’ The reply was emphatic. ‘My concern is to protect the driver so he recovers. Nothing he can say to you is going to solve your problem, and even if there was a possibility, I wouldn’t let you anywhere near him. His well-being is too important.’ For a moment, neither of them spoke. ‘So that’s all then, is it?’ Dr Birch said, bringing the conversation to an end.

‘Yes,’ Holden said. And then grudgingly added, ‘Thank you.’

‘My pleasure.’ Dr Birch’s tone was, as far as Holden could detect over a poor mobile signal, suddenly softer. ‘I’ve enjoyed our chat.’

‘So have I.’ Holden wondered what Dr Eileen Birch looked like. It was a shame they had had to do this over a phone, and with an audience. ‘Would you like a word with your husband?’

There was a guttural laugh. ‘Just pass on my worst wishes to him, and tell him if he forgets it’s his turn to do supper, he’ll be sleeping with the dog.’

Holden passed the mobile back to Birch, but said nothing about supper. If he didn’t remember, then he’d deserve everything he got. Besides, it was Jim Wright’s death that she was interested in, and nothing else.

‘I assume the victim was on this nearside track when he was struck?’

‘Yes.’

Holden moved across and stood on the sleepers between the rails. Then she started walking slowly towards Oxford, her eyes on the ground.

‘What are you looking for, Guv?’ Fox had moved to her side, frustrated at the lack of anything to do.

‘Rope, maybe. Wire. Something that might have been used to attach Jim Wright’s leg to the track so he couldn’t get away.’

There’s a train due in three minutes,’ Birch warned.

But no one was listening to him. Holden and Fox had stopped by Lawson, who was crouched down on her haunches by the side of the track, ‘Take a look at this!’ she had said excitedly, just as Birch had been broadcasting his three-minute warning. ‘Is this what you’re looking for, Guv?’

Lawson was pointing at a piece of wire that was looped twice round a sleeper. It was some eighteen inches in length, with a green covering, and it looked new.

As her latest – and, without question, most irritating – customer exited the shop, Jaz Green pulled out her mobile, flipped it open, and frowned. It wasn’t the first time she had frowned at it that morning, but frown as she might, no text message, no missed call, no voicemail message displayed itself. It was very nearly eleven o’clock, and still David had not turned up. Normally, they’d have been fortunate to have had one customer by now, but it was Murphy’s Law that on the day David went AWOL four separate and very needy customers should turn up before coffee break time. She had been sorely tempted to strangle the last of these four with some of her very best picture wire after the woman had fussed endlessly and very vocally about the boards and frames for two of her own very ordinary paintings. She had asked for advice, and then dismissed it with such condescension that Jaz had had to count silently to ten. Now all she wanted was to nip outside for a cigarette, and then pop up the road for a nice cappuccino. Only she couldn’t because David still hadn’t turned up.

It wasn’t like him. He normally warned her if he was running even five minutes late. He was very precise was David. She rang his number, but as had happened when she’d rung an hour earlier, it went straight to his answering service. She killed the call. There was no point in leaving another message.

Jaz retreated to the yard at the back of the shop. If she stood by the small window – she really must get David to clean it – she could still spot anyone coming in the front door. She lit up, and waited for the tension to ebb. But she couldn’t help but worry. The thing about David was he was so reliable. It just wasn’t like him not to turn up. She took a final pull at her cigarette, dropped it on the ground, and crushed it under her heel. She flipped the mobile open again as she moved back into the shop. She hated ringing Maureen to ask whether she knew anything. It felt like a betrayal of David. She believed in treating him like an adult, and ringing his mother to check up on him was not treating him like an adult. But to do nothing seemed worse – suppose he had had an accident, or was so sick he couldn’t get help. Perhaps he’d lost his mobile and couldn’t call for help.

Maureen answered almost immediately. ‘What is it, Jaz?’ She spoke brusquely, which was unusual. They were good friends, and their conversations were typically anything but brusque.

‘Is David all right? It’s just that he’s not turned up for work, and he’s not answering his mobile.’

‘He’s not the only one.’

But Jaz failed to register the sharpness in her friend’s voice. ‘David is usually so reliable. Has he rung you?’

‘No he ruddy well hasn’t.’

Jaz said nothing, taken aback by her friend’s answer and tone. It wasn’t like her at all, at least not where David was concerned.

‘Jim didn’t come home last night.’

‘What?’ She wondered if she’d misheard. ‘What do you mean? He’s left you?’ Mind you, she immediately thought, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if he had. He treated Maureen like shit.

‘I don’t know. Maybe he’s left me, maybe he hasn’t. Maybe he got as drunk as a skunk last night, and doesn’t plan on coming home until my shift has started.’

‘Maybe he’s with David?’ The thought had suddenly occurred to Jaz. ‘Have you tried ringing him?’