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‘Guessed?’ Blunt said cautiously.
‘Well, you being an intelligent sort of man, sir.’ He spoke calmly, quietly. He paused, then smiled. ‘And, of course, with the sort of history you’ve got—’
‘Look,’ Blunt said with irritation, ‘I have a day centre to run, so I don’t have time to play guessing games.’
‘And we have a murderer to find, sir,’ Fox said evenly, ‘so we don’t have time to waste, and that’s why I am hoping you will cooperate sir.’
‘Of course I’ll cooperate,’ Blunt blustered.
‘Like you did on Friday?’ said Holden, briefly entering the fray and forcing Blunt’s attention to her.
‘What do you mean?’ Blunt replied, suddenly uncertain.
‘On Friday,’ Fox stated, again forcing Blunt to switch his attention and gaze, ‘you stated that you and Jake Arnold got on well enough.’
‘Did I?’ Blunt said.
‘You also said he was a bit idle and occasionally needed the proverbial kick up the backside.’
‘Sounds about right,’ Blunt acknowledged.
‘But you didn’t mention, sir, that Jake had made allegations that you had bullied him.’ Fox stopped, looked evenly at Blunt, and waited for a response. Blunt looked back at him, but said nothing. For several seconds there was silence, until Holden broke in.
‘Were the allegations true?’
‘No!’ Blunt snapped the word back.
‘But they were damaging, to you, I imagine,’ Holden continued. ‘On the no-smoke-without-fire basis.’
‘It was his word against mine. I’ve been running this centre for three years. He’s been here a bare six months. Who are they going to believe. Him or me?’
Fox liked interviewing with Holden. They worked together well. He liked the fact that she didn’t take over, and he found that he could tell instinctively when it was his turn to talk, and when his turn to shut up. ‘Tell us about how you came to leave the army, sir. You were only there three years, which doesn’t seem that long, really.’
The change of direction appeared to throw Blunt off balance. He looked hard at Fox, then back at Holden. The colour that had flared up just before now receded as quickly. Fox, scenting a breakthrough, pushed a little more.
‘I understand you got into a fight, and you made such a mess of the guy you were fighting that he ended up in hospital. Or maybe it’s something you prefer not to discuss publicly.’
But Fox had misjudged his quarry. Blunt leant back in his chair so far that it rocked up on its back legs. Then he smiled.
‘I left the army with a clean slate. In fact, my CO gave me a glowing reference for Civy Street. He liked the fact that I stood up for myself. The guy came at me with a broken bottle. I stopped him. The fact that he ended up in hospital for two months was his look-out, not mine. He got what he deserved.’
‘Did Jake get what he deserved, do you think?’ Fox said, with an edge of anger in his voice.
Blunt stood up suddenly. His face was red again, and his hands, Holden noticed, were clenched. ‘End of interview,’ he snarled. ‘My army career has nothing to do with Jake.’ He pointed the forefinger of his right hand aggressively at Fox. ‘If you want to make any more insinuations, Detective, you can do so in front of a solicitor. Right?’
‘No need for that,’ Holden said mildly. She sat unmoving in her chair, refusing to be intimidated by his aggression. She knew Fox had gone too far, but she wasn’t displeased with the outcome. ‘No more questions. But I would like to speak
to Danny. Is he around?’
When the bell of flat 2, number 12 Marston Street rang at 10.45 a.m., Anne Johnson had only just dressed. She had always – or at least as far back as she could remember – been an owl rather than a lark, so the opportunity for lying in that three weeks of compassionate leave offered was one she had seized at eagerly. Her hair was still wet from the shower, and as she moved toward the front door she hastily tightened the towel which she had twisted turban-style around her head.
‘Oh,’ she said as she pulled back the door, ‘it’s you.’
Detective Constable Wilson felt the disappointment in her voice, but ignored it.
‘Good morning, Ms Johnson,’ he said with his most winning smile. ‘I hope this isn’t inconvenient for you. It’s just that I was in the area and I was wondering if—’
He never completed his sentence because a snort of words erupted from the mouth of Anne Johnson. ‘In the area! In the area?’ It was strange, she thought, how much less cute he looked this morning. ‘Did they teach you that chat-up line at police school?’ she continued scornfully. Wilson’s poise collapsed like a sandcastle swamped by an unexpectedly large wave. He had been looking forward to interviewing Anne Johnson – she had a sense of fun and spirit that had impressed him on his earlier meeting – but he realized now that he had misread her badly.
