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Holden frowned, then fixed him with a stare. ‘So what exactly, Fox, is your point?’
Fox looked down, happy to give ground to his superior. ‘Only that if, by any chance, Wilson’s theory is correct, and that the woman in the mack was Anne, then of course Anne wouldn’t want to risk getting into conversation with Yousef when she didn’t know him, but realized her sister probably did. She didn’t want to risk giving herself away.’
‘In that case, why hover round the front of the shop at all?’ Holden said.
Fox smiled: ‘To be seen, I guess.’
Holden stood up and for a moment Fox was concerned he had misread her, and that he was about to receive a broadside of premenstrual venom. But when she spoke she was calm and complimentary.
‘Good teamwork. Good thinking. Both of you. You, Wilson, have firmly placed Anne Johnson in the area shortly before the death of her sister, when she claimed to be at home oversleeping after an overdose of sex with her head teacher. And you, Fox, have raised at the very least doubt about the identity of the woman in the long mackintosh.’ Holden stopped talking and walked over to the board from which the picture of Sarah Johnson stared out. ‘As for me, team, I have had a little chat with William Basham of Basham and Smith Solicitors. And Mr William Basham has confirmed to me that Anne is the sole beneficiary of Sarah’s will. Not exactly world shattering news, I know. However—’ Holden paused, and raised her right-hand index finger in the air, as if to ensure that she had their fullest attention. She had meant it when she praised them, and yet she was human enough to need both their attention and approval. Both men watched her intently, wondering what rabbit she was going to pull out of her hat. ‘However, Mr William Basham did also let slip another interesting fact, namely that Sarah Johnson was about to change her will.’
‘Change it?’ Fox gasped. Holden almost purred in appreciation of his reaction.
‘Indeed, they had a meeting arranged for later this week,’ said Holden triumphantly. ‘He didn’t know for sure what changes she wanted to make, but in my book this all adds up to a very substantial motive. If Sarah had told Anne that she was going to cut her out of her will altogether and bequeath all her worldly belongings – and that includes a flat that I reckon is worth at least 250,000 pounds – to the day centre or a cat’s home or maybe even to Jake Arnold, then Anne suddenly has a very pressing reason to drive over to Oxford and, when she couldn’t persuade her sister to change her mind, well, to take matters into her own hands. So I suggest the next thing to do is go and pick her up for questioning.’
‘Why do you say Jake Arnold?’ Wilson asked. ‘Is there a particular reason for suggesting him?’
‘No,’ admitted Holden. ‘But frankly if she was changing her will to another individual, then on the basis of what we know so far, Jake would be the most likely suspect. We know they had quite a strong relationship. It may not have been sexual, but from Sarah’s point of view at least, it was a very important relationship. Who was it she tried to ring the morning of her death? Jake.’
She stopped and waited. Her theory provoked only silence, as each man tried to work out an appropriate response. This only irritated her.
‘Come on, gentlemen,’ she said sarcastically. ‘I’ve thrown a hunch up into the air, now is the time for you to shoot it down.’
‘So you’re suggesting Anne may have murdered both her sister and Jake?’ Fox said cautiously.
‘Ah, I can see you are not convinced, Fox. But why not? She could have killed her sister because of the imminent will change. And Jake because he must have known about the imminent will change and might otherwise have told us police about it. Or maybe she just thought he was a creep. If you can kill one person, why not a second one?’ Again she stopped, and waited for a reply. It came from Wilson, gingerly taking his turn.
‘But there is a problem, isn’t there, Guv, with the time Anne’s car left Oxford. We have it on CCTV leaving the car park at 8.30. That is some three-quarters of an hour before Sarah’s death. It’s one thing to suggest Anne’s visit caused Sarah to commit suicide, but it would be very hard to argue without other evidence that she pushed her sister off the top of the car park.’
Holden smiled, but her response to Wilson was uncompromising. ‘That’s the key, Wilson. More evidence. I mean, imagine you are Anne Johnson wanting to establish an alibi. What do you do? She knows there are CCTV cameras at the car park, so she drives out at 8.30, and goes and parks it somewhere else. She then lures her sister up to the top of the car park, and pushes her over the edge. Then she leaves by the stairs, and walks to her car. But now, of course, she’s got to get to Reading. It’s a good hour’s drive at the best of time, and probably more at that time of morning, so she has to cry off her first lesson. But that isn’t a problem because Dr Adrian Ratcliffe, her amorous headmaster, is hardly going to make a fuss, now is he?’
‘No, Guv,’ Wilson agreed. ‘No, he isn’t.’ But he wasn’t entirely convinced.
It was at this point that Holden’s stock-taking session came to an abrupt end. There was a knock on the door, which opened immediately. The face of Sergeant Tolman appeared, his hand raised as if in apology, or perhaps to ask permission to speak. ‘Sorry to interrupt, Ma’am, but I thought you’d like to know. They’ve just found a dead body. Down at the allotments in Meadow Lane. A garden shed went up in flames last night apparently, and some old boy discovered a charred body in it this morning. It’s a bit of a mess, apparently, so ID may take a time, but the allotment belongs to a lorry driver. Name of Martin Mace.’
Holden resisted the temptation to drive straight over to the Meadow Lane allotments. There was little to be gained, she reckoned, from rushing round there at breakneck speed. Uniform would be looking after the site, and Dr Pointer had already been summoned. Better to give them a bit of space and time first. Besides, there was still the death of Sarah Johnson to be followed through. First with a phone call to St Gregory’s, Reading.
‘Dr Adrian Ratcliffe, please?’ Holden said to the woman who answered the phone.
‘He’s rather busy,’ came the automatic response of the head teacher’s personal rotweiler. ‘Can I take a message.’
‘No, you can not take a message,’ snapped Holden, who was still in no mood to take prisoners. ‘This is Dectective Inspector Holden of the Oxford police, and I need to speak to Dr Adrian Ratcliffe now.’
‘One moment,’ came the flustered response of a guard dog whose bark was clearly worse than her bite. Several seconds of silence, then a crackle and a man’s voice spoke.
‘Dr Adrian Ratcliffe here. How can I help you?’
The soft, polished tone of his voice served only to goad, not soothe. ‘You can help, Dr Ratcliffe, by getting into your car and driving over here to the Cowley Police Station in Oxford.’
‘I’m sorry, what do you mean?’ came the blustering reply. ‘I have a school to run and—’
‘You’ve a choice,’ Holden snarled back. ‘Either you can get yourself to this police station by 10.30 a.m. or I’ll arrange for a marked police car to drive into your school to collect you. And I’ll ask them to arrive with blue lights flashing. Do I make myself clear?’
Having dealt with one problem, Holden addressed the issue of Anne Johnson. ‘Right, Wilson. I want you to go round and pick up Anne Johnson. Take WPC Lawson with you. I want someone to be with her at all times. She’s not under arrest yet, but I don’t want her making phone calls we aren’t aware of. Once you’re back, you can express surprise that I’ve had to pop out. I want her to sit and sweat a bit. All right
?’
‘Yes, Guv.’
