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Fox tried to be disarming, without expecting Danny to be convinced. ‘You all right Danny?’
‘You’ve been following me.’ His voiced was raised now, almost a shout. ‘You’ve been following me again!’
‘No I haven’t, Danny,’ he said with exaggerated calmness. ‘I’ve come to speak to Anne about the death of Sarah, that’s all. Just doing my job.’
‘They did it!’ He was hissing again now, and again he looked behind him. ‘They forced her to jump. They forced her.’
Anne thought she could see a tear in the corner of his left eye. ‘Who did?’ she said. ‘What do you mean?’
Danny raised his arm and pointed at Fox. ‘He knows’ he shouted, and then he was gone, down the path, out of the gate, and off down the street.
‘Stop!’ Anne said, and moving forward after him, but Fox was moving forward too, at her side, placing a restraining hand on her arm. ‘Leave him!’ he said sharply.
She turned and pulled her arm out of his grasp. ‘Didn’t you hear what he said?’ The schoolteacher’s poise had evaporated, leaving behind raw distress. ‘Aren’t you going to stop him? Take him in for questioning?’
‘No,’ said Fox firmly. He was standing across the path now. ‘There’s no need.’ For several seconds he waited, unsure whether she might suddenly try and run after Danny herself, but eventually she gave a muffled snort and retreated
back inside the flat.
‘Danny is known to us.’ They were sat down again around the square pine coffee table, and Fox had switched into patient explanation mode.
‘And Danny knew Sarah, right?’
‘Yes,’ replied Fox quietly.
‘And Danny said they forced her to jump.’
‘Danny’s paranoid.’ It was Wilson who said this. Both Anne and Fox turned to look at him. If Fox was unhappy about his colleague’s brusque interruption, he didn’t show it. ‘He always thinks he’s being followed,’ Wilson continued. ‘By us – the police that is – or MI5 or MI6 or the CIA. You name it, he’s been followed by it. So, if he thinks Sarah was being followed, then that’s only to be expected.’
‘Thank you, Constable,’ Anne said icily. ‘Very informative. I suppose I should feel reassured.’
‘Perhaps I should stress that we aren’t going to ignore Danny,’ said Fox, trying to regain the initiative. ‘We know where he lives. We know he is always in and out of the day centre. So we can always talk to him in calmer surroundings. But if I were you, I wouldn’t place too much credence on what Danny says. Besides, there’s no reason to believe that Sarah didn’t take her own life.’ He paused, then stood up. ‘Unless, of course, you know something that we don’t?’
It took the two detectives less than five minutes to complete their ‘snoop round’ the flat. They found Sarah’s diary and an address book, various boxes of pills, but otherwise nothing that was of interest. As Wilson carefully bagged these items, Fox went and stood at the door of the kitchen. He felt, after the harshness of his last remark, that he ought to make some sort of amends. He waited while Anne Johnson finished drying up the mugs from which they had drunk their tea. ‘Sorry about Wilson,’ he said, gesturing towards the marks on her T-shirt. ‘Drinking tea is not something they include on the young detective’s training course.’
She folded the tea towel and laid it carefully over the back of the lone chair in the kitchen. The she looked up at him.
‘You asked earlier about someone called Jake?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
‘Your sister had a mobile phone, and on the day she died, she tried to ring someone listed as Jake. Do you know him?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘That is to say, I haven’t met him. But he’s a worker down at the day centre. Relatively new, I think. Sarah seemed to like him. I think she found him a good listener.’
‘Thank you. I’ll follow him up.’
‘Right.’ She paused, but only briefly. ‘I guess that while you’re at the day centre, you could follow up Danny at the same time.’
Fox didn’t smile. Just nodded. ‘Don’t worry. I will.’
They continued to look at each other in silence – not aggressively, but neither was willing to be first to look down or away. Still looking at her, Fox called through to his colleague. ‘DC Wilson. Are you finished yet?’ ‘Sir!’ came the reply. Then the noise of something being dropped and another less respectful word fell from the lips of the Detective Constable. Fox frowned, but Anne Johnson merely grinned. ‘So that’s what they teach you at police school. How to swear colourfully while searching a suspect’s house. I learn something new every day!’
‘Sorry,’ Fox grinned back. He was beginning to enjoy being with this woman. ‘Actually, I think it’s one of the optional courses. You can choose that one or tea drinking while interviewing witnesses and suspects.’
She stood on the doorstep of the flat, and watched as the two detectives made their way down the pavement. And as she watched, she smiled for a second time, a secret, comfortable and not entirely innocent smile. ‘Cute,’ she said to herself, as she turned back inside and shut the door. ‘Very, very cute.’
