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‘Why? They knew each other from the day centre, didn’t they? Why should it be significant? Maybe she was feeling desperate and had called round for some support.’
‘Danny said he saw them kissing.’
‘Did he?’ Holden’s interest was now fully engaged. ‘Well, that is interesting. Assuming, of course, that Danny is to be trusted.’
‘Why shouldn’t he be?’ Lawson said protectively. ‘Just because he—’
‘He’s bloody paranoid.’ Fox laughed. ‘There’s every reason not to trust him.’
Lawson turned towards the sergeant, her face flushing, though whether in anger or embarrassment the still silent Wilson wasn’t sure. ‘I was there, sir,’ she retorted. ‘And I do have personal experience of paranoia. And in my opinion he wasn’t making this up, or imagining it.’
‘Let’s assume,’ Holden cut in, ‘for the sake of argument, that Danny did see Blunt and Sarah Johnson kiss. The question we need to ask is where does that leave us? Wilson,’ she said changing tack, ‘how did you get on with Danny’s nurses?’
‘Sorry, Guv,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid I didn’t get anything out of them. I spoke to a chap called Kay, who was about to go off shift, and he told me Danny had barely said a word.’
‘Any visitors?’
‘No!’
‘Phone calls?’
Wilson paused. ‘Not that Kay said.’
Holden frowned. ‘Next time, make sure you ask? Sometimes you have to work for information.’
Lawson cleared her throat. ‘Um, can I ask how you got on when you interviewed Blunt, Guv.’
‘Of course,’ Holden said with a smile, conscious that Lawson was trying to take the spotlight of criticism off Wilson. She liked the way Lawson operated. She’d definitely got character. Holden turned towards Fox. ‘What would you say, Sergeant? Did we get anything useful out of Blunt do you think?’
Fox laughed, though this time it was not a laugh designed to put anyone down. ‘I’d say we did about as well as Wilson. Jim bloody Blunt told us nothing. In fact, he basically refused to talk without a lawyer present.’
‘But that tells us something, doesn’t it?’ Lawson said eagerly. ‘That he had something to hide. That he was worried about what Danny told him.’
‘In that case,’ Fox replied, ‘maybe we did do a bit better than Wilson.’
Wilson tried not to feel irritated. Instead he joined in. ‘Are we saying that Blunt killed Sarah Johnson? And then Jake Arnold? And then Martin Mace?’
For a moment no one answered. Lawson looked at Holden, for guidance and reassurance. Where the hell were they? It all seemed to be getting more complicated, not less. Murkier, not clearer.
Holden sighed. She leant back in her chair and looked up at the ceiling, buying time while she framed her response with care. ‘Blunt, I think, is not a man to be messed with. He served in the army for five years. He is, I would suspect, quite capable of killing if he thought it was necessary. But what are we suggesting? That he killed Sarah Johnson because she threatened to tell on him. Well, that’s certainly not beyond the bounds of possibility because, let’s be clear, having a sexual relationship with a client is a serious disciplinary offence in that field. Just as, of course, would have been his bullying of Jake if that had been proved. But why kill Mace?’
‘Maybe he got a taste for it,’ Fox suggested.
‘Maybe,’ Holden said without conviction. ‘Maybe not.’
‘Should we get a search warrant?’ Wilson said eagerly. ‘Maybe we’ll find something that’ll prove it.’
The frown that was already on Holden’s brow deepened. ‘I think,’ she said slowly, ‘I think that first we need to think about this a little more.’
‘Wittenham Clumps car park. 5.00 tonight. ALONE.’
Smith looked at the message and felt a slight surge of optimism. It was hardly seismic, but he felt it nevertheless. The bastard had taken up the challenge. He had agreed to a meeting. OK, it was risky. The bastard would be waiting for him. He would have all the advantages of surprise. Probably he’d be armed too. But he wouldn’t be the only one. And all he needed was a chance. An opportunity for revenge. Just one.
He pressed ‘Reply’ and keyed in his response. Just two letters and an exclamation mark. ‘OK!’ A couple of clicks later, and the message was sent. He locked the mobile, pushed it back in his pocket, and felt for his cigarettes. Hell, he needed one.
If anyone had offered Holden a cigarette at that moment, she might well have succumbed to the temptation. She had ended the meeting with Fox, Wilson and Lawson by getting up and saying she needed the toilet, and had spent ten minutes there, first squatting for an unnecessarily long time in her cubicle, then splashing her face repeatedly with water, as if refreshing herself physically might also cause her to be refreshed mentally. It didn’t work however, and she returned to her room feeling even more frustrated than she had when she left it. As she slumped heavily into her chair, the phone rang. With a groan, she stretched to pick it up. Just as long as it wasn’t that ruddy reporter again.
‘Darling!’
