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‘Where is he?’ This time her words were audible, although there was no one else in the house to hear them ‘He promised!’ she pleaded to herself. Sam Sexton had indeed promised to be back in plenty of time to give her a lift to the hospital. Normally she caught the bus, but she had four bags of bric-a-brac and clothes for Alice’s jumble sale. She looked at her watch again. She’d give him a couple more minutes, but then she’d have to go and catch the bus and leave the jumble behind. It wasn’t like Sam to let her down. Whatever he was or wasn’t, he was a very reliable man. It was one of the things about him that she’d always liked. Once in a while, a bit of romance would have been nice too, but most of the time she was content with reliability. So where was he, and why was his mobile turned off? Surely he hadn’t let the battery run flat? Normally he was so careful to keep it charged. Again, she looked at her watch. She couldn’t wait any longer. It was time to get her coat and go. ‘Sam Sexton,’ she said out loud, ‘you’d better have a very good excuse!’
And then the front doorbell rang.
At much the same time that Doreen Sexton was opening her front door, Detective Inspector Holden was sitting at her desk staring into space. If the Oxford Mail had chosen that moment to ring up and check on progress, or if Linda from Personnel had appeared at the door (as she had threatened) to collect the long overdue appraisal forms, or indeed if the Queen herself had dropped in for a chat, it is doubtful whether any of them would have been able to attract her attention. For her mind was in freefall, and it was spinning wildly as it fell.
After Wilson and Lawson had scuttled off down the corridor, Holden had laid the diary down on her desk and opened it. Flicking through the pages, she had soon come to the month of May. There it was. Down the left-hand side were Monday 30 April, then Tuesday 1 May and Wednesday 2 May. She had run her eyes down the right-hand side of the page looking for Saturday 5 only it wasn’t Saturday 5. It was Saturday 12. ‘Damn!’ She had sworn. And then repeated herself in an increasingly noisy staccato. ‘Damn! Damn! Damn!’
Someone had ripped a page out of the diary, the very date they were interested in. Sarah herself, before s
he died? But why? Or someone else who had got to the diary before Fox and Wilson. Or, someone since, in which case who? Who had access to it? Fox? He must have looked at it in the first place. Or Wilson? Come to think of it, he had located it pretty quickly. Steady, Holden. Don’t be bloody paranoid. These are your colleagues you’re talking about. She picked up her mug and drained the remains of her coffee. It was cold, but she barely noticed. But Fox. Where was Fox? Where the hell was he? She picked up her mobile, flicked her way through her list of names until she came to ‘Fox mob’ and rang. It cut straight into an answering message. She terminated the call. The dentist. Maybe he was still there? But which dentist did he go to? If her memory hadn’t gone AWOL, she was pretty damn sure it was that one down the road, past the hardware store. Stewart wasn’t it? Or Stuart?
‘Right,’ Holden said out loud to herself, as she pulled the Yellow Pages down from the bookshelves. ‘Where are you?’ It took her a minute to track down the number, but only seconds to dial it.
‘Good afternoon, Mr Stewart’s dental practice,’ came the almost immediate answer.
‘Is Derek Fox there?’
There was a muffled giggle from the dental practice. ‘Sorry?’
‘Derek Fox. You do know him, don’t you? He’s one of your patients. I understand he was due in for an appointment and—’
The receptionist cut in aggressively, irritated by the domineering tone of the caller. ‘Yes, I know who Derek Fox is, but who are you? We don’t give out information to just anyone.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Holden said in a softer tone, realizing her mistake. ‘I should have said. I am Detective Inspector Susan Holden. I am DS Fox’s superior officer and I urgently need to contact him.’
‘Well, he’s not here,’ the reply came.
‘When did he leave?’ Holden pressed.
‘Leave? He’s not been to see us for a while. Let me see. I’ll just bring his records up. That’s right. He last came in March for a check-up, and he’s due in next month, for his next check-up.’
‘You’re sure?’ Holden knew it was a stupid question as soon as she said it, but she had to make certain.
‘Of course I’m sure,’ came the hostile reply. ‘What do you take me for? A dumb blonde?’
‘Mrs Sexton, is it?’
Sexton peered uncertainly at the blonde-haired young woman who stood on her doorstep, and then at the man lurking at her shoulder. ‘Who are you?’ she asked irritably. ‘I’m just off to work.’
‘I’m WPC Lawson and this is Detective Constable Wilson,’ the woman replied, showing her ID as she spoke.
‘What do you want?’ she demanded, but this time less stridently. Anxiety, too, was evident in her voice.
‘Do you mind if we come inside?’ came the evasive response.
Doreen Sexton hesitated for moment, as if she was considering saying she did mind, but then she just shrugged, moved to the side and motioned them in with a movement of her head.
‘I’ll get in trouble if I’m late,’ she said, as she shut the door behind them.
‘We’ll try not to be long,’ the man said. ‘It’s just that we want to speak to your husband.’
‘Sam? Why?’
‘Do you know where he is?’ the man continued, sidestepping her question. ‘Or perhaps you could give us his mobile number.’
‘Look,’ she said firmly, trying to assert herself. ‘What is this all about? Has he done something wrong? Because if you want me to cooperate, then I need to know.’
‘Perhaps you should sit down, Mrs Sexton,’ he said, still failing to address her questions.
