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Again Anne laughed. She was confident, unshaken. ‘I think you’re bull-shitting, Sergeant. It’s a long-range, out-of-focus photo, and the face is pretty much hidden by the hood.’
‘What the hell
is so funny?’ Holden spat the words out with real anger. ‘We show you a photo of someone running away from the scene of your sister’s death just two minutes after her death, and you laugh. If it’s not you, it could be your sister’s murderer. Is that funny? Don’t you care that she might have been murdered?’
‘Christ, what’s the matter with you? She jumped. She was a depressive. She was very down that morning. We had a row. Maybe I was partly responsible for her mood that morning. But she came out, saw that blue plaque, and that was the final straw. Why do you find that so hard to believe?’
‘Did you know Jim Blunt?’ Holden’s sudden change of tack appeared to throw Anne Johnson off balance. Fox, watching her, thought he saw a flash of anxiety in her eyes. But when she spoke, her voice was unwavering.
‘Any chance of a glass of water?’ she said.
‘Answer the question please, Miss Johnson,’ Holden insisted.
‘Why do you ask?’
‘Because we’ve been checking his mobile phone records.’
‘Ah!’ She smiled yet again. ‘You’re trying to trip me up, aren’t you, Inspector.’
‘Did you know Jim Blunt?’
‘I knew of him. He rang me a couple of times. My sister had given him my number. He was worried about her and rang me.’
‘You never mentioned that before.’
‘I guess you never asked.’
‘So did you ever meet him?’
‘No!’
‘You mean, he rang up twice, because he was worried about your sister, but he didn’t want to meet you to discuss her.’
‘I told him I didn’t want to get involved.’
Again Holden glanced across to Fox. This time he pulled a typed sheet of paper out of the folder, and looked at it for several seconds as if reminding himself of what it contained. Then he looked up.
‘On the Wednesday before your sister’s death, a witness saw you leaving Jim Blunt’s house.’
‘I wouldn’t even know where he lived.’
‘Do you own a black leather jacket.’
‘Who doesn’t?’
‘A pair of red boots, mid-calf in length?’
‘Are we talking heels or flats?’
‘Just answer the question.’
‘I have lots of clothes. I like clothes, and I like buying shoes and boots and anything else that takes my fancy. Sarah did too. We were similar in that respect. I’ve had to have a major clear-out of her stuff, I can tell you.’
‘Do you have a pair of red boots?’ Holden spoke angrily now. ‘Yes or no.’
‘Yes. But so did Sarah. And, before you ask, yes, I got rid of them too. A girl doesn’t need two pairs.’ She smiled triumphantly, conscious of Holden’s rising frustration.
But Holden wasn’t quite ready to give up. ‘You left them in the same charity bag as the track suit, did you?’
