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‘I want to catch his killer,’ Holden said firmly, fighting to regain control. ‘That’s my job. I want to catch his killer and Maria Tull’s killer, and I need your help. But we can come back tomorrow—’
Again Dinah Smith cut across Holden’s words, though this time with a laugh. ‘When I feel better, you mean?’
‘Do you have a relation or friend you’d like us to call?’
Dinah Smith didn’t reply. Instead, she turned away from Holden, and walked over to a table in the corner of the room, from which she picked up a photo frame. For several seconds she stood looking at it, before placing it back down. Then she turned back round and looked across at Lawson. ‘Would you mind making me a cup of tea, dear? Two sugars.’ Lawson glanced briefly at Holden for guidance, and then nodded at her questioner. ‘Of course.’
Dinah Smith waited for Lawson to leave the room, and then she returned to her chair, sat down, and apologized. ‘Sorry. It’s just been one hell of a shock.’ She shrugged. ‘I should know. I’ve seen enough of it in hospital.’
‘I’m the one who should be saying sorry,’ Holden said, relieved that the crisis had blown over.
But Dinah Smith’s mind wasn’t interested in politenesses and apologies. ‘I wouldn’t have called it an affair,’ she said simply.
‘No,’ Holden responded, and waited.
‘They only did it once. That’s what Jack told me. I believed him then, and I believe him now. He was a good man, Jack. A bit weak. Easily led. And she led him on, the silly bitch. Because she wanted that painting he found.’
‘What did he tell you about the painting?’
‘Nothing. He just said it was old and dirty and quite small, so he was a bit surprised when he realized Maria thought it was valuable.’
‘Did he say what it looked like?’
‘No.’
‘And what about Maria? What did he say about her death?’
‘He was shaken up by it. I think he felt a bit scared. He slept with her once and now she was dead, and was he going to be next?’
‘He said that, did he?’
‘In so many words. And he was right to be scared, wasn’t he?’
‘Yes,’ Holden replied, because there was no other reply to make. They relapsed into silence. Sometimes words just got in the way. From outside came the sound of an ambulance siren. Holden listened as it sped down the hill away from the hospital, on its way to what? Injury, illness, death – they were all around.
‘Here’s a mug of tea, milk and two sugars.’ Lawson had appeared at the door, and now walked across to Dinah Smith.
She took it, and cradled it in her two hands.
‘Do you need to ask me anything else, because I’d like to ring my sister.’
Holden held up her hand. ‘We’ll go if you want us to, but it would very helpful if – for the record, just for the record – you could just tell us where you were today.’
‘That’s easy,’ she said. ‘I was working last night, so I had breakfast with Jack when I got in, and then I had a shower and went to bed. I must have woken about four o’clock, and then I went out to the little supermarket at the bottom of the hill, and I came back, and I’ve been in ever since.’
‘Thank you.’ Holden stood up. She was ready to go. It wasn’t exactly a tight alibi. In fact, it was no alibi at all. But that didn’t make Dinah Smith the killer. But it didn’t rule her out either.
Dinah Smith raised her mug, and sipped noisily at the tea. Then she looked up at Holden. ‘Just make sure you catch the bastard,’ she said.
‘Ah, good morning, Susan. And good morning, Jan.’ Dr Karen Pointer beamed at her two visitors.
Detective Constable Lawson replied brightly, but Holden merely nodded. The fact was that she wasn’t interested in exchanging politenesses. Given that their plans to spend the evening and night together had gone so spectacularly up the spout, what she would really have liked to do is hug the woman, to hold her tight and smell her skin, but Karen Pointer seemed to be oblivious of her, and interested only in the corpse over which she now pored, like a philatelist over a stamp album.
‘Well, it looks like the same murder weapon. The initial stab wound is not quite in the same place as it was on Maria’s body, but the knife was either the same one or an identical one. However, he didn’t die instantaneously. He may have lost consciousness. There’s no sign of a struggle, but the blood from the neck wounds indicates he was still alive when those were inflicted. Then there followed the facial disfigurement. A single stab to each eye. The coup de grâce. Though that appears to have taken place after the heart had ceased to pump.’
‘Time of death?’ Holden was brusque, but if Pointer noticed she gave no sign of it.
‘It’s hard to be precise. The house wasn’t heated, and so it was pretty cold. I’d estimate between maybe twelve noon and two o’clock.’
