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Holden nodded her head slowly. She’s probably got as far as she could. But there was one more thing she wanted to ask.
‘Why do you visit Marjorie Drabble?’
‘Why? That’s an odd sort of question. Why not? She’s got cancer.’
‘I’d like a better answer than that, Lucy,’ Holden said, her voice now raised.
Lucy Tull looked down at her hands, which were still clenched firmly together. Her breathing was deep and noisy, so that Holden wondered whether she wasn’t on the brink of exploding, but gradually the breaths grew quieter, until finally she raised her head and looked her questioner full in the face. ‘To protect my father,’ she said bluntly.
‘Can you explain that for me?’
Lucy sucked in a deep breath and then let it out gently, as if preparing for a relaxation class. ‘Daddy is Marjorie’s GP. He’s known her since way back when. She knew my mother. They were friends. But when Maria came on the scene there must have been a bit of a falling out. I guess she didn’t approve of Maria or something. So although Daddy remained her GP, we rarely saw her socially. Marjorie contracted cancer, but it wasn’t diagnosed till a few weeks ago. Graham Drabble blamed my father, saying he should have spotted the signs and sent her for screening sooner, and then he started threatening Daddy, and he said he’d accuse him of sexually molesting Marjorie if he didn’t resign. It was all quite ridiculous, or would have been if Graham wasn’t such a nasty piece of work, so I said to Daddy that I’d go and visit her in hospital and see if I could get her to stop Graham. We really hit it off, and she told me she would speak to Graham. So that’s how we started, but really I like visiting her now because she remembers my mother, and we talk about her. For a few short years, they were really good friends, and I think talking about Mummy helps her to forget her own problems.’
She stopped, and took another deep breath. ‘That’s about it, really.’
‘Thank you. I think that’s about all.’
‘I’m sorry if I was a bit late getting here,’ Lucy said, as she got up.
‘Don’t worry,’ Holden replied. ‘We only had to wait five minutes or so. And that was because Joseph didn’t have a lot to say.’
‘No change there then.’ She laughed. The social pleasantries were being observed. Despite the circumstances. ‘Still, I would have been back sooner if Daddy hadn’t rung my mobile when I was on my way home. He said you’d only just started quizzing Joseph, so I knew there was no mad rush. Now, did you have coats?’
‘Bloody hell!’ Holden slammed the palm of her hand down on to the dashboard. Her three colleagues – Fox in the driving seat, Lawson and Wilson in the back – jumped as one.
Holden turned round and gave her two detective constables a look that would have scorched a piece of granite. ‘Why the hell did you let him near the phone?’
The looks of incomprehension on their faces only served to egg her on. ‘When we were interviewing Joseph, Dr Tull went and
rang Lucy as she was cycling back to Bainton Road.’
‘I expect he was wondering where she had got to,’ Wilson said innocently.
Fox, conscious that Wilson was now pouring petrol directly on to an open flame, tried for the second time that day to intervene, but he barely got his mouth open before Holden’s hand again slammed down on to the dashboard. But this time Holden’s voice was more controlled, if no less threatening. ‘Let me explain, Wilson, in words of great simplicity. Someone rang Jack Smith from the Tull’s house yesterday morning. Alan Tull said it wasn’t him, but said the shower had been leaking. Joseph said it wasn’t him, and said nothing about the shower leaking. And then we asked Lucy, who piped up very promptly that it was her who had rung Jack Smith because the shower was leaking. So now, Wilson, do you understand the importance I am attaching to the phone call Dr Tull made to Lucy Tull while Fox and I were talking to Joseph Tull?’
‘Yes, Guv.’
‘Praise the Lord!’ Holden leant back in her seat and shut her eyes. ‘Just get us home, Fox,’ she added.
Fox started the car, but didn’t immediately set off. ‘To be fair, Guv, they weren’t to know, and even if they had it would have been difficult to stop him making a phone call in his own house. He’s probably got a mobile, and a land-line in his bedroom.’
‘Thank you, Fox. So what you’re saying is that it’s actually all my fault for not thinking of it in advance, and planning accordingly.’
‘No, Guv,’ he replied quickly. ‘I was just pointing out—’
But Holden had no interest in hearing anything else he might want to just point out on the subject. ‘For God’s sake, stop talking and drive us home, Sergeant!’
CHAPTER 7
Dominic Russell went missing the following day, Saturday. Quite when this occurred depends on your point of view. According to his wife Sarah, he left home at about 7.30 a.m. to make the short journey from his home in North Oxford to D.R. Antiquities. That was the last time she saw him, she said. Unless, of course, as Sergeant Fox later commented to Constable Wilson, it was she who killed him.
As far as Francesca Willis was concerned, Dominic didn’t go missing. He just never arrived. She turned up for her Saturday stint at D.R. Antiquities at 10.15 a.m., nearly three-quarters of an hour late. In truth, she had already been running a bit late when she picked up her handbag and let herself out of her front door in the village of Marsh Baldon, but late became later when she discovered the front nearside tyre of her Mini was flat. By the time her husband had put the spare on, and she had returned the favour by chasing their twin sons off their X-Boxes and into their football kit, she was getting late enough to ring D.R. Antiquities to warn her boss she would definitely be in. But there had been no reply.
When she got to work there was no one there. This was not unprecedented. Dominic Russell was somewhat unreliable in his timekeeping, so she unlocked and made her way to the office without concern. When she found a hand-written note, ‘Out on business. Back later. D’, on the desk, she shrugged, powered up the PC, and went to make herself a mug of tea.
By the time she had had her first sip of tea, the first of a steady stream of customers had arrived.
A few of these customers turned out to be silent browsers, not wanting to buy and not wanting to engage in a conversation either. But the majority were either chatty or there on serious business, and by noon Francesca had conducted four pieces of quite substantial business and was feeling rather pleased with herself, if not with her absent boss. At this point she rang Dominic’s mobile, but it went straight to the answerphone service, so she left a message asking when he would be in, and explaining in slightly tetchy tones that she really could do with some assistance.
