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‘So,’ Holden said, her eyes flicking between the two men, ‘I dare say you’re up to date on last night’s events. A stabbing in the St Clement’s car park. The victim is one Maria Tull, married to a GP in Bainton Road. He confirmed last night that she had been giving an art lecture at St Aidan’s Hall. The thin-bladed knife that killed her is missing, so Fox I want you to put together a search team and see if you can locate it. We found her handbag abandoned in the Angel Meadow, so that was clearly the killer’s escape route. Lawson can provide more details,’ she concluded, switching her gaze.
‘I’ve marked up a map showing where I found it, Guv,’ Lawson responded. ‘I turned right, so was heading towards Headington Hill. There’s quite a spread of trees and bushes there, along the edge of the grass. So I guess that’s the place to start.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Fox said firmly. ‘I’ll sort it.’
‘As for you, Wilson, see what CCTV coverage there is of the car park. Of course, given last night’s weather conditions, you may see a lot of umbrellas and hoods and few decent mug shots, but we might get lucky.’
‘No probs, Guv!’ This was only his second murder case, and Wilson, who had not had the experience of seeing the body, was thrilled to be part of it.
‘We also recovered the victim’s mobile. The last phone ca
ll she made was about 6.00 p.m.’ Holden faded to a stop. The wide grins on the faces of the two men made it apparent that Lawson had not only told them about the mobile, but had shown them the photo she had found on it too, a photo of a naked, as yet unidentified man. But Holden had no intention of indulging them. ‘So the next thing, after you’ve tracked down the car park’s CCTV, will be to track down who exactly was there at St Aidan’s and try to tie the details down tight.’
‘Yes, Guv,’ Wilson said, still grinning.
‘Well, bugger off then.’
Holden waited for Fox and Wilson to leave her office, and then cast a quizzical frown at Lawson. ‘What is it with men?’ she said in a tone that suggested she found them a rather quaint and alien species.
Lawson laughed. ‘As my mother always says, men are just overgrown schoolboys.’
Holden smiled back. ‘Well, I’m sure my mother would agree on that!’
Half an hour later, Holden and Lawson were outside the Tulls’ front door in Bainton Road. The ring of the bell was answered almost immediately by Lucy Tull.
‘Oh,’ she said. It was a single word, the shortest greeting that she could have offered, yet the intonation of her voice and her body language spoke volumes. Their arrival, Holden realized, was certainly not welcome to her.
‘Do you mind if we come in?’ Holden asked politely. ‘We need to ask you all a few questions.’
‘Questions?’ came the sharp reply. ‘What sort of questions?’
‘It’s routine procedure,’ Holden continued, still resolutely polite. ‘It won’t take long, I hope.’
‘So do I!’ And only then did the young woman yield ground and open the door wide so they could enter. ‘Follow me!’ she said firmly, turning on her heel. ‘And shut the door behind you.’
Holden and Lawson waited in silence for three or four minutes in the large sitting room in which they had sat less than twelve hours earlier when giving the news of the death of Maria Tull to her family. Heavy steps on the stairs heralded the arrival of Joseph Tull, who walked over to an armchair and slumped soundlessly into it. Holden made no attempt to engage him in conversation, and instead looked out of the French windows and watched two goldfinches pecking fiercely at a bird feeder. She turned only when more footsteps presaged the arrival of Alan Tull and his daughter Lucy. He had the appearance of a man who hadn’t slept much, but his eyes nevertheless looked eagerly across at the two detectives. ‘Have you found the killer?’ he asked urgently. ‘Tell me you have!’
‘No,’ Holden said. ‘Not yet. I’m sorry to bother you, Doctor. We just need to ask you – each of you – a few questions.’
‘Why us?’ he said plaintively. ‘Shouldn’t you be out checking the CCTV cameras, and bringing all the local druggies in for questioning?’
‘Really, Dad,’ Joseph broke in angrily. ‘You’ve watched enough bloody crime dramas on TV. They want to ask us questions because we’re family. And because we’re family, we’re prime suspects too. Isn’t that right, Inspector?’
‘We do need to ask you where you were last night, yes,’ Holden acknowledged. ‘Your son is quite right. So if you just sit down, we’ll try to get it over with as quickly as we can. My colleague, Detective Constable Lawson, will take notes.’
‘Come on, Daddy.’ Lucy led her father over to the sofa, and there sat down with him, her hand gently resting on his arm.
‘I was out at a party,’ Joseph volunteered loudly. ‘Freddie Johnson’s. In Southfield Road. It was his birthday. Lots of people there. Lots of witnesses.’
Holden turned and faced him. ‘What time did you arrive?’
‘Oh, about nine o’clock, I should think.’
‘Did you arrive with someone? Did your friend Freddie let you in?’
He paused, as if in thought, and then made a face. ‘The answer to that is no, and no. Is that a problem?’
Holden smiled. ‘Not for now. But as it stands, without corroboration, it’s not exactly a watertight alibi if you need one.’
