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He stood there, his hands in his coat pockets, and a slightly forced smile of greeting on his face, as if posing reluctantly for a photograph. His face and hair were glistening, and Holden realized that behind him it was raining the thin, miserable rain that had threatened all day but never quite materialized.
‘I was just passing, Guv, and I thought—’
‘For God’s sake, come in. And I’m not your Guv at present, as you well know.’
He eased himself past her, and then started to fight his way out of his coat. He had never been inside her house before. He had called there on a number of occasions, but only to pick her up or drop her off. There were pegs in the corridor and he was conscious that his coat needed hanging up rather than dumping in a damp pile somewhere. ‘Actually, I’m on the way to the Phoenix, but I’m running a bit early, so I thought I’d call in and see how you were.’ As lies goes, it was barely adequate.
‘What would you like to drink? Tea or alcohol.’
‘I’d go for a small whisky, if that’s OK.’
‘Ice, water?’
‘No thanks.’
‘Let’s go and sit in the kitchen. It’s nicer there.’
The whisky bottle was, Fox noted, three-quarters empty and was standing defiantly in front of the kettle. He sat down at the table, and watched in silence as she found two tumblers and poured out two generous portions.
‘It’s not the same without you,’ he said suddenly, as she set his glass in front of him.
She sat down opposite, and smiled back. It was good to have a visitor. Any visitor. Even Fox. ‘I hope that doesn’t mean it’s better with me out the way?’
‘It’s bloody marvellous,’ he said in a deadpan voice.
‘Glad to hear it!’ And sh
e laughed, though rather unconvincingly. Then silence fell, an uncertain and – as far as Fox was concerned – an uneasy silence. He knew he had to say something, but he couldn’t bring himself to tell her just yet.’
‘We thought you’d like to know about Sarah Russell and Geraldine Payne.’
Holden looked up, relieved. She was wondering why the hell he had really come. To check that she hadn’t fallen apart? But this was comfortable territory – the nuts and bolts of the case.
‘You know’, he continued. ‘About why it was that Sarah succumbed to blackmail by Joseph Tull.’ He paused, as he wondered how precisely to phrase his words.
‘I’m listening,’ Holden said, the familiar impatience back in her voice.
‘Well, we interviewed them both. Geraldine and Sarah, that is.’ He paused.
‘And?’
‘It turns out they weren’t having an affair. Geraldine admitted to being a lesbian, not that that was news, of course. But Sarah Russell insisted she wasn’t. It was just that she’d had it up to her ears with her husband. She wanted a divorce, but she hadn’t told him because she was trying to make other living arrangements first, and Geraldine was her confidante.’
Holden frowned, her mind fully focused. ‘I hadn’t realized that Geraldine and Sarah were great friends.’
‘It was more complicated than that. Remember, Jack Smith found the Judas painting in Geraldine’s house.’
‘Of course.’
‘Well, they both admitted that they thought that Dominic Russell was helping Maria sell it on, so with Maria dead, Sarah became Geraldine’s best bet to recover it for herself. But Geraldine was also Sarah’s support. Sarah had been wanting to leave Dominic and get a divorce. No surprise there perhaps, but Sarah also reckoned Dominic was cheating her. She was an equal partner in the business, but profits had been dropping, and then she discovered that Maria had set up a big deal for Dominic when she was last in Venice, but he had denied it, saying there was only one painting involved. So she was pretty damn sure that he was doing other business but putting it through a different company.’
‘You have been busy. Well done!’ She spoke like a teacher congratulating a five-year-old, but she meant it, though frankly it wasn’t that earth shattering. It was rather prosaic, in fact. Money and petty jealousies. When push came to shove, that’s often what it did boil down to. Grubby little motives. She took another sip of whisky. ‘Sounds like you don’t need me.’
Fox looked across at her. Self-pity wasn’t something he was used to seeing in his boss. Perhaps, as Lawson had wondered out loud back at the station in her know-it-all way, perhaps Holden was cracking up.
‘Don’t be bloody ridiculous, Guv. We all want you back. And both Lawson and Wilson sent their best wishes. They’re very concerned for you.’
‘That’s kind of them,’ Holden replied. And she meant it. She missed them. She missed not being in the office – the routine, the camaraderie, the banter – and she missed her team. They were important to her, and yet here she was under suspension, not knowing when she would be allowed back. Or if. She cleared her throat noisily, as she felt her eyes begin to moisten. ‘And how are Lawson and Wilson?’
