Blood on the Cowley Road (21 page)

‘Who are you?' he asked.

‘I'm Jan,' she said in that same soft voice. And she smiled. He liked that. It was a really friendly smile.

‘I don't think I know anyone called Jan.'

‘No, we've never met,' she said. She had decided that honesty – though she wasn't sure about total honesty – was the best approach. It was certainly the approach she felt most comfortable with. That was her parent's fault. ‘How are you feeling?' she asked, conscious that she needed to steer the conversation. He looked, as she had been, at the white bandage that swathed the wrist and lower part of his left arm. He lifted it up and moved it slowly around while he inspected it. They had done a good job, Lawson concluded silently, not a trace of blood to be seen. Flynn allowed his arm to subside back to a resting position.

‘It aches,' he said flatly. Then he leant forward. ‘I think,' he said in a
conspiratorial whisper, ‘they've given me something. You know, drugs or something.'

‘Do you mind if I ask you a few questions, Danny?' she said, in that same caressing voice.

‘Are you from the social services?' he asked.

‘No!' she said.

‘So who are you?'

She paused, but only for a millisecond. What the hell? She was her parents' daughter. ‘I'm in the police. A constable. Lowest of the low. I'm out of uniform because my boss reckoned you wouldn't talk to the police. But what does she know? She's only been in the force ten years.'

She fell silent and waited. If Danny freaked now, that would be it. Her first day out of uniform would be her last. A life of traffic control and male chauvinism beckoned. And all because she thought she knew better than DI Holden.

‘Open your bag,' he said, his voice a little stronger than before.

Lawson bit back the urge to ask why. Instead, she slipped the bag off her shoulder and opened it. Then she stepped forward and gave it to him. ‘Take a look,' she said, ‘but there's nothing very exciting.'

He took the bag, and very carefully began to take the contents out one by one, inspecting each as he did so: a purse, which he opened and then, after a brief examination of its contents, closed; a pack of paper hankies; a tampon; a small bottle of toilet water; and a biro. It was this last item which interested him most – he clicked it one, two, three times, then ran it across the back of his hand to see if it worked (it did), before finally dismantling it, checking each piece, and then putting it back together. This took at least five minutes, and all this time Lawson remained silent. Finally he passed the bag back to her.

‘How do I know you're not lying?' he asked.

‘You don't,' she said. ‘But maybe this will help.' And she pushed her hand into her back pocket, drew out her identity card, and handed it to him. He looked at it, this time only briefly, before handing it back.

‘You remind me of my sister.'

She nodded in acknowledgement. ‘What's her name?'

‘She's dead,' he said.

‘Oh!' Lawson was taken aback by this, and briefly at a loss to know how to continue.

‘A car accident,' he said simply.

‘I'm sorry!' She was conscious that this was a feeble response, but what else do you say? ‘Really sorry.'

But Flynn was already moving on in his head. ‘These questions you want to ask – are they on the record?'

‘No, definitely not. There's just me and you, no one else to witness anything you say. It's just a chat. OK?' She paused, waiting to see how he reacted, but he sat there unmoving and silent. She frowned, and then she said something that as soon as she heard herself say it, made her flinch in surprise. ‘I promise you, on my heart.' Where the heck had that come from? On my heart! What was she saying?

‘OK', he said, pursing his lips. ‘Ask away.'

‘Thank you, Danny,' she said quietly, while her mind desperately sought for the right words. ‘I was wondering, my boss was wondering, well in fact we were all wondering why it was that you were so upset with Jim Blunt.'

Flynn didn't answer immediately. Instead, he shut his eyes, screwing them tight while he tried to concentrate on that question. Jealousy? Mistrust? Hatred? Well, the first two of those certainly. But hatred? Did he hate Blunt? Yes, perhaps he did. But was that what she wanted to know, this woman with the nice face? Flynn opened his eyes, and looked across at her.

‘They were lovers,' he said.

‘Lovers?' Lawson replied, taken by surprise. ‘Who were?'

‘Blunt and Sarah.'

Lawson did not immediately respond. Whatever it was she was expecting Danny to say, it wasn't this. If he had told her that Blunt was a spy, she would have smiled politely at his paranoia and started to execute a polite exit strategy. But this was much more unexpected to her, and thus more plausible.

‘Is that what you said to Blunt, that you knew they were lovers?' she asked.

‘Not exactly,' he replied. ‘I just told him I knew there was something between them because I'd seen them together two nights before Sarah died. He got really angry.'

‘Danny,' Lawson said in a confidential tone. ‘I really need you to think very hard about this and to tell me in as much detail as you can
about what you saw.'

‘So, you believe me?' he asked.

‘Yes,' she said without hesitation, ‘I do. That's why I want you to tell me all about it.'

‘I saw them at his house. He lives in Bedford Street, and I went round there on the Wednesday night before she fell from the top of the car park.'

‘Why did you go there, Danny, if you don't mind me asking?'

‘Because whenever I went to the day centre, he was watching me. Like he was spying on me. Waiting to catch me unawares. So I thought I'd go round and watch him, you know, to get my own back. That Wednesday was the third night I'd been round. There's a derelict house opposite, which some builders are doing up, so I hid in the front garden behind the hedge and watched. The first night he wasn't in. I stayed a couple of hours, but he didn't come home. The next night he was already home when I got there. I saw him through the windows, but he stayed in all evening. And then the next night, he was in as well, only I realized there was someone else there too, and about ten o'clock they came to the door, and I saw them kissing. Him and Sarah. And then she left and walked off up the hill.'

‘Did you follow her Danny?'

‘No!' he said. ‘I was worried he might see me, so I stayed hidden behind the hedge for maybe ten minutes, and then I went back to my flat.'

‘It must have been quite dark, Danny. Are you absolutely sure it was Sarah?'

‘His hall light was on. I could see them. Don't you believe me?'

‘Yes,' she said quickly, too quickly maybe.

‘You don't believe me, I know,' he said in a now much raised voice. ‘You think I'm a paranoid nutcase. You're just like all the others!' He shouted these last words, and then began to rock backwards and forwards in his chair, hugging himself as he did so. A nurse, alerted by the noise, appeared like some genie in the doorway. ‘It's time you left,' he said firmly.

 

‘So, how did it go?' The four of them, Holden, Fox, Wilson and Lawson, were sitting in a circle around Holden's rectangular desk. It
was Holden asking the question. She had called Lawson and Wilson in when she heard their animated voices in the corridor, and had summoned Fox via the phone. ‘You start, Lawson,' she ordered. ‘Tell us how you got on with Danny.'

‘Pretty well, I think.'

Holden made a face. ‘Pretty well? What exactly do you mean by that? It's not an expression that fills me with confidence.'

‘We got on fine, thank you, Guv,' Lawson replied, trying but not quite succeeding in looking Holden full in the face. ‘Though to be honest,' she continued, her eyes now flicking down, ‘we didn't end that well. In fact, Danny freaked a bit and the nurse suggested that I leave, but before that—'

Holden lifted both hands in the air, as if surrendering. ‘Please, Lawson, why don't you cut out the bad bits and confine yourself to the good news, such as whatever it was that Danny told you about Blunt, because I assume that with all your charm you managed to hold a conversation with him before he, as you so delicately put it, freaked.'

Lawson swallowed. She glanced across at Wilson, but if she was hoping for some moral support, she was out of luck. He was staring fixedly downwards as if pretending that he wasn't there. She shrugged, and looked back at Holden. ‘Danny told me that he saw Sarah Johnson at Blunt's house two nights before her death.'

Holden's ears pricked up, metaphorically at least. ‘And?'

‘I thought that might be significant.'

‘Why? They knew each other from the day centre, didn't they? Why should it be significant? Maybe she was feeling desperate and had called round for some support.'

‘Danny said he saw them kissing.'

‘Did he?' Holden's interest was now fully engaged. ‘Well, that is interesting. Assuming, of course, that Danny is to be trusted.'

‘Why shouldn't he be?' Lawson said protectively. ‘Just because he—'

‘He's bloody paranoid.' Fox laughed. ‘There's every reason not to trust him.'

Lawson turned towards the sergeant, her face flushing, though whether in anger or embarrassment the still silent Wilson wasn't sure. ‘I was there, sir,' she retorted. ‘And I do have personal experience of
paranoia. And in my opinion he wasn't making this up, or imagining it.'

‘Let's assume,' Holden cut in, ‘for the sake of argument, that Danny did see Blunt and Sarah Johnson kiss. The question we need to ask is where does that leave us? Wilson,' she said changing tack, ‘how did you get on with Danny's nurses?'

‘Sorry, Guv,' he said. ‘I'm afraid I didn't get anything out of them. I spoke to a chap called Kay, who was about to go off shift, and he told me Danny had barely said a word.'

‘Any visitors?'

‘No!'

‘Phone calls?'

Wilson paused. ‘Not that Kay said.'

Holden frowned. ‘Next time, make sure you ask? Sometimes you have to work for information.'

Lawson cleared her throat. ‘Um, can I ask how you got on when you interviewed Blunt, Guv.'

‘Of course,' Holden said with a smile, conscious that Lawson was trying to take the spotlight of criticism off Wilson. She liked the way Lawson operated. She'd definitely got character. Holden turned towards Fox. ‘What would you say, Sergeant? Did we get anything useful out of Blunt do you think?'

Fox laughed, though this time it was not a laugh designed to put anyone down. ‘I'd say we did about as well as Wilson. Jim bloody Blunt told us nothing. In fact, he basically refused to talk without a lawyer present.'

‘But that tells us something, doesn't it?' Lawson said eagerly. ‘That he had something to hide. That he was worried about what Danny told him.'

‘In that case,' Fox replied, ‘maybe we did do a bit better than Wilson.'

Wilson tried not to feel irritated. Instead he joined in. ‘Are we saying that Blunt killed Sarah Johnson? And then Jake Arnold? And then Martin Mace?'

For a moment no one answered. Lawson looked at Holden, for guidance and reassurance. Where the hell were they? It all seemed to be getting more complicated, not less. Murkier, not clearer.

Holden sighed. She leant back in her chair and looked up at the ceiling, buying time while she framed her response with care. ‘Blunt, I think, is not a man to be messed with. He served in the army for five years. He is, I would suspect, quite capable of killing if he thought it was necessary. But what are we suggesting? That he killed Sarah Johnson because she threatened to tell on him. Well, that's certainly not beyond the bounds of possibility because, let's be clear, having a sexual relationship with a client is a serious disciplinary offence in that field. Just as, of course, would have been his bullying of Jake if that had been proved. But why kill Mace?'

‘Maybe he got a taste for it,' Fox suggested.

‘Maybe,' Holden said without conviction. ‘Maybe not.'

‘Should we get a search warrant?' Wilson said eagerly. ‘Maybe we'll find something that'll prove it.'

The frown that was already on Holden's brow deepened. ‘I think,' she said slowly, ‘I think that first we need to think about this a little more.'

 

‘Wittenham Clumps car park. 5.00 tonight. ALONE.'

Smith looked at the message and felt a slight surge of optimism. It was hardly seismic, but he felt it nevertheless. The bastard had taken up the challenge. He had agreed to a meeting. OK, it was risky. The bastard would be waiting for him. He would have all the advantages of surprise. Probably he'd be armed too. But he wouldn't be the only one. And all he needed was a chance. An opportunity for revenge. Just one.

He pressed ‘Reply' and keyed in his response. Just two letters and an exclamation mark. ‘OK!' A couple of clicks later, and the message was sent. He locked the mobile, pushed it back in his pocket, and felt for his cigarettes. Hell, he needed one.

 

If anyone had offered Holden a cigarette at that moment, she might well have succumbed to the temptation. She had ended the meeting with Fox, Wilson and Lawson by getting up and saying she needed the toilet, and had spent ten minutes there, first squatting for an unnecessarily long time in her cubicle, then splashing her face repeatedly with water, as if refreshing herself physically might also cause her to be
refreshed mentally. It didn't work however, and she returned to her room feeling even more frustrated than she had when she left it. As she slumped heavily into her chair, the phone rang. With a groan, she stretched to pick it up. Just as long as it wasn't that ruddy reporter again.

‘Darling!'

It wasn't the reporter.