Free Blood on the Cowley Road by Peter Tickler

door,
followed immediately by a thud and the splintering of wood as the door exploded open. Two figures burst into the room, the first a very flushed Danny and just behind him an equally red-faced DS Fox, his hands already turning palms-up in apology.
    â€˜Danny!’ exclaimed Laing, who had risen to her feet. ‘Whatever’s the matter?’ Wilson, dropping his notebook, stepped forward, but Holden – startled, but still seated – lifted a hand and raised her voice. ‘Stop! Everyone!’
    Rather to her surprise, everyone did stop, and before they could start again she addressed Danny.
    â€˜Danny. I think we may have met once before, but in case you don’t remember, my name is Susan. I am in charge of the police investigation into Jake Arnold’s death. Do you think you might be able to help?’
    Danny looked back at the woman sitting unruffled in the battered red armchair. She was wearning dark trousers and jacket, and a plain white blouse. Her hair was dark and short, short enough to reveal a small silver stud in each ear. She looked efficient, organised, in control, yet the tone of her voice was soft and gentle, reminiscent of cooling breezes on a hot summer’s day.
    â€˜Why don’t you sit down?’ She was gesturing towards the mauve armchair that Rachel Laing was now standing next to. ‘Rachel was just about to go, and if you’d rather, my colleagues could go too.’
    Danny looked round the small room, at Laing, and Fox and Wilson. He walked two paces over to the window, and looked out of it, then across to the door, where Fox moved to the side. He looked down the short corridor for three or four seconds, before shutting the door firmly. ‘They can stay,’ he said, and moved back to the mauve armchair. He sat down with care, perching himself on the front. As if ready for what, Holden wondered. Flight or fight?
    â€˜It was my fault.’ Danny spoke quietly, almost as if talking to himself. ‘My fault, all my fault.’ Holden, leaning forward, watched him as she may once as a child have watched a trapeze artiste walk the high wire in the big top. Her breathing seemed to have been put into abeyance as she waited to see if Danny would maintain his balance. He was rocking now, only just perceptibly, but rocking nevertheless.
    â€˜Why do you think it was your fault?’ Holdens’s words were as hushed as his. She hoped they sounded soothing and encouraging.

    â€˜Cause it was,’ he said, still rocking.
    â€˜Danny!’ she said, her tone slightly raised. ‘You’ve got to tell me more than that. You’ve got to explain why.’
    â€˜Why?’ he said, his voice rising to match hers. ‘Because if I hadn’t smashed his car in, then it wouldn’t all have started.’
    â€˜It was you who smashed Jake’s car in?’ Rachel Laing broke in, astonishment apparent in every syllable of her question.
    Holden looked up sharply. She said nothing, but the glare she gave and the aggressive manner in which she drew her two fingers from left to right across her lips, were a clear enough message to Laing to shut up. Holden turned back to Danny, but he seemed not to have registered Laing’s interruption.
    â€˜Do you mean you crashed his car?’ she asked.
    â€˜No!’ he exclaimed. ‘I don’t drive. I saw it parked outside Sarah’s flat late one night. It’s an old green Mini. Occasionally he’d bring it here. Anyway, I just smashed it. I broke the windscreen and the driver’s window, and the headlights, and then I did a runner. I shouldn’t have done it, cause that’s when it all started.’ He was breathing heavily now, and Holden noticed a couple of beads of sweat on his now flushed face.
    â€˜All what started?’ Holden purred.
    â€˜Well, that’s when Jake started to be followed.’
    Though the casual observer – and certainly not Danny –