Blood on the Cowley Road Read Free

nodded.
    â€˜I’ll need a copy of it.’
    â€˜I took three,’ Bicknell said flatly.
    â€˜Three?’ echoed Fox, his voice rising a semitone.
    â€˜The paper only printed one, but she was there quite a time, staring at the plaque.’
    â€˜How long?’
    Bicknell pulled at his chin again. ‘Maybe four or five minutes.’
    â€˜Did you talk to her?’ Fox asked.
    â€˜What do you think? I was up the stairs, trying not to be noticed. Like the proverbial fly on the wall. I was observing people, not chatting to them to see if any of them were feeling fucking suicidal.’
    â€˜So, what happened after she moved on?’
    â€˜Not much. I took one or two more photos. It went very quiet. Most people just walked past without noticing. That’s what happens. Either there’s a group, and other people stop to see what is going on, or there’s no one and everyone walks past without noticing. I was beginning to wonder if I shouldn’t do something ... you know, intervene in some way to generate some interest when ... Christ, she just fell right out of the sky.’
    Bicknell fell silent. Outside, a car backfired. Fox flinched momentarily, then asked a question. ‘Did she make a sound – before ... when she fell?’
    Bicknell considered this, raking back in his memory. ‘There was a shout – a couple of seconds before she hit the ground.’
    â€˜What sort of shout?’
    â€˜Christ, what sort of question is that? A loud cry. Maybe terror, or maybe it was a war cry, giving herself courage to jump. How the hell should I know?’
    Again Fox scribbled, but his eyes and attention remained focused on Bicknell’s face. ‘What did you do then?’
    Bicknell gave an exaggerated sigh. ‘I rang you lot, didn’t I? On my mobile.’
    â€˜Then you took some more photos. Of Sarah Johnson, lying there dead on the pavement.’
    â€˜It seemed like an opportunity.’
    â€˜Did it now?’ said Fox. This time his voice was louder, and harsh,
and he was half on his feet. ‘An opportunity for what? To make some money out of a wretched woman’s death? A few sensational photos for the press.’
    Bicknell leaned back, his eyes fixed unblinking on Fox’s face. He smiled. ‘Carpe diem, detective.’
    â€˜Carpe what?’ Fox said, momentarily thrown off balance.
    â€˜It’s Latin. Seize the moment. Carpe diem. Otherwise, detective, in this life you just get left behind.’
    Fox stood up, straightened his back – it had ached since he had woken that morning – and walked over to the window. He looked down at the featureless strip of grass that masqueraded as garden and wished he was somewhere else, anywhere else. He wasn’t fussy. Just not here. Not investigating the death of a woman whose answer to the problems of life had been to jump off the top of a six-storey car park.
    â€˜Can I see the plaque?’ he said at last.
    â€˜It was in the papers,’ Bicknell said. ‘Didn’t you see it?’
    Fox ignored the question. ‘I need the plaque, as evidence, and copies of all the photos you took that morning. You don’t have a problem with that, do you?’
    Bicknell got up and went over to the large desk sited under the window. He leafed through a pile of paper sheets until he found one he was happy with.
    â€˜This is a copy,’ he said, placing it on the coffee table in front of Fox. ‘I’ll have to burn all the photos onto a CD.’
    Fox looked at the plaque. It was a strong blue colour, with white writing. Paper card it might have been, but the first impression was strikingly realistic, even this close. It was no surprise that it attracted attention when it was up on the wall. No surprise that Sarah Johnson chose to stare at it for so long.
    â€˜When you put your plaque up, did you know that two people had jumped to their deaths from that car park in the last six