Backlash (12 page)

‘
I am so much more than a normal man,' the punter tells her – loudly, as if this will somehow make what he is saying sound more credible. ‘I am a superman.
'

Denise giggles. ‘Superman's got muscles of steel,' she says. ‘You're not like him. You're a weed.
'

The man slashes out with the razor. He is aiming at her face, but she has already dodged to the side. Even so, she does not escape unscathed. The razor cuts into her coat. She feels no pain at first. That does not come for perhaps two or three seconds. And
then
it hurts – God, it hurts – and she is screaming at the top of her voice.

‘
It shouldn't have been like this,' the man mumbles to himself. ‘This isn't how I planned it at all.
'

‘If I hadn't found her when I did, she'd probably have bled to death,' Lucy says, doing her best to speak matter-of-factly, but clearly shaken by even the memory of the experience. ‘I took her straight to hospital.'

‘And then?' Paniatowski asked.

‘And then we reported it to the police.'

‘I need a name,' Paniatowski told her.

‘A name?'

‘I need to know who you reported it to.'

Lucy nodded, to show she understood, ‘We were moved from pillar to post for a couple of hours,' she said, ‘but we finally got to see a sergeant called Bailey.'

‘And what did he say?'

‘He said he'd look into the matter.'

‘And did he?'

‘Not as far as we know.'

The first time that Beresford had stood on the podium in the police headquarters' major cases incident room (which, when there
were
no major cases, was more prosaically known simply as the basement), he had looked down on what seemed to him like a positive sea of fresh-faced detective constables, and had been sure it would not be too long before one of them unmasked him as the impostor he really was. But those days were behind him. Now, he had come to accept that he truly
was
a detective inspector, and that the words of wisdom he dispensed were – most of the time, anyway – actually quite wise.

‘The motives behind the abduction might be very complex – we simply don't know, one way or the other,' he told the young policemen, who had been drafted in from all over central Lancashire, ‘but the method used couldn't be simpler. The intruder entered here,' he indicated the window on the sketch map pinned to the blackboard. ‘Mrs Kershaw was in the house. We can't say exactly where, but given that she had a bad case of the flu, the chances are that she was in bed. Now, there are no signs of a struggle, so he probably drugged her or knocked her unconscious before she had time to react.'

The detective constables, for many of whom this was their first serious case, were all furiously taking notes, and Beresford began to feel quite paternal. Then he reminded himself that they'd probably all had sex at least once or twice, while it was still unknown territory to him – and the feeling went away.

‘We know the intruder took her through the garden, and that she was still wearing only her nightdress,' he continued. ‘We suspect that he'd slipped a pair of very high-heeled shoes on her feet, though that is only speculation. It's speculation, too, that he had a vehicle parked in this alley, but it is
informed
speculation.' He paused briefly. ‘Any questions so far?'

One of the youngest detective constables started to raise his hand – as if he were still a schoolboy – then lost his nerve and let it fall to his side again.

‘The uniforms have done a door-to-door canvas of the area around Mr Kershaw's house, and have come up with sweet FA,' Beresford continued. ‘That's why you'll be covering the same ground again. You'll also be setting up roadblocks on the roads leading away from the area. Have you any idea why you might be doing that?'

‘So we can question motorists who regularly use that route, to find out if they noticed anything unusual on the night in question,' one of the older detective constables said.

‘Correct,' Beresford agreed. ‘Now, before you're given your assignments, I'd like to leave you with one last thought. Ninety-nine per cent of good police work is persistence and bloody-mindedness. If you ask a question and you're not happy with the answer, ask it again! And keep asking it until you get an answer you
are
happy with. Don't worry about annoying or offending the people that you're questioning – they'll get over it, and there's just a chance that they might finally let slip something we can use.' He paused again. ‘Are there any questions now?'

The reluctant young constable raised his hand again, and this time he
kept
it in the air.

‘Yes?' Beresford said.

‘You keep saying the intruder did this, and the intruder did that, sir,' the constable said.

‘So what's your point?' Beresford wondered.

‘How do we know it was a
single
intruder, sir?' the constable replied. ‘How can we be sure there weren't two or three of them?'

Bloody hell, we never thought of that, Beresford told himself.

Sergeant Bailey was in his late-thirties, and had the look of indolence about him which some policemen develop when they finally give up their dreams of becoming chief constable and accept that they have climbed as high up the ladder as they are ever going to.

‘When you first asked me about it, ma'am, I drew a complete blank,' he said to Paniatowski, across the table in the police canteen. ‘Fortunately, I've always been very good at keeping records.' He smiled complacently. ‘So I only had to read my report to have all the details at my fingertips.'

‘So let's hear those details,' Paniatowski said.

‘It was around two o'clock in the morning, and I was just about to take a well-earned break when the duty officer asked me if I'd talk to this slag, and—'

‘Her name's Denise Slater,' Paniatowski interrupted him. ‘Call her Denise, if you must – though since she's a member of the public like any other, I'd prefer you to call her Miss Slater – but under no circumstances, Sergeant Bailey, are you to refer to her again as a slag.'

‘Sorry, ma'am,' Bailey said, with more indifference than sincerity. ‘Anyway, this Denise had her arm bandaged, and she told me she'd been slashed by a punter.'

‘So what did you do?'

‘I filed a report.'

‘No more than that? Didn't you investigate the complaint?'

‘Well, of course I did, ma'am. That's what we're here for.'

‘So you showed her the book of mug shots?'

‘I was going to, but she looked very tired, so I suggested we did it later.'

‘And
did
you do it later?'

‘Err . . . no, ma'am. According to the records, we don't actually seem to have done that.'

‘But at least you went to the scene of the crime – or made sure that somebody else did?'

‘Not exactly.'

‘And what does that mean –
not
exactly
?'

‘I didn't, as it happens.'

‘So you simply filed the whole thing away?'

‘I was just about to go on leave, and there were a lot of loose ends to tidy up before I went,' Bailey said. ‘If she'd come in again, I'd probably have given it a bit more of my time, but she didn't, so I thought, well, if she couldn't be bothered, I didn't see why I should be.'

‘Do you realize how much nerve it must have taken a girl like her to come to the station even
once
?' Paniatowski demanded. ‘And how hard it would have been – after the lukewarm reception she got the first time – to force herself to make a second visit?'

‘Look, ma'am, you know what it's like,' Bailey said defensively. ‘It probably wasn't a punter who slashed her at all. More than likely, it was her pimp, and she was using us to put pressure on him.'

‘Oh, she has a pimp, does she?' Paniatowski asked.

‘A lot of these girls have pimps,' Bailey said evasively.

‘And is she one of them?'

‘I'm not entirely sure.'

‘Meaning you haven't a bloody clue – one way or the other!' Paniatowski said angrily. ‘You're a disgrace to your uniform, Sergeant – and if I have my way, you'll spend the rest of your career directing the bloody traffic – preferably in the middle of the motorway!'

All Chief Superintendent Kershaw's case files had been moved from his domain to Paniatowski's, and now they stood on Monika's desk in three piles, each one so high that every time there was the slightest vibration, it wobbled dangerously.

‘How many years' work did you say this was?' Meadows asked Sergeant Lee, who would be working through the piles with her.

‘Let me see,' Lee said, counting backwards. ‘Five years.'

‘You handled this many cases in only
five
years?' Meadows said, incredulously.

Lee chuckled. ‘Of course, that's only
calendar
years,' he said.

‘What do you mean by that?'

‘A year working with Mr Kershaw isn't like a year working with anybody else. There's no such thing as being “off duty” when you're on his team. If you want a life outside the job, you should think about getting yourself a new boss.'

‘So he's a bit of a slave driver, is he?'

‘More than just a bit of one. But the person he cracks the whip hardest over is Chief Superintendent Thomas Kershaw.'

Meadows picked up one of the files at random. ‘This doesn't look like a job for the uniformed branch,' she said, flicking quickly through it. She handed the file to Lee. ‘In fact, I'd say this
clearly
falls squarely within the CID's remit.'

Lee laughed again. ‘Mr Kershaw's not one for what he calls “bureaucratic lines”,' he said. ‘If something that he's working on leads him into somebody else's territory, he jump the fence without thinking about it.'

‘So he's a glory grabber,' Meadows said.

Lee sighed. ‘I was planning to go to Spain for my holidays,' he said. ‘It would have been the first time we'd been abroad, and the kids were really looking forward to it. Notice I said “would have been”?'

‘I did.'

‘Well, we can't go now, can we? I'm using up all my accumulated leave time in working with you. And why am I doing that?'

‘Because Mr Kershaw asked you to?'

‘Wrong! He didn't ask. He didn't even hint. It was all my idea.'

‘All right, I'll accept that he's a good boss, and you're loyal to him,' Meadows said.

‘And it's not just me. The reason I'm here is because it was my idea, but there's not a man on the team who wouldn't have willingly taken my place. Do you think that makes
us
“glory grabbers”?'

‘Not you, no,' Meadows said, uncomfortably.

‘And not him, either,' Lee said sharply. ‘
We
solved that case you've just handed me. Us! Mr Kershaw's team. But you're right when you say it was, strictly speaking, CID business, so when we'd cracked it, Mr Kershaw handed the file
over
to the CID, and they got the credit for making the collar.'

‘I should think more before I speak, shouldn't I?' Meadows asked ruefully.

‘It certainly wouldn't be a
bad
idea,' Lee agreed.

‘So let's start again,' Meadows suggested. She held out her hand to him. ‘I'm DS Kate Meadows.'

‘And I'm Sergeant Bill Lee,' Lee replied, taking her hand and shaking it.

‘Well, Bill, shall we get down to work?' Meadows asked.

‘Might as well – now we're here,' Lee replied.

‘I didn't expect to see you so soon after our last meeting, Monika,' the chief constable said.

Well, at least he was calling her Monika again, and that was a start, Paniatowski thought.

‘You personally signed requests for leave for two of Mr Kershaw's men – in the middle of a flu epidemic – didn't you, sir?' she asked.

‘I fail to see what that has to do with you,' Baxter said.

‘Come on, George, please don't treat me like I'm an idiot,' Paniatowski said.

‘Tom Kershaw is both a very worried husband and a very good bobby,' Baxter said. ‘Having his people attached to your investigation can only enhance its effectiveness.'

‘Enhance its effectiveness,' Paniatowski repeated. ‘Where did you learn that, sir? Was it on one of your courses at the police college?'

‘You can ridicule me all you like, Monika – though one day you will go
too
far – but if you want me to reverse my decision on this particular matter . . .'

‘I don't,' Paniatowski said.

‘I beg your pardon?'

‘I don't want you to reverse your decision. I think the extra manpower will be useful, especially as I want to widen the investigation.'

‘What do you mean – widen it?'

Paniatowski outlined what Lucy and Marie had told her about Denise and Grace.

‘So a prostitute's gone missing,' Baxter said, when she'd finished. ‘You don't know that any harm has come to her.'