Backlash (29 page)

He turned to Paniatowski, expecting her to back him – and was shocked to read in her eyes that she wasn't going to.

‘Just give us ten minutes, Colin,' Paniatowski said softly.

There was no point in arguing, Beresford thought. None at all.

And perhaps he deserved this, he told himself – perhaps the way he had constantly jumped to Chief Superintendent Kershaw's defence whenever Paniatowski had tried to exclude him from the case had led her to believe that she didn't have
his
full backing.

It wasn't true, of course – at least, he didn't
think
it was true – but he could see how it might seem like that.

‘I'll go and have a cup of tea,' he said, standing up.

Paniatowski kept silent until he'd closed the door behind him, and his footsteps had receded down the corridor, before turning to Meadows and saying, ‘You've just put me in a position in which I had to side with my bagman against someone who's not only my inspector, but also my best friend, Sergeant. This had better be worth it.'

Meadows walked over to the door, and turned the key in the lock. Then she began to unbutton her blouse.

‘What the hell do you think you're doing?' Paniatowski demanded.

‘I'm establishing my credentials,' Meadows told her.

She finished unbuttoning the blouse, and took it off. She had been facing Paniatowski up until this point, but now she turned round to give the DCI a view of her back.

‘What in God's name happened to you!' Paniatowski asked, seeing the line of small scars which ran from one side of Meadows' body to the other.

‘I was whipped,' the sergeant said, slipping on the blouse again.

‘How did it happen? Were
you
abducted?'

‘No, boss. I
asked
to be whipped. I enjoy it.'

‘I see,' Paniatowski said.

Meadows sat down again. ‘I didn't want to show you that, boss – really I didn't – but I had to, if you were ever going to take what I have to say about the whippings seriously.'

‘I'm listening,' Paniatowski said.

‘Grace was whipped too much, too quickly.'

‘I'm not sure she'd agree with you – if she could.'

‘You don't understand,' Meadows said. ‘Anyone whipping her for his own pleasure would have taken his time about it – even if he'd been meaning to kill her in the end.'

‘Go on,' Paniatowski said.

‘It's a bit like having a box of your favourite chocolates,' Meadows said. She made a fist, and hit her own forehead in exasperation. ‘No, it's not like that at all – but it's the closest I can come to describing it.'

‘Understood.'

‘You love all the chocolates in the box, and you want to eat them all straight away. But you don't. Why is that?'

‘Because you know that by the fourth or fifth chocolate, you won't be enjoying the experience half as much as you should.'

‘Exactly. So you pad it out. You have one or two now, then you leave them alone for a while. And in some ways, it's the
anticipation
of the next chocolate which is the greatest pleasure.'

‘But all Grace's injuries were sustained over a very short period.'

‘That's right.'

‘So what you're saying is that whoever killed her wasn't really interested in torturing her at all?'

‘I wouldn't go that far – but it certainly wasn't his primary concern.'

‘So what
was
his primary concern?'

‘I've no idea.'

‘Tell me about Elaine's injuries.'

‘They were too extreme.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘The chances are that she would have fainted after the first or second blow.' Meadows paused for a second. ‘Trust me on this, boss – I know.'

‘You've fainted yourself?'

Meadows shrugged. ‘It wasn't my partner's fault – he just miscalculated. But, yes, I was out cold. And that's not what a man who's into whipping wants. He wants the woman to be conscious – wants her completely aware of everything that's happening to her.'

‘And Elaine won't have been?'

‘Dr Shastri may tell you different, boss, but I don't see how she could have been.'

‘I am going to have to give Inspector Beresford the gist of this conversation, you know,' Paniatowski said.

‘I
do
know that, ma'am. But does it have to go any further?'

‘What do you mean?'

‘I don't want to find crude cartoons taped to my locker, boss. I don't want my colleagues making whipping sounds when I walk past.'

Paniatowski remembered the photographs which had been taped to her own locker, and which – in her naivety – she'd imagined Inspector Kershaw would do something about.

‘You need have no worries on that score,' she promised. ‘What you've told me goes as far as Colin – and no further.'

‘And how does it affect my place on the team?' Meadows asked.

‘It doesn't,' Paniatowski said – though she was thinking, if there
is
still a team for you to have a place on.

‘Oh, come on, boss!' Meadows said. ‘I've been honest with you – can't you be honest with me?'

‘All right, I will be,' Paniatowski replied. ‘I've had a lover who not only had a baby daughter but also a blind wife. I've had a lover who is now our chief constable – and I'm not above using that fact, if it will help my investigation. And once – when I was working with my old boss, Charlie Woodend, on a case far away from Whitebridge – I slashed through the tyres of a murderer's car, knowing he'd probably kill himself if he tried to escape. Most of the time, I don't regret any of those things, but occasionally, when the memory of them sneaks up on me unawares, I
do
feel ashamed.' She paused. ‘From what I've learned about you so far, Kate, I wouldn't think
you've
got anything to be ashamed of.'

‘Thanks, boss,' Meadows said, her voice brimming over with gratitude.

‘For what?' Paniatowski asked innocently.

Lynda Jenkins cornered Hardcastle the moment the producer entered the studio.

‘The chief constable's just given a news conference,' she said.

‘Fancy that,' Hardcastle replied.

‘It was to announce that the body of Chief Superintendent Kershaw's wife has been found in an old mill.'

‘Really! You'd have thought I'd have known about that already, wouldn't you – what with me being in the media and everything.'

‘I want the story, chief,' Lynda Jenkins said, failing to notice that, at the word ‘chief', the producer visibly winced. ‘I
really
want it.'

‘And I want to be twenty-five again – with a full head of hair,' Hardcastle told her. ‘But I won't get my wish, and you won't get yours – because I'm giving that particular assignment to Barry.'

‘I thought you said you knew nothing about it,' Lynda Jenkins said, accusingly.

‘I lied,' Hardcastle told her. ‘But you shouldn't start worrying your pretty little head that I might actually know what I'm doing
most of the time
. Finding out about the murder and the press conference was just a fluke – and I promise it won't happen again.'

The comment went right above Linda Jenkins' head.

‘It's not fair that the assignment should go to Barry,' she whined.

‘Of course it's not fair,' Hardcastle agreed wholeheartedly. ‘It's totally unjust and totally inappropriate.'

‘Well, then . . . ?'

‘And there's absolutely nothing you can do about it.' Hardcastle smiled. ‘Welcome to the wonderful world of television, Lynda!'

‘Just because I messed up the tiniest little bit on the story of that dead prostitute—' Jenkins began.

‘You messed up
a lot
,' the producer interrupted harshly. ‘But I'm not a vindictive man by nature,' he continued, softening his tone to that of a kindly uncle, ‘and that's why I'm giving you an even better story than Mrs Kershaw's murder.'

‘An even better story?' Jenkins repeated, disbelievingly.

‘Certainly,' the producer assured her. ‘Barry will be reporting on only one dead body, while you'll be reporting on dozens – possibly even hundreds.'

‘What . . . what is the story?' Jenkins asked.

‘The editor's got the details,' Hardcastle replied.

And as he walked away, he was chuckling softly to himself.

It came as no surprise at all to Meadows that Beresford should be waiting for her in the corridor outside Paniatowski's office. Nor was she surprised that he looked both troubled and angry.

‘I don't know what you've told the boss—' he began.

‘You will,' Meadows interrupted him. ‘She made it quite plain to me from the outset that whatever I told her, she'd tell you.'

‘. . . but if it was anything about me . . .' Beresford continued, ploughing on with the speech that he'd probably already run through his mind a dozen times.

‘It wasn't,' Meadows said firmly.

‘It wasn't?'

‘No!'

‘Oh!' Beresford said, as he felt the whole foundation on which he'd planned this argument slip from under him.

Meadows put her hand on his shoulder. ‘I really think we need to talk, sir,' she said. ‘Do you fancy a cup of tea?'

‘All right,' Beresford agreed numbly.

They said no more until they were sitting opposite one another in the police canteen, each holding a large mug of industrial strength tea.

It was Meadows – inevitably – who took the lead.

‘Let's get personal matters out of the way first?' she suggested. ‘What happened the night before last was a mistake.'

‘You can say that again.'

‘But it doesn't have to affect the way we get on as colleagues – and perhaps even as friends – in the future.'

‘No, it doesn't,' Beresford agreed.

‘And look on the bright side,' Meadows said.

‘Is there one?'

‘Oh yes, there most certainly is. The whole thing might have been a complete disaster from both our points of view – but at least it means that you're not a virgin any more.'

Beresford grinned. He didn't want to – but he couldn't help himself.

‘So it does,' he said.

‘Now let's move on to what's
really
eating away at you – even if you're not entirely aware that's what it's doing,' Meadows said. ‘You're worried that it was a mistake to pull us out of Bolton yesterday afternoon, aren't you?'

‘Are you going to tell me it
wasn't
a mistake?' Beresford asked hopefully.

‘No, I can't do that,' Meadows told him. ‘If we'd stayed, it's
possible
we'd have found the ex-salesman, it's
possible
he'd have given us the name of Taylor Brown's partner, and it's
possible
we'd have been able to save Mrs Kershaw.'

‘You're a
great
source of comfort to me,' Beresford said gloomily.

‘Oh, I can give you comfort if that's what you want, sir,' Meadows said. ‘I can give you positively oodles of it. But I rather thought that you'd prefer to hear the truth as I see it.'

‘And you were right.'

‘OK, then we're back on track. I said it was
possible
those things might have happened, but it's also possible they wouldn't have. We'll never know.'

‘No, we won't.'

‘But what I
do
know is that when I accused you of bringing me back for personal reasons, I wasn't being honest – either with you or myself. The fact is that I was so excited at the thought of cracking the case entirely on my own that I really didn't care about anything else. But I've got over that now, and I have to say that if I'd been in your position, then – rightly or wrongly – I'd have done exactly what you did.'

Beresford nodded gratefully.

‘You need to pick up that line of inquiry again,' he said, all crisp and efficient now. ‘As soon as you've finished your tea, I'd like you to get straight back to Bolton. And don't worry – I'll clear it with the boss.'

‘Thank you, sir,' said Meadows – who already
had
cleared it with Paniatowski. ‘The third thing we need to talk about is the boss herself. After what happened this morning, her career is on a knife-edge, and we need to do everything we can to protect her.'

‘I'd go through fire and water for that woman,' Beresford said.

And it took him by surprise when Meadows said, ‘And so would I,' with such obvious conviction.

TWENTY-ONE

K
ate Meadows was wearing a tight black skirt, a lemon blouse, a lilac jacket and high-heeled patent-leather shoes. It was not the kind of outfit which suggested the wearer was out conducting serious police business, Crane thought as they walked across the police car park together, but then, he reminded himself, she was the sergeant and he was the constable, and so he said nothing.

A brand new Volkswagen convertible was sitting at the edge of the car park, and Crane whistled appreciatively.

‘I wonder who owns that,' he said.

‘We do,' Meadows told him. ‘Or rather, we've hired it for the day. It's part of the disguise.'

‘So we're in disguise, are we?'

Meadows ran her eyes up and down Crane's sober second-best suit. ‘Well, one of us is, at any rate,' she said.