Backlash (3 page)

‘
Does
anyone have a grudge?' Paniatowski persisted.

Kershaw shook his head. ‘Everyone loves Elaine. There's not a malicious bone in her whole body. She'll help anybody who asks for her help. Half the charities in this town would
collapse
without her support.'

‘So your theory is that
if
she was snatched, she was snatched by a stranger,' Paniatowski said.

Kershaw's face collapsed. ‘I don't . . . I can't think . . . I don't
want
to think . . .' He took a deep breath. ‘If I was the officer in charge of this case, that's probably the conclusion I would draw,' he said, as crisply as he seemed able.

‘I won't insist that you come down to the station, sir . . .' Paniatowski began.

‘I should bloody well hope not,' Kershaw said, with a hint of anger in his voice now.

‘Instead, I'll ask the police doctor if she wouldn't mind coming here.'

‘The police doctor? I don't need a doctor. I've already been checked over by the ambulance men and given the all-clear.'

‘The doctor will need to take a sample of your blood,' Paniatowski said.

‘I haven't been drinking,' Kershaw said firmly. ‘I haven't touched a drop since I first got the sniffles. You have my word on that.'

‘Nevertheless, I'm afraid that I must insist you give a sample of your blood,' Paniatowski said. ‘It's standard procedure in a case like this one – and you should know that better than most.'

Kershaw's eyes blazed with genuine anger. ‘You really are a vengeful bitch, aren't you?' he demanded.

Well, I don't know anything about the vengeful part, but she's certainly being a
bitch
tonight, Beresford thought.

THREE

D
S Meadows was standing in the corridor outside Kershaw's study, looking as if she didn't mind at all that she had not been included in the interview.

And maybe she didn't, Beresford decided. Maybe she'd already learned the most vital lesson in climbing the promotions' ladder – that you advance at the speed your boss wants you to advance at.

‘Would you make the arrangements with Dr Shastri, please, Colin?' Paniatowski asked him.

‘The arrangements?'

‘For one of her staff to come here and administer the blood test to Mr Kershaw.'

‘Is it really necessary?' Beresford wondered aloud.

‘It's not only necessary, it's mandatory,' Paniatowski snapped.

Yes it is, but she'd bend the rules if she actually wanted to, Beresford told himself. God knows, she's done it often enough before.

But aloud, all he said was, ‘Yes, I'll see to that.'

Paniatowski nodded. ‘Good. And while you're making the call, Kate and I will go and see how the rest of the lads are getting on.'

It was a big house, which appeared to have been inspired not by the dwellings which had preceded it, but by a rabbit warren. Countless rooms opened up off any number of corridors, and, in normal circumstances, it would have taken a normal team of officers a long time to search it from top to bottom.

But these were not normal circumstances, and this was not the normal team. There were policemen everywhere – so many of them, in fact, that they were almost tripping over one another.

Paniatowski wondered briefly who had authorised this extravagant use of manpower, but quickly recognised that such speculation was pointless. As far as
all
the top brass were concerned, she accepted, nothing was too good for Chief Superintendent Tom-bloody-Kershaw.

She and Meadows started their tour of inspection at the top of the house – the attic, where the servants would have spent their short nights – and worked their way down to the basement at the bottom – in which those same servants would have spent their long days.

There was no evidence of its former use about the basement. The Victorian fireplace and kitchen range were long gone, and in their place was a card table, a snooker table, a dartboard and a bar.

‘Proper little boys' club,' Paniatowski said.

‘Yes, it must be every man's dream,' Meadows replied.

‘So what's your impression of the house as a whole?' Paniatowski asked.

Meadows frowned. ‘Why did you ask that, boss? Has it anything to do with the crime?'

‘We don't know if there has
been
a crime yet,' Paniatowski pointed out. ‘But no, it doesn't. I just want to find out how observant you are.'

Meadows grinned. ‘So it's sort of like a test?'

‘It's
exactly
like a test,' Paniatowski told her. ‘And as long as you're working for me, Kate, you can expect to be tested every day. That's how you'll get better at the job.'

‘I see,' Meadows said. ‘Well, it's very tidy and very organized. The kind of house in which everything has its place, and there's a place for everything.'

Paniatowski nodded. ‘Go on.'

‘But it's not clinical, if you know what I mean. It feels like a real home – somewhere the people who live here could feel comfortable.'

Yes, it did, Paniatowski agreed silently. And that had come as something of a surprise to her, because whenever she thought about Kershaw – and she tried not to think about him
at all
– she never pictured him in a house in which he would ‘feel comfortable'.

DC Jack Crane had heard all about the recent arrival of DS Kate Meadows, and as he walked down the stairs to the Kershaws' basement, he was already more than willing to dislike her.

This dislike wouldn't stem from anything about Meadows as an individual, he admitted. She could be the nicest person you could ever hope to meet, and it wouldn't make any difference – because the fact was that she'd taken his job.

You're not being fair, he told himself. It was never your job to lose.

And nor had it been. In the time he'd been working for Paniatowski, she'd had two sergeants who, each in their own way, had been a disaster, and though he'd filled in after both their departures, that was
all
he'd been doing – filling in.

Besides, having a first-class honours degree – which he was still careful to keep quiet about – was all very well if you wanted to be a university lecturer, but if you aspired to be a successful bagman, you needed to get some heavy policing experience in first.

‘Jack?' said a familiar voice.

Crane snapped out of his musings, and realized he'd already reached the foot of the stairs, and was now in the basement.

‘Did you want something?' asked the same voice.

Crane looked across at Paniatowski and her new sergeant.

Bloody hell, he thought, that DS Meadows is a stunning woman!

‘The lads have found something, boss,' he said aloud.

‘What kind of something?'

‘It just might be evidence of a forced entry.'

The window was at the back of the house. It couldn't have let much light in, even on a bright day, because it was surrounded by shrubbery.

And it was that same shrubbery, Paniatowski thought, which would have shielded any intruder from the curious gaze of neighbours who might be looking out on to the garden.

The window frame was splintered, close to the inside catch, and there was no doubt that it had been forced.

‘It's hardly what you'd call very secure,' Crane said.

No, it wasn't, Paniatowski agreed, and you'd really have thought that a policeman would be more security conscious.

And then she pictured her own home – the one she shared with her beloved adopted daughter – and realized that it was almost as bad.

I'll see a builder first thing in the morning, she promised herself.

‘What's in the room on the other side of this window, Jack?' she asked Crane.

‘Not much. An ironing board, an old television and two or three clothes hampers.'

‘And how far is this room from the main lounge and the kitchen?'

‘Just about as far as it could be.'

Which made it the perfect entry point, Paniatowski thought, because even if Elaine Kershaw hadn't been in bed with the flu, she probably wouldn't have known someone was breaking in until it was far too late.

‘Get some searchlights out here, and have a few of the lads go over the garden with a fine-toothed comb,' she told DS Meadows. ‘I also want all the houses that overlook this one canvassed right away. I need to know if anybody saw any strangers – or strange vehicles. And if any of the neighbours noted anything unusual today – even if it's something that doesn't seem as if it could possibly be connected with Mrs Kershaw's disappearance – I need to know about that, too.'

‘Got it,' Meadows said.

‘Then, once the lads have finished with those houses, they can start widening the search. Tell them it doesn't matter if they have to drag people out of their beds to question them – and that if there are any complaints about their lack of consideration, I'll take the heat personally.'

‘Right.'

‘I also want all motor patrols and foot patrols put on full alert. Give them the same brief as the canvassers – if they can find Elaine Kershaw, I'll be over the moon, but if they can't, I want to know about anything that isn't quite as it was yesterday. Have I missed anything out?'

‘I don't think so, boss.'

‘Actually, I have,' Paniatowski said. ‘When the police doctor's finished drawing the blood sample, tell him to try and persuade Mr Kershaw to take a few sleeping pills. If he refuses the pills, move on to Plan B.'

‘Plan B?'

‘Find a bottle of booze, and sit down and have a drink with him – but make sure he drinks more than you do.'

‘Wouldn't it be better if
you
did that, boss?' Meadows asked.

‘He won't want to drink with me, and the feeling's mutual,' Paniatowski told her. She paused to light a cigarette. ‘And when you've finished all that, you'll find me in the public bar of the Drum and Monkey. Do you know where that is?'

Meadows smiled. ‘Yes, boss. When I learned I'd be working with you, it was one of the first things I made it my business to find out,' she said.

This was always one of the worst times of year for her business, Marie thought, as she stood shivering in the toy shop doorway.

Part of the reason was the weather, of course. Once you were inside your own home, sitting snugly in an armchair in front of a toasty warm fire, it must take a real effort to haul yourself up again, and face the frosty night air.

But if that was the
main
reason, business would be just as bad in January – and it never was.

The punters were all saving up for Christmas, she thought bitterly – putting money away so that, on Christmas morning, they could stand around the tree and hand out presents to their dowdy wives and demanding children.

If only those wives and kids knew what those perfect fathers and perfect husbands got up to when they
did
have a bit of spare cash in their pockets. If only they could see them when they looked shiftily up and down the street before asking some poor bloody girl how much she charged.

They'd be disgusted – these happy families – if they heard
the things that some of these men asked some of those girls to do.

She was often disgusted herself – but in her situation, there wasn't much bloody choice but to agree anyway, was there?

She lit up a cigarette, and noticed, in the flickering light of the match, that her hands were shaking. And
that
wasn't just the cold air, either, she told herself – it was fear.

She heard the distant sound of the clock on the Boulevard striking the hour and, almost simultaneously, the click-clacking sound of high-heeled shoes coming up the street.

Every hour on the hour – that had been the agreement they reached. And if you happened to pick up a punter when it was your night ‘on duty', the first thing you had to do was make sure one of the other girls knew about it.

It wasn't a perfect system, of course – but then it wasn't exactly a perfect life, either, and even
some sort
of security was better than
no
security at all.

The clicking heels came to a halt in front of the doorway.

‘Doing much?' asked the wearer of the heels.

Marie shrugged. ‘I've had one lad, still wet behind the ears, an' as nervous as a frightened rabbit. Sad little thing, really.'

‘It's often sad,' the other woman – Lucy – said wistfully.

‘He must have been savin' up his pocket money for months,' Marie continued, ‘an' I felt so sorry for him when he shot his load before we'd even got properly down to the business, that I was tempted to give him a discount.'

Lucy laughed. ‘You were tempted, but you didn't give in to temptation, did you?'

‘No chance,' Marie confirmed. ‘Times are hard, an' if he can't hold himself back, then that's his problem.'

Lucy looked up and down the street. ‘You haven't seen Grace, have you?' she asked casually.

Marie felt her stomach turn over. ‘No, but that's hardly surprisin',' she said, trying to keep her voice steady. ‘Grace's pitch is outside Woolworths.' Then she forced herself to add, ‘What made you ask that?'

‘Just wondered,' Lucy said evasively.

‘Why?'

‘Well, because I haven't seen her either, and I've been past Woolworths every hour, just like we agreed.' She paused. ‘Do you think we should tell the police?'