Death of an Innocent (29 page)

‘Will you be taking over the questioning now, sir?' DI Harris asked, with a trace of relief in his voice.

‘No,' Woodend told him. ‘Officially, I'm still under suspension. But the Chief Constable has asked me if I wouldn't mind monitorin' the progress of the investigation.'

‘So even
he's
abandoned me, has he?' Ainsworth asked.

‘Did you expect anythin' else?' Woodend wondered.

‘No, I suppose not.'

Nor should he have. Ainsworth might have been high on the Chief Constable's crony list for a long time, but unlike Monika Paniatowski, Henry Marlowe was one rat who
did
know when it was time to desert a sinking ship.

‘
I'm sorry about what Ainsworth's put you through, Charlie
,' the Chief Constable had said to Woodend, not half an hour earlier. ‘
He seems to have duped us both, doesn't he?
'

And come the next morning, the story would have drifted even further from the truth. By then, Marlowe would be letting it be known that he had suspected Dick Ainsworth all along, and had only cut Woodend loose to enable him to conduct the kind of investigation that could not go through the official channels.

The Chief Inspector picked up a spare chair, took it over to the corner of the room, and straddled it. ‘Carry on as if I'm not here.'

Harris nodded a reluctant acknowledgement. ‘You were telling us that you were only peripheral to this case, Mr Ainsworth,' he said.

‘The whole thing was Taylor and Swales' idea from the start,' the DCC said, in a dull, flat voice.

‘What whole thing?'

‘The Pleasure Palace.'

‘That's what they called Dugdale's Farm?'

‘Yes.'

‘And why did they call it that?'

‘You know why.'

‘Tell us anyway. We need it on the record,' Paniatowski said, taking over the questioning.

Ainsworth sighed. ‘The Pleasure Palace was where middle-aged men went to meet young women.'

‘In other words, it was a brothel?'

‘If you must put such a crude, unimaginative label on it – if your self-righteousness really feels the need – then, yes, I suppose that you could call it a brothel.'

There was not just one Ainsworth in the room, Woodend told himself. There were a number of different Ainsworths, who were constantly coming and going. And the changes – this slipping out of one character and into another – were reflected in the man's face. His eyes were filled with defiance one moment, and a dull acceptance of his fate the next. His mouth continually altered its shape, as if he were unable to decide whether he was playing a part in a tragedy – or only in a black comedy. His whole demeanour shifted between the extremes of a child begging for acceptance, and a superior being who did no more than tolerate these lesser mortals as they went about their pathetic business.

It was nothing Woodend hadn't seen before. Rich man or poor man, genius or idiot, they all came to resemble each other once they were sitting in that particular chair, he thought.

‘Did this brothel operate every night?' Paniatowski asked.

‘No,' Ainsworth replied. ‘It was mainly a weekend thing – though it always did good business on bank holidays as well.'

‘And why did Taylor and Swales choose to locate this brothel of theirs in a moorland farmhouse?'

‘Isn't that obvious?'

‘Tell me anyway.'

‘Because there was no danger of prying eyes in a place that's so isolated. And because Dugdale had done time in Strangeways with Swales, so Swales and Taylor knew they could trust him.'

‘What went on at this Pleasure Palace?'

‘You want me to spell it out for you?'

‘If you wouldn't mind.'

‘
Everything
went on, Sergeant. Whatever your taste, Swales would find a way to cater for it.'

‘And did they charge for this service?'

‘Oh yes. We'd all have been suspicious about the place if they hadn't. But the charges were more than reasonable – because it wasn't really money they were interested in.'

‘So what
were
they after?'

‘Influence, of course. But they played it cleverly. And they were very patient. None of us guessed what was really going on for the first couple of years the Pleasure Palace was running, but once they'd got enough important people snared up in their web, they . . . they . . .'

‘They started to blackmail their customers?'

‘It was rarely as crude as that.'

‘Rarely?'

‘It happened – but not often. It wasn't necessary. Say, for example, that you were a member of the council planning committee, and you were considering Terry Taylor's tender for a contract – you'd have been a fool not to give him your support, wouldn't you?'

‘And if he wanted information about the other bids before he put his own in?'

‘Someone would give it to him.'

‘What about your own role in all this?'

‘Until the day of the murders, all I ever did was turn a blind eye.'

‘And make certain that the rest of the Central Lancs force was turning a blind eye, as well?'

‘Yes, that too,' Ainsworth agreed. ‘If I didn't protect them, why should they bother to protect me?' He experienced another shift of mood, and looked Monika Paniatowski pleadingly in the eyes. ‘You have to understand that I'm as much a victim as anyone else.'

‘Did DC Battersby go to the Pleasure Palace?' the sergeant asked, completely unmoved.

Ainsworth snorted. ‘Of course not! Battersby was a mere police constable – far too insignificant socially ever to have been invited. Terry Taylor had another hold over him – his gambling debts.'

‘And Dr Pierson?'

‘Yes, he was a member of what we liked to think of as the club.'

‘What was
his
weakness?'

‘Does it really matter?'

‘Just for the record.'

‘He likes boys. Very young boys.'

‘So when Taylor asked him to falsify his post-mortem findings – to say that Enid Judd was a virgin, which she clearly wasn't – he agreed to do it.'

‘What choice did he have?' Ainsworth asked. ‘You have to understand that the killings were a complete accident. Nobody
wanted
them to happen. Not even Phil Swales.'

‘Let's move on to the events leading up to the morning of the murders, shall we?' Paniatowski suggested. ‘Was there a big party the night before?'

‘No. Sometimes Swales would bring up half a dozen girls, but that night there was only Lola.'

‘Lola?'

‘That's what the girl – Enid – called herself.'

‘So who else was there – apart from Dugdale, Swales and the girl?'

‘A few of Whitebridge's more prominent citizens.'

‘What were the names?'

Ainsworth shook his head. ‘I'll tell you everything else you want to know, but I won't tell you that.'

‘But since you obviously do know who they were, presumably you were there yourself?'

‘Yes, I . . . I was there.'

‘What time did the party break up?'

‘It was around midnight when most of the guests left.'

‘But Swales and the girl stayed on?'

Ainsworth nodded. ‘He had some business to do with Taylor the following morning. Teddy had said he'd pick Swales up from the farm, because the Merc was in dock until Monday. Swales could have had someone else drive out and pick up the girl, but I suppose he wanted her to share his bed.'

‘Did
you
sleep with Enid?' Woodend asked – knowing that as a monitor he should say nothing, yet being unable to restrain himself.

‘Yes,' Ainsworth admitted.

‘She was only fifteen, for God's sake!'

‘You have to try and understand what the Pleasure Palace was like,' Ainsworth told him. ‘It . . . it was a different world, where the normal rules just didn't apply. When we were there, it felt as if we could do anything we wanted to, and nobody would really get hurt.' He looked down at his hands. ‘And though we all knew that every time we went there we were putting ourselves more and more in Taylor's power, we still couldn't stop going. I think we must have been addicted to the place.'

‘You make me puke!' Woodend said angrily.

Paniatowski shot him a warning look. ‘What happened on Sunday morning?' she asked Ainsworth.

‘I wasn't there at the beginning, so I can only tell you what they told me later.'

‘Understood.'

‘They heard the car drive up, and then they saw Judd through the living-room window. His turning up like that came as a complete surprise to Swales – he thought the man was still in jail.'

‘And he panicked?'

Ainsworth shook his head again. ‘Swales is not the kind of man to panic. At first he thought that Judd could be bought off with a few pounds – and when it became obvious that that wasn't going to work, he thought he could be
frightened
off.'

‘What made him change his mind?'

‘Judd did. He was screaming at the top of his voice about how much he loved his daughter, and how he was going to expose the whole operation. He said there was a reporter on his way to the farm at that very moment.'

‘And that's when Swales decided to kill him?'

‘Yes.'

‘And his daughter, too?'

‘She'd just seen him murder her father. He couldn't very well let her live after that, could he?'

‘He shot them in the face to disguise their identity?'

‘Yes. He thought he'd have a much better chance of covering his tracks that way.'

‘And then he rang you?'

‘No. He rang Taylor.'

‘And
Taylor
rang you?'

‘Yes.'

‘Which is how you came to be the first policeman to arrive at the scene of the crime?'

‘Correct. I knew I ran the risk of drawing attention to myself, but I wanted to make sure they hadn't left any obvious evidence around.'

‘Like tyre tracks?'

‘Exactly. DCI Woodend was right about – there were tracks in the snow that the A40 had left. I drove over them.'

‘Swales and Dugdale had gone by the time you arrived?'

‘Yes.'

‘So what happened next?'

‘This is hearsay again.'

‘Noted.'

‘The A40 wasn't in very good condition, and it broke down about a mile from Moorland Village. While he was trying to get it started again, Swales turned on the car radio. He thought it might help to distract Dugdale. That's when they heard the BBC already broadcasting details of the murders.'

‘And
that
made them panic?'

‘It certainly made
Dugdale
panic. The report didn't actually say that he was the main suspect, but it certainly suggested it. He told Swales that he wanted to turn back and give himself up. He said he didn't see why he should take the blame for the murders, when it was Swales who'd actually committed them.'

‘So Swales killed him, too?'

‘That's right. He broke his neck.'

‘Let's get back to your part in all this,' Paniatowski said. ‘Did you go straight from Dugdale's Farm to Moorland Village?'

‘Yes. Taylor and Swales were already there by then, of course.'

‘And Dugdale?'

‘And Dugdale's body . . . yes. Swales had already put it in the boot of the Austin. He was going to drive off and dump it somewhere.'

‘So why didn't he?'

‘I advised against it. I knew that by then DCI Woodend would be setting up roadblocks. Even if the Austin wasn't actually searched, there was still the danger that some bright young bobby might take note of its number, and since the car belonged to Judd, it would have pointed the investigation in his direction.'

‘Which was the last thing you wanted?'

Ainsworth nodded, and turned towards Woodend.

‘I don't like you, Charlie,' he said. ‘I never have. But you're a bloody good bobby. I knew if you made the connection with Judd, you'd piece the rest of it together. I wanted to do all I could to stop that happening – and, just to make double sure, I jumped on the first opportunity I had to throw you off the case.'

Harris coughed awkwardly. ‘And put me in charge of it instead,' he said, speaking his first words in what seemed like a very long time.

‘And put you in charge of it instead,' Ainsworth agreed. ‘Let's face it, Harris, you're not exactly Sherlock Holmes, now are you?'

‘You're a real bastard!' Harris said.

‘You see what I mean?' Ainsworth asked Paniatowski. ‘Harris has been working for me for ten years, and only now has he uncovered that basic fact about me.'

‘Whose idea was it to fit Mr Woodend up on the bribery charges?' Paniatowski asked.

‘It was Taylor's. I didn't even know about it until the whole thing was a
fait accompli
.'

‘Taylor told me it was your idea,' Woodend said.

‘He was lying.'

‘But whoever's idea it was, you exploited it to the full, didn't you?' Paniatowski said.

‘What else could I have done?' Ainsworth asked, almost back to pleading again. ‘It was Chief Inspector Evans who actually “uncovered” the “evidence” Taylor had planted. What was I supposed to do when he presented it to me? Tell him I knew it had been faked? How could I have, without admitting I knew who'd done it – and
why
it had been done?' He turned to Woodend again. ‘However much I may have disliked you personally, I would never have fitted one of my own people up. I still have a little self-respect and professional pride left.'

‘Self-respect!' Woodend repeated incredulously. ‘You sleep with a girl who's little more than a kid, you keep the lid on the biggest corruption scandal this town has
ever
known, and you cover up a triple murder. And you can still talk about
self-respect
?'