Death of an Innocent (6 page)

Everything looked so
normal
, Woodend thought – and wondered how that could possibly be, when his own world was crumbling in front of his eyes. He'd given nearly twenty years of his life to the police force. It was almost inconceivable to him that he should have been suspended. Yet unless he was losing his mind, that was exactly what
had
happened. And there might be worse to come. Though he personally didn't take the charge levelled against him seriously, it was always possible that the disciplinary board just might. And then what would happen? The force was his anchor – he knew no other kind of work, nor did he have the desire to learn any. If he lost his job, it would be like losing a major part of himself.

He checked his watch. Monika Paniatowski had promised that she'd be there by half past one at the latest. And now it was nearly a quarter to two. Where the hell was she?

The young couple seemed to have settled their argument, the men in chunky sweaters were still talking loudly about high finance, the pensioner had woken up and the young gambler had finally run out of funds. Woodend resisted the temptation to look at his watch again, and lit another cigarette instead.

It was five minutes to two – almost afternoon closing time – when Monika Paniatowski finally entered the Dirty Duck, brushing snow from her shoulders as she stepped through the door. The sergeant went over to the bar and ordered a vodka from the bottle which the landlord kept especially for her use. Then, instead of going straight over to where her boss was sitting – as he'd expected her to – she glanced around the pub.

She's checkin' to see if there's anybody she knows in here, Woodend thought – anybody she might not want to see her talkin' to me.

And suddenly he felt very alone.

Apparently satisfied that it was safe to do so, Monika walked over to the table and sat down.

‘Sorry I took so long,' she said, ‘but with DI Harris strutting around the basement like the cock of the walk, it was difficult for me to get away from there at all.'

‘What developments have there been in the case, Monika?' Woodend asked anxiously.

‘None. We still haven't found Wilfred Dugdale, and there's no match on our records from any of the fingerprints that DC Battersby lifted from the surfaces at the farmhouse.'

‘No match at all?'

‘That's what I've been told.'

‘Not even the dead man's?'

‘Not even his.'

But both he and Paniatowski had been so
sure
there'd be at least one match, Woodend thought. And they weren't amateurs – they knew when their instincts were on track!

‘What about the yellow Austin A40 that Bennett claims to have seen comin' from the direction of the farmhouse?' Woodend asked.

‘Four A40s have been stopped at the roadblocks. One was being driven by an old vicar on his way to church, another belonged to a mill worker who had his wife and four kids with him. I can't remember the exact details of the other two, but they didn't look very promising, either. Of course, we'll do follow-up investigations on all of them, but I'm not really expecting it to lead anywhere.'

‘Aren't there
any
other leads?'

Paniatowski shook her head. ‘Nobody's been reported missing, and nobody in the immediate neighbourhood – if that's what you want to call a big stretch of open moors – saw anything that could be of the slightest use to us.' She looked deep into Woodend's eyes. ‘Let's forget the investigation for a minute, shall we? How are
you
feeling, sir?'

‘How do you think I'm feelin'? How would you feel if you'd been suspended on some trumped-up excuse?'

‘I'd feel like hell,' Paniatowski admitted.

‘What I don't understand –
really
don't understand – is
why
I've been fitted up.'

‘Mr Ainsworth's not exactly the biggest fan you've got in Whitebridge, you know, sir.'

‘Mr Ainsworth hates my guts with a passion – he has done from the very first moment I walked into the station. But even if he wanted to shaft me good and proper, why do it now?'

‘Maybe he just saw his opportunity and⎯'

‘Look, this murder case is the most important one to break in Whitebridge since the war. Maybe even before that. The pressure will be on the force for a quick result, an' I'm the best person to deliver that result, aren't I?'

‘Undoubtedly.'

‘An' Ainsworth knows that as well as you do. Besides, if the case
isn't
solved, the press will be lookin' for somebody to crucify. Up until a couple of hours ago, that person was me. But by suspendin' me, Ainsworth's put himself straight into the hot seat. An' that's not like him at all. So I say again, Monika, why try to shaft me
now
?'

‘Could it be that he thinks that if you
did
solve the case, your position would be unassailable?' Paniatowski wondered.

‘Now there's a possibility I hadn't considered,' Woodend conceded. He stubbed his cigarette out forcefully in the ashtray. ‘But I'm not the main issue here, anyway. What's really got me worried is that whoever murdered that poor bloody kiddie might just get away with it.'

Paniatowski took a sip of her vodka. ‘There's nothing
you
can do about that now,' she said, with a warning edge to her voice.

‘Isn't there?'

Paniatowski sighed heavily. ‘I really hope you're not thinking what I think you're thinking.'

‘On the one hand you've got you an' me – a good team. An' on the other hand, you've got DI Harris – an idiot. Who do you think is more likely to solve the case?' Woodend asked – trying not to sound desperate, and knowing he wasn't
quite
making it. ‘We can crack this together, Monika.'

‘Or we could give Mr Ainsworth a
real
reason to bury you,' Paniatowski pointed out. ‘And me along with you.'

‘Nobody need ever know.'

‘They'll find out. They always do.'

‘You're probably right, lass,' Woodend agreed. ‘No, I'm
sure
you're right. An' you've worked far too hard – put too much of yourself into the job – to be dragged down with me.' He rose heavily to his feet. ‘Best of luck with the case, lass. I'll see you around.'

He walked over to the door. The argumentative courting couple had left. The boy who'd been gambling fruitlessly on the one-armed bandit had gone, too. And a few new customers – eager to get a last drink before closing time was called – had taken their place. That was how things went.

Times changed. Situations changed. The formidable sergeant who he'd lived in terror of when he'd first joined the force was probably now nothing more than a doddering old man who didn't even scare the little kids rampaging over his allotment. So why should he ever have imagined that he was any different? Why shouldn't he accept that his time had come, just as it came for everybody?

‘Because I can still do the job!' he told himself angrily, as he stepped out on to the street.

He was
not
fooling himself –
not
overlooking weaknesses and failings which had sneaked up on him unawares. He was still the best senior detective in Central Lancashire, and if anybody could get to the bottom of the murders at Dugdale's Farm, it was him.

He turned the corner on to the Boulevard. The bus queues were longer than usual, not – he suspected – because more people were travelling on this particular Sunday, but because with the snow, the buses were finding it impossible to keep to their schedule.

Where the bloody hell was Dugdale? he asked himself.

Had an old farmer, who'd known the moors like the back of his hand for most of his life, really thought that he could cross them under these conditions? It didn't seem at all likely.

He heard a click-click of hurrying high-heeled shoes behind him, and wondered why – when there were no buses leaving the station at that moment – the woman should be in such a rush to get there.

‘Sir!' said a voice.

He stopped, and turned round. ‘Did I forget somethin' in the pub, Monika?' he asked.

‘No,
I
forgot something,' Paniatowski told him. ‘I forgot how much I owe you. And I forgot why I joined the force in the first place. You're right about DI Harris. And you're right about us! You're needed on this case, and if the only information you get is the second-hand stuff that I can feed you, well, I suppose that's better than nothing.'

Woodend had not expected that if his persuasion worked, he would feel guilty – but he did.

‘You're takin' a big chance,' he warned his sergeant.

‘As long as we're careful, it won't be
that
big a chance,' Paniatowski replied, unconvincingly.

‘So how do we handle it?'

Monika Paniatowski glanced nervously around her, as if she suspected informers lurking behind every lamppost.

‘Don't phone me – ever,' she said. ‘Not even at home.'

‘Then how will we⎯?'

‘We'll arrange in advance where we're to meet. And it had better not be a place anywhere near as public as the Boulevard.'

Woodend nodded. ‘So where will our next meetin' be?'

Paniatowski thought for a moment. ‘You know that building site – the one on the way out to Dugdale's Farm?'

‘The new estate Taylor's are buildin'?'

‘That's right. Be there at noon tomorrow.'

‘You want to leave it that long?' Woodend asked disappointedly.

‘Of course I don't. I'd like you to be with me every inch of the way. But we've got to be practical. I want your help, but I can't be consulting you every five minutes. As little as we may like it, we've got to keep some distance between you and the investigation.'

Yes, Woodend thought gloomily. Yes, he supposed they had.

I
nvestigations had moods, just like people did. They could be up on top of the world, buoyed by the feeling that even if things hadn't quite gone right yet, they would soon start to. Or they could be down – wallowing in a swamp of lethargy – going through the motions, but with very little expectation that it would ever lead anywhere. As DS Monika Paniatowski entered the basement the next morning, after snatching a few hours' sleep, she immediately sensed that the mood of
this
investigation was far closer to down than it was to up.

She stopped and looked around her. The phones were being manned, statements were being re-checked, just as they should have been. Yet already, just over twenty-four hours after the bodies had been discovered, the atmosphere was thick with failure.

Charlie Woodend would never have allowed this, she thought. Charlie Woodend, unlike DI Harris, understood that getting control into his own hands wasn't important – that it was only how he
used
that control which mattered.

She was walking over to her desk when a voice said, ‘DS Monika Paniatowski, is it?'

She stopped and turned. The man who'd addressed her was around forty-five, she guessed. He had a bullet-shaped head, and quick, darting eyes. Between his large nose and thin-lipped mouth, he had a well-clipped moustache. Even in a crowd, Monika would have picked him out as some kind of hatchet man.

‘Yes, I'm Paniatowski,' she said.

The man held out his hand to her. ‘DCI Evans. I've been seconded from Preston.'

So Ainsworth had come to his senses, Paniatowski thought. After wasting the first day of the investigation, he had realized that Harris couldn't cope, and had brought in somebody from outside. She could only hope that Evans would move quickly to undo the damage which had already been done.

‘Have you officially taken charge yet, sir?' she asked.

‘Taken charge?' Evans repeated, mystified.

‘Of the case?'

‘I'm afraid you're labouring under some misapprehension, Sergeant. I'm not here to assist with your murder investigation.'

‘You're not?'

‘No. My brief is to investigate the charges which have been brought against DCI Woodend.'

This was bloody unbelievable, Paniatowski thought. It was bad enough that they were trying to shaft Cloggin'-it Charlie at all – it was insane that they should have chosen to do it at this crucial stage in the investigation.

‘I don't really see how I can assist you, sir,' she said.

‘Don't you?' Evans asked. ‘Well, from your perspective, you probably don't. But it's my perspective which matters here, and
I
think we need to have a serious talk.'

Phones were ringing all around them. Fresh information was being chalked up on the blackboard.

‘I can probably squeeze a few minutes for you round about lunchtime,' Paniatowski said.

‘You'll give me as much time as I need,' Evans said coldly. ‘And you'll give it to me now!'

‘But, sir⎯' Paniatowski protested.

‘It's not a request,' Evans told her. ‘It's an order. Is there a room we could use where we might have a bit more privacy?'

‘There's probably an office free upstairs.'

‘Then take me to it.'

Paniatowski led Evans up the basement stairs to the ground floor. The second office she tried was free. Evans walked round the desk, sat down behind it as if it were his own, and signalled the sergeant to take one of the visitors' chairs.

‘A suspension is a very serious matter,' he said heavily. ‘As Mr Woodend's sergeant, I would expect your natural inclination to be one of loyalty, but I must ask you to clear such tendencies from your mind, and do all you can to help me to establish the facts.'

‘The reporter from the BBC was completely in the wrong,' Paniatowski said. ‘You know yourself that the facts we choose to hold back from the general public can be as important as the ones we reveal, especially in the early stages of an investigation, and besides⎯'