Death Watch (6 page)

Woodend tut-tutted softly. ‘She didn't go out on the moors lookin' for sex, now did she, Cedric? She went to look for a missing dog – a collie called Prince, if I remember rightly. And even if she had agreed to let you do what you did to her – and there's not that many women around who will agree to have their backsides penetrated – she was still underage.' He paused. ‘But that's by the by. Your probation officer says you're clean, an' I for one am prepared to believe—'

‘Probation officers!' Paniatowski snorted.

‘Is there some point you'd care to make at this juncture, Sergeant?' Woodend asked.

‘Only that probation officers know bugger all, and if you want the living proof of that, you've only got to look at the pathetic specimen we're talking to now. He's a natural rapist if I ever saw one, forever trying to compensate for the fact that he's got a very tiny prick, and always having to
force
girls into having sex with him because they'd certainly never go with him voluntarily.'

‘Here, you can't go saying things like that,' Thornton protested.

‘I just did,' Paniatowski told him.

‘A lady shouldn't be using them sorts of words,' Thornton muttered, almost to himself.

Woodend shook his head regretfully. ‘Ah, but that's the problem, you see – Sergeant Paniatowski's a lady only in the biological sense.'

‘We're wasting our time,' Paniatowski told Woodend. ‘Let's charge the bastard with Angela Jackson's kidnapping and have done with it.'

‘Is that what this is about?' Thornton asked. ‘The girl who went missing from the park?'

‘Look at how he's trying to come over all innocent now,' Paniatowski sneered.

‘I am innocent!' Thornton said. ‘I've got an alibi for the whole of the afternoon.'

‘I doubt even
I've
got an alibi for the
whole
of the afternoon,' Paniatowski said sceptically.

‘It's true,' Thornton told her. ‘I was up at the VD clinic.'

‘
All
afternoon?'

‘They know all about me up there, and they don't like me – so they make me wait for my treatment.'

‘And this alibi will check out, will it?' Woodend asked. ‘Because I swear to you that if I find out you've been wastin' my time …'

‘It'll check out,' Thornton promised.

‘I think we should charge the bastard anyway,' Paniatowski said. ‘It'll get the newspapers off our backs, and we can always trump up some other charge to hold him on once we arrest the real kidnapper.'

‘You can't do that,' Thornton said, almost sobbing now.

‘Can't we?' Paniatowski wondered. ‘Do you really think the people at the VD clinic will confirm your alibi …'

‘Yes, they're forced to.'

‘… if we ask them not to?'

‘I can see the appeal of what you're proposin', Sergeant,' Woodend admitted, ‘but in the interests of fairness, I really do think we should give Cedric another chance.' He turned his gaze full on to Thornton. ‘Don't
you
think we should give you another chance, Cedric?'

‘I'd appreciate it, sir,' the sweating man moaned. ‘I really would.'

‘But if we're goin' to be nice to you, you'll have to do somethin' for us in return,' Woodend pointed out.

‘What?' Thornton asked.

‘See what you can find out for us, you scumbag,' Paniatowski said. ‘Have a quiet word with your slimy little mates, and see if they know what's happened to the girl. If you can bring us something useful, it might – and I'll say no more than “might” – get you off the hook.'

‘I … I don't have any mates,' Thornton stuttered, ‘but I'll … I'll see what I can find out.'

‘You do that,' Woodend said.

‘So … so can I go?'

‘You can go,' Woodend agreed. ‘But remember, if your alibi doesn't hold up, we'll have you back in here quicker than you can
say
“venereal disease”. And once we've got our hands on you again, havin' the clap will be the least of your worries.' He turned to the uniformed constable standing in the doorway. ‘Show Mr Thornton off the premises, will you, officer?'

The constable opened the door, and Thornton rose to his feet warily – as if he believed this to be some kind of elaborate trap which was just about to be sprung on him.

‘Don't act like you've got all the time in the world!' Paniatowski said harshly. ‘Piss off as quick as you can – before we change our minds.'

Thornton crossed the room in a scuttle, which, by the time he reached the corridor, had almost turned into a run.

‘He didn't do it,' Woodend said to Paniatowski, once the door was closed. ‘Even if his alibi doesn't check out at all, he's simply not organized enough to have arranged the abduction.'

Paniatowski sighed. ‘You're right, of course, sir,' she said. ‘Do you think my playing the complete bitch will give him the incentive to try and find out who the kidnapper really is?'

‘Yes, it probably will,' Woodend said. ‘You certainly scared him enough to make him do anythin' he possibly can to avoid havin' to go through the experience again. Still an' all, however hard he tries, I don't hold out much hope of him getting us a result.'

‘No?'

‘No! You heard what he said to us. He can't get us a lead through one of his friends, because he doesn't
have
any friends. An' none of the other perverts I've ever met have had any friends either. They're solitary, lonely creatures, though whether being lonely turns them into perverts or whether it's the other way round, I've absolutely no idea. But whatever the case, I doubt that our kidnapper's goin' to go out drinkin' with a few of his like-minded mates an' brag to them about what he's done, as a burglar or a car thief might do in his place. No, Monika, he's goin' to keep it entirely to himself.'

Paniatowski sighed again, and lit up another cigarette. ‘Shall we see the next one, then?' she suggested.

‘Aye,' Woodend said heavily. ‘We might as well.'

Rutter stood on the terrace of the cafe in the corporation park. The potential witnesses who'd been rounded up earlier had all had their statements taken and been sent home more than an hour earlier. Now the only people in evidence were the uniformed constables who were searching the ground in front of them, inch by careful inch, under the harsh glare of portable floodlights.

‘I should be at home,' Rutter told himself. ‘I should be with my little baby, reassuring her that she'll soon stop missing her
abuela
and that she's really going to like it here.'

But Monika Paniatowski was right – Woodend would be watching him carefully, and he could not be seen to fall at the very first fence.

He supposed he didn't have to put up with any of this if he didn't choose to. He could always resign from the force and take a job which allowed him to work more regular hours. But what kind of job? He was a trained detective, and he was good at it. And he couldn't think of anywhere else that his particular skills would be of value. Besides, he
was
his work – and his work was
him
. He had no idea what kind of man he would become if he left the police – or whether that kind of man could be a good father to Louisa.

You're rationalizing, you selfish bastard! he thought angrily. You're trying to cover up the fact that you want to have it all ways – the perfect life in the perfect world. But as Charlie Woodend pointed out, it doesn't work like that.

Though he hadn't seen the uniformed sergeant approaching, he suddenly noticed that the man was standing beside him, and clearly had something he wanted to say.

‘Yes?' the inspector asked automatically.

‘The lads aren't happy about continuin' the search under these conditions, sir,' the sergeant told him.

‘What?' replied Rutter, who was still half trapped in the world of his own dark thoughts.

‘They're not happy about carryin' on the search, sir. The floodlights mean that it's bright as day in some places, but there are a lot of shadowed areas as well, an' they're afraid they might overlook somethin' important.'

The sergeant had a point, Rutter thought. It would be futile – and possibly even dangerous to the investigation – to continue the search any longer.

‘Call the men off,' he said. ‘But make it clear to them that, at first light, I want exactly the same officers back at the exactly the same spots where they ended the search tonight.'

‘Understood, sir,' the sergeant said.

‘And that's not all,' Rutter told him. ‘I want all the park gates securely locked. And we'll need at least six men on permanent park-perimeter patrol all through the night.' He paused. ‘There shouldn't be any problem in arranging that, should there, Sergeant?'

The other man shook his head. ‘None at all, sir. The lads will appreciate the chance to earn a bit of overtime. Besides …'

‘Yes?'

‘We all really want to catch this perverted bastard, sir – and we'll do what's necessary.'

‘I know you will,' Rutter said. ‘We'll all do what's necessary – at whatever the personal cost.'

It would have been wonderful to find a clue in the park right away, Rutter thought, a clear pointer to the guilty man. But investigations were rarely as easy as that. Most of the time it was a case of picking up a splinter of information here and a splinter of information there, and praying that they all eventually fused together to form a solid plank of a case.

He lit up a cigarette – and wondered how Woodend and Monika were getting on.

Peter Mainwearing was around the same age as Cedric Thornton, but there any resemblance between the two men ended. Mainwearing's hair was blond, clean, and neatly cut. His teeth were regular and cared for. His blue overalls, though marked with old oil stains, had obviously been well washed and neatly pressed before he'd put them on that morning.

But it was his attitude, more than anything else, which distinguished him from Cedric Thornton and the rest of the stream of deviants who had trickled their slimy way through the interview room that afternoon. Mainwearing had none of the stink of fear that the others carried with them. Nor did he seemed weighed down by resentment and a sense of grievance, as several of them had been.

Instead, he looked Woodend squarely in the eyes, and said, ‘You're only doing your job by pulling me in, Chief Inspector. I want you to know that I understand that.'

‘Do you?' Woodend asked sceptically. ‘Do you really?'

‘I don't blame you for being suspicious of everything I do and everything I say,' Mainwearing told him. ‘Sexual offenders are a very cunning and very manipulative breed. And nobody knows that better than me – because I've been one myself.'

‘
Have
been,' Woodend mused. ‘Are you tryin' to tell me you're not one now?'

Mainwearing smiled weakly. ‘If I was telling you that, then I was wrong to,' he admitted. ‘An alcoholic never stops being an alcoholic, he just stops being a drunk. And a sex offender never stops being a sex offender – he just accepts that having been a victim himself is no excuse for making victims of others.'

‘I was wonderin' just how long it would be before you started claiming to be a victim yourself,' Woodend said.

‘But I
am
a victim,' Mainwearing said calmly. ‘And you don't just have to take my word for it. It's all documented in my criminal record, which I'm sure you've already pulled from the files.'

‘You might be right about that,' Woodend conceded. ‘But why don't you tell me why
you
think you're a victim?'

‘I was sexually abused as a child,' Mainwearing told him. ‘From the age of six! By my own father! Dear old Dad!' He sniffed, and a single tear began to run down his cheek. He brushed it angrily away with the back of his hand. ‘I'm sorry,' he said. ‘I should have more control than that.'

Woodend risked a surreptitious glance at Paniatowski. By now she should have waded into the interrogation, playing the role of the bad bobby to Woodend's more reasonable one. It was a part she had already played successfully several times that afternoon. But instead of showing her claws, she was just sitting there – pale as a stone statue, as wooden as a church pew carving.

The chief inspector cursed himself for his own stupidity. Paniatowski, as he was only too well aware, had herself been abused as child – though by her step-father, rather than her natural one. The damage the experience had done to her was not noticeable most of the time, but there were occasions – and this was obviously one of them – when, despite her best efforts, that damage rose to the surface.

‘An' I should have seen it comin',' Woodend told himself. ‘I should have bloody well seen it comin'.'

‘Are you all right, Sergeant?' Mainwearing asked – and he sounded genuinely concerned.

‘Don't worry about her,' Woodend said roughly. ‘You've got enough problems on your own plate at the moment, not the least of which is convincin' me that you're on the wagon as far as little boys are concerned.'

‘I had counselling in prison, and I've had counselling since I came out,' Mainwearing said. ‘It's been a struggle, but I've got it under control. If I ever thought I
couldn't
control it, I'd submit myself for voluntary castration.'

Woodend winced at even the mention of castration, then said, ‘Do you have an alibi for this afternoon?'

‘Yes, I do.'

‘Let's hear it, then.'

‘I was an accountant before I went into prison, but while I was serving my sentence I trained as a motor mechanic, and after I was released I decided I'd rather tinker with engines than with figures.'