Death's Dark Shadow--A novel of murder in 1970's Yorkshire (24 page)

‘It may have been Tuesday that I saw her,' Higgins admitted.

‘It may have been Tuesday,' Beresford repeated in disgust. ‘And what about the bloody hat?'

‘The hat?'

‘The hat that, according to the man who sold it to her, was nearly as big as a bloody Stetson! Why didn't you think to mention that?'

‘You asked me what she was wearing,' the porter said, sounding as if he felt he was being unfairly persecuted.

‘Yes, I most certainly did,' Beresford agreed.

‘Well, there you are then – she wasn't wearing the hat, she was carrying it in her hand.'

Once Paco had gone to bed, Woodend closed his eyes, and thought about what would probably be happening at that moment back in Whitebridge.

The team would already have gathered around their usual table in the Drum and Monkey, and perhaps by now they would have finished briefing each other on what they had discovered during the day, and begun hammering out theories that fitted with the facts.

He found himself wishing he could be there in the Drum himself – just for half an hour.

Not at the corner table, of course. That table was Monika's now. She had earned the right to preside over it.

No, he wished that he could be a fly on the wall, proudly watching his protégée at work.

Eyes open again, he looked into the warm glow of the fire and turned his mind to what might happen the next day, when they finally reached Arco de Cañas.

‘You will take care, Charlie, won't you?' Joan had asked, before he and Paco had left Calpe.

And he had replied, ‘Of course we'll take care – not that there's likely to be anything we'll need to take care about.'

He'd meant the words when he'd said them, but now, up there in the mountains – up there in a world so different from his cosy seaside existence that he might almost be on another planet – he was not quite so confident.

The Civil War was far from dead and buried – the recent events in Whitebridge proved that – so there might well be trouble waiting for them in Arco de Cañas, and a wise man, it seemed to him, would turn back now.

‘But then you've never been particularly wise, have you, Charlie?' he asked himself.

‘The most important thing we seem to have learned about Elena is that she didn't arrive on Wednesday, as we previously thought, but on Tuesday,' Paniatowski told the team, across the corner table in the Drum and Monkey.

‘And we know that for a fact, not just because Doña Rosa said it, but because it's been confirmed by the Manchester police,' Beresford added.

‘So the really interesting question is why she didn't go straight to Martinez's house,' Paniatowski continued. ‘We know she hadn't got a change of clothes with her. We know she hadn't got any money. And we know she'd come all this way to see her husband and son. So why didn't she go to the bloody house?'

‘Maybe she did,' Jack Crane suggested. ‘Maybe she went to the house, but not into it.'

‘What makes you say that?' Paniatowski wondered.

‘The hat she bought from the man in the second-hand clothing shop,' Crane replied. ‘We all agree she wanted that as a disguise, don't we?'

‘Yes, we do,' Paniatowski said.

‘But the question is why she should think she'd need a disguise at all,' Crane continued. ‘And I think the reason was that she didn't want her husband to know she'd arrived here until the time was right.'

‘And when would the time be right?'

‘When Robert Martinez returned from London.'

‘Go on.'

‘Elena knew that the only reason the soldiers had been able to identify Javier as a captain in the militia was because of what she'd said to the lieutenant. She'd never meant to give her husband away – but that's exactly what she did do.'

‘True,' Paniatowski said.

‘Now, we know that Javier had forgiven her for it long ago. He told you himself, didn't he, boss?'

‘He did.'

‘But Elena didn't know that. And I think what she wanted was for their son to mediate between them. So she was watching the house on Tuesday, waiting for Robert to turn up, and when he didn't, she went to the bench outside the bus station, which is where Doña Rosa met her and took her home.'

‘And what happens the next day?'

‘What happens the next day is a direct result of what happens that night,' Crane said. ‘The killer has been watching her. Her disguise doesn't fool him, because he's followed her all the way from Spain, and he's watched her acquire it in Hope's Fashions. And when he sees Doña Rosa take her home, that panics him, because he's no idea what the two women might say to one another.'

‘Elena never mentioned either her son or her husband to Doña Rosa,' Paniatowski pointed out.

‘But the killer doesn't know that – he can't know that. He decides it's just too dangerous to leave her walking around, and the next morning, he lures her somewhere quiet, and kills her.'

‘And dumps her body in the canal, because he doesn't want Javier to know she's been murdered?' Paniatowski asked.

‘Exactly. And it's no surprise he chooses the canal. He's had all night to scout around for somewhere to hide the body, and he's decided that's his best bet.'

‘Your theory is based on the fact that the killer is after the gold, is it?' Beresford asked.

‘Yes,' Crane replied.

‘So why, once he's seen Elena go off with Doña Rosa, doesn't he do, that night what he eventually did several nights later – which is to break into the house and torture Javier Martinez?'

‘He has to nerve himself up for that. Javier Martinez is still a relatively fit man, and the killer knows it won't be as easy to deal with him as it will be to deal with Elena.'

‘And he continues to nerve himself up for another four days?' Beresford asked sceptically.

‘Yes – and it might have taken him even longer than that if circumstances hadn't changed. But they did change, and once Javier had identified Elena's body, the killer knew he had no choice but to act quickly, so he went to the house that same night.'

‘Have I got this wrong, or do we seem to have completely abandoned the theory that there could have been two distinct killers?' Meadows asked, somewhat waspishly.

‘No, we haven't abandoned it,' Paniatowski said. ‘We're still pursuing the two lines of investigation, because we daren't ignore either of them.'

‘Although the single killer proposition is looking stronger and stronger all the time,' Beresford said.

‘Maybe it is,' Meadows conceded. ‘But after what I've found out today, the opposite proposition is looking rather stronger, too. There seems to have been any number of people in Whitebridge who had a grudge against Javier Martinez, and would have liked to have seen him dead.'

‘Do you agree with that, Jack?' Paniatowski asked Crane.

Crane shifted awkwardly in his chair.

‘I agree with the sergeant that any number of people might have been glad to see him dead – but I'm not sure we've come across anybody yet who hated him enough to actually kill him,' he said cautiously.

Meadows gave him a look which said, ‘Thank you so much for your support, Jack.'

Then she turned her attention back on Paniatowski. ‘Martinez's account books just don't smell right to me,' she said. ‘I'd like to have them put through a forensic audit.'

‘All right. I'll see what I can do about getting you the funding,' Paniatowski said.

‘I don't need funding,' Meadows told her. ‘I've found an accountant who's willing to do it for free.'

Paniatowski frowned. ‘That's unusual,' she said.

‘Yes, it is,' Meadows admitted. ‘But he owes me a favour.'

And knowing Meadows, Paniatowski thought, it was probably wise not to inquire too closely about the nature of the favour she'd done him.

‘And is this accountant of yours Lancashire Constabulary Approved, Kate?' she asked.

‘Yes, he is,' Meadows said confidently – and her eyes flashed a warning to Jack Crane that if he knew what was good for him, he'd keep his mouth very firmly shut.

‘In that case, go ahead,' Paniatowski said. ‘Right, that's it for tonight. Tomorrow morning, I want your lads out on the streets again, Colin. But this time, they'll be showing round a sketch of Elena wearing the kind of hat she got in Manchester, and maybe with that we'll have better luck pinning down her movements than we've had so far.'

‘Got it,' Beresford said.

‘Kate will be busy with her forensic accountant,' Paniatowski continued, ‘and you, Jack … you can come to Elena's funeral.'

‘OK, boss,' Crane said, without much enthusiasm.

‘Wrong attitude, Jack,' Paniatowski said, a little sharply. ‘You can learn a lot from funerals, especially if you can spot people who have no reason to be there. And for a job like that, two pairs of eyes are always better than one.'

‘Right, boss,' Crane said again, more positively this time.

And there was another advantage to having Crane at the funeral, Paniatowski thought. His presence would serve to prevent her – or Robert Martinez, or both of them – from doing anything foolish.

I
t was eight-fifteen on a cold and frosty morning, and Meadows was standing outside the office at the small private aerodrome close to Manchester, looking up at the grey winter sky.

In her right hand, she was holding a bulky suitcase which contained all the financial ledgers relating to Sunshine Holidays.

In her left, she held a zipped bag containing a backless leather corset, a set of handcuffs, a mask, a wig and a collection of small whips – which was really all she needed to shuck off the identity of Detective Sergeant Kate Meadows and assume the role of Zelda, Daughter of the Night.

She could still not see the Cessna approaching, but she could hear its twin engines, buzzing away in the distance, like angry mosquitoes.

Jonathan Sowerby would be piloting the plane himself, she thought – because Jonathan Sowerby always liked to be in charge.

The Cessna emerged from behind the clouds, and as it came in to land, she thought about the last time that she and Sowerby had met, and the phone calls that he – but not she – had made following that meeting.

The plane landed perfectly, and taxied over to the hangar. And a few moments later, Sowerby was walking across the tarmac towards her.

He was a tall man, with a confident stride which hinted at a privileged background – and given that Sowerby had attended Eton College, studied at Cambridge and served as an officer in the Guards, the stride did not lie.

He drew level with her, and came to a halt.

They did not kiss, because kissing had never played any part in their relationship.

They did not hug, because when they did get to the stage of making physical contact, there was nothing warm or friendly about it.

And so they stood there for a few seconds, each carefully – and almost clinically – examining the other.

‘You're looking wonderful, Katherine,' Sowerby pronounced finally, with an easy drawl.

‘It's Kate now,' Meadows said firmly. ‘And you're not looking too bad yourself, Jonathan.'

‘When was the last time we saw each other?' Sowerby asked. ‘Was it in Martinique?'

Oh God, yes, it was in wonderful Martinique, all right
, Meadows agreed silently.

But aloud, all she said was, ‘Yes, thinking about it, I believe it might have been there.'

‘And what a good old time we had together, didn't we?'

‘It was good,' Meadows agreed, because if she'd denied it, she'd have been lying – and Sowerby would have known she'd been lying, which would have put her at a definite disadvantage.

‘And yet, when I called you up to arrange a rematch, you didn't seem interested,' Sowerby said, sounding both a little hurt and a little mystified. ‘Why was that?'

Because it was too good a time
, Meadows thought –
because I was in danger of losing my independence.

She shrugged. ‘I suppose it was because we'd done what we wanted to do, and I'd moved on,' she said. ‘That's what I do.'

‘Are you really as unemotional about sex as you seem to be – or is it all a pretence?' Sowerby wondered.

‘I'm not unemotional about sex at all,' Meadows countered.

‘No?'

‘No. I get very emotional about sex. What I think you're doing, Jonathan, is confusing emotion and affection – and I much prefer to save my affection for my friends.'

‘I didn't know you had any friends,' Sowerby said, with a hint of maliciousness in his voice.

‘I didn't used to have any – not when you knew me – but I do now,' Meadows said.

And what an unusual collection of friends they were, she thought – a Polish chief inspector who was sometimes plagued with doubts over her own ability; a detective inspector who could sometimes act like a throwback and with whom she had once had gentle – and therefore disastrous – sex; and a sweet young detective constable who could have been a poet.

‘So when you do have sex, you're just using your partner, are you?' Sowerby asked accusingly.

‘Yes, and my partner's just using me,' Meadows replied. ‘I find that works out nicely for everyone concerned.'

‘That could be very hurtful for someone who has real feelings for you.'

Meadows smiled. ‘And do you have feelings for me, Jonathan?'

‘Well, yes, as a matter of fact, I do.'

‘Honestly?' Meadows challenged, looking into his eyes.

‘Well, no,' Sowerby admitted. ‘If the truth be told, I'm not sure I even like you.'

‘But you do want to have sex with me?'

‘Desperately.'

Of course he did. That was why, when she'd rung him, he had dropped whatever high-level financial negotiations he was conducting in Frankfurt, and had flown straight to Lancashire.