Stone Killer (18 page)

‘Did you give her her job back, as you'd promised you would?'

‘The offer was still there, certainly, but she said that wasn't what she wanted any more. She told me she'd been doing a lot of thinking while she was away, and she'd decided she wanted to make something of her life. Her exact words, if I remember correctly, were, “I want to create something that I can call my own.” Then she asked me if I'd help her fulfil her dream.'

‘She wanted money, did she?'

Thompson shook his head. ‘You really don't know Judy at all, do you? All she asked was that I'd serve as guarantor for the loan she'd negotiated with the bank, and I said I'd be more than willing to.'

‘You were still takin' a bit of a chance, weren't you?'

‘Not really. I knew that she'd make a success of
whatever
she'd set her mind to.'

‘Still, most men would have thought twice before makin' themselves responsible for somebody else's debts – especially in a risky enterprise like caterin'. You must surely have had just a
few
misgivings.'

‘None at all. And what if her business
had
flopped? I'm a single man, with no heirs to consider. I've made a fair amount of money out of this restaurant in my time, and could well have stood the loss.'

‘I see,' Woodend said, thoughtfully.

‘Anyway, I made the right judgement, didn't I?' Thompson continued. ‘Judith's business turned out to be a roaring success. She could probably buy me and sell me now.' Thompson gulped. ‘Did you hear that?' he asked. ‘I talked as if she were still around. But I can't help it. It's almost impossible to imagine a vital girl like Judy in prison.'

‘Did you see her often in the last couple of years?'

‘Not as often as I used to do. She was very busy. She catered all over Lancashire. We met perhaps three or four times, and then only briefly.'

‘No heart-to-hearts?'

‘Not really.'

‘So if she had been havin' an affair with this man Burroughs, you wouldn't have known about it?'

‘I told you, there's absolutely no possibility that she—'

‘Yes or no, Giles!'

‘If she'd been looking for a bit on the side,' Thompson said reluctantly, ‘she'd have most likely gone back to her old love, Sebastian Courtney-Jones, don't you think?'

‘But the affair had been over for years, hadn't it? There was probably no possibility of going back.'

‘That's what you or I might think, but it certainly wasn't a view that Courtney-Jones seemed to share.'

‘What do you mean by that?'

‘A couple of months before she was arrested, Courtney-Jones turned up here. Said that he wanted to speak to Judy. You see what that means, don't you? The bastard had shown so little interest in her since he jilted her that he didn't even know she didn't work for me any more.'

‘So you told him to sod off, did you?'

‘Yes, but he wouldn't go. He said that it had taken him a while to realize it, but he'd finally come to understand that Judy was the only woman he'd ever loved. He told me he'd divorced his wife as soon as the kids had grown up, and now he wanted to start again where he'd left off – only this time he
would
marry her.'

‘An' you told him he was too late?'

‘And I told him he was too late,' Thompson agreed. ‘She was married herself now, I said, and she wouldn't want any more to do with him. But still he wouldn't go. He pleaded – and I mean
pleaded
– for her address. He said he just wanted to talk to her – to ask for her forgiveness.'

‘An' you gave him the address, did you?'

‘Not at first. I asked him to wait, and I phoned Judy. I told her that he was here, and that if I didn't tell him where she lived, he'd find out from somebody else soon enough. She said not to worry. She could handle him, no problem at all. So I gave him the address.'

‘An' do you know if he actually went an' saw her?'

‘Oh, he went and saw her, all right. She rang me up straight after he'd been, and told me all about it.'

‘How did the meeting go? Did he ask for her forgiveness?'

‘He did not! That was just a line he'd fed to me. He told her that he really
did
want to marry her – but if that wasn't on the cards, he'd settle for an extramarital affair. Judy sent him packing, as I'd known she would. But I will say one thing for him – I think he was being sincere when he told me she was the only woman he'd ever really loved.'

‘An' what makes you think that?' Woodend wondered.

‘Judy said that when he left her house, he was in tears. If I hadn't heard it from her, I'd never have believed that a man like him could actually break down and cry.'

‘Did he strike you as the kind of man who'd do whatever it took to get what he wanted?' Woodend asked.

‘Definitely,' Thompson said. ‘He'd absolutely no consideration for anybody but himself.'

‘And he wanted Judith?'

‘I don't think I've ever seen a man want anything more.'

T
he business trading on the opposite side of the road from Burroughs' Builders' Merchant had a large billboard in front of it which proudly announced it as:

Paradise Garden Features

It was a large site, surrounded by a high wire-netting fence, and within it lay all those articles which the billboard further promised would enable Paradise's customers to give their ‘little palace' the garden it ‘truly deserves'.

Peering through the wire-meshing, Paniatowski could see most of what the place had to offer. There were fountains and fibreglass paddling pools; children's slides and climbing frames; sheds, gazeboes and conservatories. In the middle of it all stood a wooden building indistinguishable from most of the sheds, save that it had a sign on it which identified it as the office and salesroom.

Paniatowski heard a car approaching, and turned to look at it. It was an ancient Austin A40, but even from a distance it was possible to see that it had been lovingly maintained.

The car came to a halt by the gate, and a man, wearing a blue serge security guard's uniform, climbed out of it. He was in his middle-to-late fifties, Paniatowski guessed. His grey hair was extremely short – almost to the point of being shaved – and he sported a pencil-thin moustache.

Paniatowski took a step towards him. ‘Mr Goodrich?' she asked.

‘That's right,' the man replied.

‘You needn't have bothered to wear your uniform,' Paniatowski told him. ‘Not when you're off-duty.'

Goodrich gave her a hard stare. ‘This being in the nature of a semi-official interview, I deemed it appropriate,' he said. ‘You are Detective Sergeant Paniatowski, I take it.'

‘Yes, I am.'

‘And can I also take it that you have some sort of official identification on your person to prove that?'

Monika produced her warrant card. ‘Will this do?' she asked, flicking it closed again.

‘I'd like to have a much closer look at that, if you don't mind,' Goodrich told her.

Paniatowski handed him the card, and he studied it for perhaps half a minute before handing it back.

‘Yes, that seems to be in order,' he conceded. ‘So how may I help you, Sergeant Paniatowski?'

‘I'd like to retrace your movements on the night of the murder,' Paniatowski told him.

‘Is that strictly necessary, Sergeant? It's all down in black and white, in the statement I gave to the local constabulary at the time.'

‘True, but I'd like to
physically
retrace your steps, rather than just follow them on paper,' Paniatowski said.

Goodrich considered the idea for a moment. ‘Well, I don't see there can be any harm in that,' he said finally. ‘If you'd care to follow me.'

He led Paniatowski through the main gate.

‘Look at this fence,' he said, pointing in disgust at the chain-link. ‘Any villain worth his salt could cut his way through it in a few seconds, providing he had a decent pair of wire-clippers.'

‘True,' Paniatowski agreed.

‘Electrification! That's the answer!' Goodrich told her, with sudden, unexpected enthusiasm. ‘I said as much to the boss of this place myself. Put a few thousand volts through that fence, I advised him, and you'd soon deter any would-be thief.'

‘And what did he say to that?'

‘What do you think he said? He said the namby-pamby bureaucrats down at the town hall wouldn't stand for it. According to them, it goes against health and safety regulations. Well,
I
say that any robber who gets himself burned to a frazzle only has himself to blame.'

‘I'm sure you're easily as much a deterrent as any electric fence ever could be,' Paniatowski said ingratiatingly.

‘You're right about that,' Goodrich agreed. ‘Since me and my dog have been on patrol, nobody's pinched a thing.'

The detective sergeant and the security man negotiated their way through a clump of grinning garden gnomes and came to a halt next to some large ornamental flowerpots.

‘This is just where I was standing when I heard the first vehicle,' Goodrich said.

‘That would be Clive Burroughs' car?'

‘Correct. He parked it over there, then went through the side gate to his office.'

‘You're sure that's where he went?'

‘Definitely. The proof is that once he was inside the building, he turned the light on.'

‘Did Burroughs often return to his premises at that time of night?'

‘No, he didn't. In fact, it was the first and only time I remember him doing it.'

‘So what happened next?'

‘I carried on with my rounds. But I hadn't even reached the far end of the perimeter fence when I heard another vehicle. I thought it was strange there'd be two cars here at that time of night, so I turned around to have a look. It was that Mrs Maitland, in her van.'

‘You're sure it was
her
van?'

‘I most certainly am.'

‘Describe it to me.'

‘It was a white Vauxhall six hundredweight, and it had a sign on the side which said Élite Caterers.'

Paniatowski peered through the fence at the building across the road. ‘It was dark at the time, wasn't it?' she asked.

‘It was just
going
dark.'

‘But yet you still managed to read the sign on the side of the van?'

‘There's a street lamp just there on the corner,' Goodrich said, pointing it out for her. ‘When it's on, it lights up the whole area as bright as day. And – before you ask – I have excellent vision.' He reached into his pocket. ‘I always carry my optician's report with me, in case my competence is called into question. You may examine it, if that is your wish.'

‘That won't be necessary,' Paniatowski assured him, ‘So Mrs Maitland pulled up outside the builders' merchant's, did she?'

‘Yes, she most certainly did.'

‘And how long was she there?'

‘Fifteen minutes.'

‘She said in her statement that she was there a much shorter time – only a minute or two.'

‘So I've heard. But she was lying, wasn't she?'

‘You're sure it was a
full
fifteen minutes?'

‘Positive.'

‘Did you time her?'

‘I didn't need to,' Goodrich said.

‘Why not?'

‘Because it was right after she arrived that I took my break.'

‘And where, exactly, did you take it?'

‘Just follow me, and I'll show you,' Goodrich offered.

He led Paniatowski through a maze of gazeboes and summer houses to an unassuming garden shed which was all but hidden from sight.

‘My office,' Goodrich said, without a hint of irony in his voice.

He swung the door open and invited Paniatowski to step inside. There was a battered armchair in one corner of the shed, and a small table at the other. On the table were a kettle, a large mug, a sugar bowl, a bottle of sterilized milk, a spirit stove, and a transistor radio.

‘All the comforts of home,' Goodrich said. ‘This is where the dog and I take our break every two hours. I give the dog a couple of biscuits, boil up the kettle, make myself a brew, drink it, and then we're out on patrol again. It takes us fifteen minutes. Not a minute more – and not a minute less. And even if I
had
taken more, all that would prove was that
Mrs Maitland
stayed even longer than she claimed, now wouldn't it?'

‘That's true,' Paniatowski said gloomily. ‘Let's assume the fifteen minutes are up. What do we do next?'

‘We head back to the main gate, to make sure nobody's been tampering with the lock while we've been away.'

‘Then let's do that now.'

Goodrich led the sergeant back through the maze of garden buildings again. When they reached the gate, he mimed checking the lock, even though the gate itself was wide open.

‘The van was still there at this point?' Paniatowski asked.

‘The van was still there,' Goodrich confirmed. ‘And it was just after I'd finished examining the lock that Mrs Maitland appeared.'

‘She came out of the office?'

‘She did indeed. She was running as if she had the Devil himself on her tail. She got straight into her van, and drove away.'

‘You're sure it was her?'

‘Yes.'

‘It couldn't have been some other woman of roughly the same height and build?'

Like Mrs Burroughs, for example? Paniatowski thought to herself.

‘It was Mrs Maitland,' Goodrich said. ‘I picked her out of the police line-up without a moment's hesitation.'

‘What was she wearing?'

‘A black-and-white check business suit, a pale blouse, and a pair of flat-heeled shoes.'