Stone Killer (19 page)

‘You're very observant,' Paniatowski said.

‘Yes, it's something I pride myself on,' Goodrich agreed.

‘Most men might have remembered the suit, but they wouldn't have noticed the shoes at all.'

‘Maybe they wouldn't. But I was surprised she was moving so fast, so I checked to see what she had on her feet.'

‘What about her overall?' Paniatowski asked.

‘Overall?'

‘The Dunethorpe Police think that when she killed Burroughs she was wearing her catering overall. That's why there were no traces of blood on her other clothes.'

‘I wouldn't know about that,' Goodrich said.

‘But she definitely wasn't wearing the overall?'

‘She was not!'

‘Nor carrying it in her arms?'

‘Nor carrying it in her arms. Her arms were swinging. They do when you're running.'

Besides, Paniatowski thought, if she had been holding the overall, then some of the blood on it would have been almost bound to rub off on to her smart business suit.

‘Did you tell the Dunethorpe Police that Mrs Maitland had nothing in her hands?' she asked.

‘I did.'

‘And what did they say to that?'

‘They said I must have been mistaken. But I
wasn't
! I'll swear on a stack of Bibles that I wasn't!'

S
omeone had finally decided to switch off the bloody twinkling fairy lights in the shop windows, but other than that, the drama being played out on Whitebridge High Street had become as much a frozen tableau as the nativity scene which was annually put on display outside the Catholic Church.

What
had
changed from the previous evening, Woodend decided, was the atmosphere. Then, there had been a tense expectation emanating from the armed officers crouched behind their cars, and the sharpshooters on the roofs. Now – as the siege entered its second day – there was only a feeling of listlessness.

‘It was a bit like this durin' the war, wasn't it?' Woodend asked the man walking beside him.

‘I'm sorry?' Stanley Keene said.

‘You didn't want to fight, did you? Far from it! But you got so all-pumped-up for action that if the fightin' didn't start when it was supposed to, you began to feel mildly depressed.'

‘I wouldn't know anything about that,' Keene said. ‘I wanted to join up, but the Army turned me down flat.'

‘On medical grounds?'

‘That's what they said. But we all know the real reason they turned me down, don't we? They didn't want a camp old queen in their man's army. So, since they wouldn't let me fight for my country, I spent
my
war as a barman at the Windmill Theatre in London. It wasn't much of a contribution to the war effort, but at least it gave me a chance to help make life a little pleasanter for the men who
were
risking their lives.'

‘Don't do yourself down so much, Mr Keene,' Woodend said. ‘You did at least
try
to join up, when a lot of other fellers were doin' their level best to get out of it. An' livin' in London, with all them German bombers comin' over every night, can't have been any picnic.'

‘No, it wasn't,' Stanley Keene agreed, with a shudder. ‘Some nights I thought the bombing would just
never
stop. I still jump whenever I hear a loud explosion.' He giggled, nervously. ‘I certainly hope we're not going to hear any explosions today.'

They had almost drawn level with the bank door, and Woodend came to a halt. ‘You wait here,' he told Stanley Keene.

‘But I thought you said I'd be going in with you,' Keene protested.

‘No, I didn't,' Woodend contradicted him. ‘I said once
I
was inside, I'd decide whether or not it was a good idea.'

The Chief Inspector stepped inside the bank, and closed the door firmly behind him. ‘Shop!' he called loudly.

The door behind the counter slowly opened, and Maitland emerged, his submachine gun held at shoulder level, sweeping the room as he moved.

‘What have you got for me so far?' the Major demanded, when he'd satisfied himself that the camera hadn't lied, and Woodend had come alone.

The Chief Inspector looked down at the cuffs of his trousers. ‘I don't see any cycle clips,' he said, seemingly mystified.

‘Cycle clips?' Maitland repeated.

‘Aye,' Woodend agreed. ‘I thought I
must
be wearin' a set. I certainly couldn't think of any other reason why you might mistake me for a grocer's delivery boy.'

‘Look here—' Maitland began.

‘No,
you
look here,' Woodend interrupted. ‘You can't just order up a pound of justice an' expect me to deliver it the next mornin'. I'm doin' the best I can for you, but I can't perform miracles.'

Maitland nodded, accepting that Woodend had a point. ‘But you do believe that my wife is innocent, don't you?' he asked.

‘I believe there's a strong possibility that she might be,' Woodend said carefully.

‘I want more than that,' Maitland snapped.

‘Well, you can't bloody have it,' Woodend told him.

Maitland seemed to experience a sudden mood change, and laughed. ‘Isn't it your job to reassure me?' he asked.

‘No,' Woodend countered. ‘It's my job to get you to trust me – an' I can only do that by bein' completely honest with you.'

‘Suppose I gave you an incentive to work harder?'

‘Like what?'

‘Like killing one of my hostages.'

Woodend felt a cold shiver run through his entire body.

‘I told you yesterday that if you harmed a single hostage, I'd have nothin' more to do with any of this,' he said.

‘So you did,' Major Maitland agreed. ‘But I've been thinking about that, and I've come to the conclusion that I don't believe you.'

‘Is that right?'

‘Certainly it is. I think that as long as there's even
one
hostage alive, you'll do your damnedest to get me what I want. Your conscience wouldn't let you do otherwise.'

‘Maybe you're right about me,' Woodend agreed. ‘But what I think, or what I might do, wouldn't matter any more – because as far as the people outside are concerned, you'd have put yourself beyond the pale.'

‘The people outside,' Maitland mused. ‘What a pleasant – if rather vague – euphemism. And
who
exactly are “the people outside”? The police? The Army? The politicians?'

Woodend sighed. ‘All of the above. I've spoken to them. They all think like civilians – even the ones wearin' uniforms – an' they'd be so outraged at the death of even one hostage that they'd storm the place however many more lives it cost them.'

‘Ah, I wondered when you'd start trying to create a bond between us,' Maitland said. ‘And now you have.'

‘Have I?'

‘Certainly you have. You're trying to suggest – in a scarcely subtle way – that it's you and me against the world.'

‘Don't flatter yourself,' Woodend said harshly. ‘I don't approve of what you've done, an' if, without hurtin' any of your poor bloody hostages, one of the marksmen could take you out now, I wouldn't have a second's hesitation in tellin' him to do it. So I'm not on
your
side at all, Major Maitland – but I
am
on your wife's.' He paused to light a cigarette. ‘I've got somebody outside who'd like to talk to you,' he continued.

‘And who might that be?' Maitland wondered. ‘A priest?'

‘No,' Woodend said. ‘Your wife's partner.'

‘Stanley's here?'

‘That's right.'

‘And he's actually prepared to come into the bank, and face a man pointing a weapon at him?'

‘He is.'

Maitland laughed. ‘I didn't think he was so brave.'

‘Then you seem to have underrated him,' Woodend said. ‘Will you see him or not?'

‘I'll see him,' Maitland said.

Woodend walked over to the door, and signalled that Stanley Keene should be allowed to pass through the cordon.

Keene was wearing his conservative suit again. Perhaps he wore it to give himself confidence, Woodend thought. But he didn't
look
very confident. In fact, he seemed as if he were about to mess his pants.

‘Come closer, Stanley,' Maitland said, and Woodend realized that the soldier was actually enjoying the caterer's discomfort.

‘How are you, Thomas?' Keene asked, in a trembling voice.

‘Have you given even a moment's consideration to the position I'm in?' Maitland asked.

‘Well, yes, I—'

‘I'm in a bank, totally surrounded by armed men who'll shoot me the first chance they get. I haven't had more than two hours' continuous sleep in the last twenty-four hours. So how do you
think
I am, Stanley?'

‘I … I …' Keene said helplessly.

‘I'm on top of the world,' Maitland said. ‘Never felt better in my entire life. I tell you, Stanley, this is all like a holiday to me.'

‘I know it must be hard,' Keene said.

‘Hard!' Maitland repeated. ‘What does a
so-called
man like you know about hard?'

This had all gone far enough, Woodend decided. ‘I think you'd better leave now, Mr Keene,' he said.

But instead of taking his chance when it was offered to him, Keene stood his ground.

‘I don't think you're being fair to Judith, Thomas,' he said. ‘Honestly, I don't.'

‘Fair to her? What are you talking about? Who do you think I'm doing all this for, if not for
her
?'

‘Loving someone isn't about doing what
you
want for them,' Stanley Keene said.

‘Then what is it about?'

‘It's about doing what they want for
themselves
. And Judith wouldn't want this.'

For the first time since his initial encounter with Maitland, Woodend sensed that the Major was starting to feel slightly unsure of himself. Stanley Keene might not have served in the war, but he certainly deserved a medal for this, the Chief Inspector thought.

‘What do you know about what Judith would want?' Maitland asked sneeringly.

‘I'm her partner,' Keene replied.

‘Her
business
partner. You shared an interest in making money. Nothing more than that.'

‘
Much
more than that,' Keene said quietly.

‘I've shared a bed with her, which is more than you've ever done – or ever could do. I know how she thinks, and how she feels. She
loves
me.'

‘She loves me, too,' Keene said.

‘Oh, I'm sure she does! I'm absolutely convinced of it! Who
wouldn't
love you, Stanley?'

‘She doesn't love me in the same way as she loves you,' Keene said, ignoring the jibe. ‘I would never try to claim that. But it
is
still love. And I love her. I'd never make her suffer in the way you're making her suffer now.'

‘If you love her, why don't you prove it?' Maitland hectored. ‘Why don't
you
confess to the murder?'

‘If I thought I could convince the police it really was me who did it, then I would,' Stanley Keene said. ‘If I had the choice of which of us should spend the next twenty-five years in gaol, I'd choose me.'

Mistake! Woodend thought. Keene should never even have raised the
possibility
that Judith would serve her full sentence. But it was too late to do anything about it now.

The implication of Keene's words had made Maitland rock slightly on his heels.

‘But Judith's not
going to
spend the next twenty-five years in gaol,' he said, almost desperately. ‘The police are soon going to find Clive Burroughs' real murderer, aren't they?'

‘Yes, yes, of course they are,' Stanley Keene said, unconvincingly.

‘Liar!' Maitland said, spitting out the words. ‘You don't really believe they will, do you, Stanley?'

Stanley Keene flapped his hands helplessly in the air. ‘What do you want me to say, Thomas?' he asked.

‘I want you to say that everything's going to be fine, you bloody simpering idiot!'

‘I'm … I'm sure Mr Woodend is trying his very best to do what you want him to, but—.'

‘Get out!' Maitland screamed. ‘Get the hell out of here. I'm sick of the sight of you, you mincing little queer.'

‘Thomas—'

‘Call me
Major Maitland
, you nasty little poof!'

‘Major Maitland, please, if you'll just listen—'

The submachine gun had been pointing at Woodend, but now Maitland swung it round and aimed it directly at Keene.

‘You've got five seconds to get out,' he said. ‘If you're still here after that, I'll spatter your pathetic little body all over the walls.'

For perhaps three seconds, Keene did not move, then panic engulfed him and he turned and fled out into the street.

‘He doesn't even
run
like a real man,' Major Maitland said in disgust.

‘There's more than one way to be a man,' Woodend told him. ‘An', in my book, Mr Keene's up there with the best of them.'

Stanley Keene was leaning heavily against one of the police cars. Without its support, Woodend guessed, he would probably have fallen over.

‘I made a complete mess of the whole thing, didn't I?' Keene asked plaintively.

‘It turned out to be a mess, all right,' Woodend agreed, ‘but hardly any of it was your fault.'

What
had
gone wrong, he'd already decided, was that Maitland – who was prepared to lay down his own life for his wife – simply couldn't bear the thought that there was someone else out there who loved her, and was also prepared to make sacrifices for her.