Stone Killer (24 page)

‘Are you sayin' Judith might have had an affair with Giles Thompson an' all?'

‘No, sir. I'd think it was more a case of
paternal
love. Judith started working for Thompson just after her father died. She was very young at the time, and I think Thompson sort of took her under his wing. And once her mother had abandoned her and moved to Australia, I think he might have started to see himself as the only family she'd got.'

‘That's possible,' Woodend said, though he seemed a long way from being convinced.

‘In fact, he felt
so
responsible for her that when she needed the money to establish Élite Catering, he was the one who provided it,' Beresford continued.

‘Now hold on a minute,' Woodend said. ‘That's not what Giles told
me
at all. According to him, all he did was guarantee the bank loan.'

‘I'm sure he did say that,' Beresford replied. ‘But I think he was lying.'

‘An' what are you basin' this assumption on?'

‘On what they told me at the Wakefield and District Bank.'

‘You went to the
bank
?'

‘Yes, sir.'

‘Who did you speak to?'

‘The manager.'

‘You've got some nerve,' Woodend said, with a hint of admiration in his voice. ‘Even
I'd
think twice before I started strong-armin' a bank manager. An' did the bank manager confirm that Giles Thompson had actually given Judith Maitland the money?'

Beresford considered giving his new boss a verbatim account of the meeting, then rapidly decided against it.

‘He wouldn't confirm that Thompson provided the money, sir,' he said. ‘But he wouldn't exactly deny it, either.'

‘So, according to your theory, Giles killed Burroughs out of his love for Judith?'

‘It's certainly a possibility, sir. He'd already stood by and done nothing while one man wrecked her life. He may well have decided he wasn't going to let anything like that ever happen again.'

‘I still don't see it,' Woodend confessed.

‘And he has a temper,' Beresford pointed out. ‘All his staff confirm that you've only got to call his restaurant the Dirty Duck, instead of the White Swan, and he'll go ballistic.'

‘You're both missing one vital point,' said Paniatowski, who seemed to have emerged from her reverie.

‘An' what's that?' Woodend wondered.

‘Would either Thompson or Courtney-Jones have let the woman they loved go to prison for a crime they'd committed themselves?'

‘Would you care to field that one, Beresford?' Woodend asked.

He'd expected the constable to look flustered, as all new recruits did the first time their pet theory was shot down in flames, but Beresford seemed to take it in his stride.

‘I think both Thompson and Courtney-Jones might
well
have let her take the blame,' the constable said seriously. ‘You see, it seems to me there's a very big difference between doing something
for
the woman you love and suffering
instead
of her.'

‘Such wise words from one so young,' Paniatowski said.

‘Monika!' Woodend said sharply.

‘Sorry, that came out wrong,' Paniatowski said, and she really did sound apologetic. ‘As a matter of fact, what Constable Beresford's just said makes a lot of sense. But I still think your general theory's wrong. I still think the prime suspect is to be found in Dunethorpe.'

‘Mrs Burroughs?'

‘Or Alfred Sanders. Or both of them. Mrs Sanders had both emotional and financial reasons for wanting to get rid of her husband.'

‘An' Sanders?'

‘He may be in love with her – he almost certainly
is
sleeping with her. Besides, with Mrs Burroughs controlling the company, he's the manager. Whereas, if Burroughs had lived, the company might well have gone broke and he'd have had no job at all.'

‘So did they deliberately set out to frame Judith Maitland for the murder? Or was that just an accident?'

‘It really doesn't matter, does it? Accidental or deliberate, the end result's the same.'

The landlord leaned out across the bar counter. ‘Phone call for you, Sergeant Paniatowski,' he shouted across the noisy pub, in his ‘last orders' voice.

‘Now I wonder who that could be?' Woodend said.

‘I have absolutely no idea,' Paniatowski told him.

Paniatowski took the phone as far away from the bar as the cable would allow her to, and then wrapped herself around it.

‘Monika?' said a voice at the other end of the line.

‘How did you find me?' Paniatowski asked.

DCI Baxter chuckled. ‘I'm a detective, remember. I'm trained to track people down.' He paused. ‘Is anything wrong?'

Was there?

Paniatowski wasn't sure.

‘Why are you calling?' she asked.

‘I just thought it'd be wise to confirm our lunch date for tomorrow.'

‘We don't
have
a definite lunch date,' Paniatowski retorted. ‘I said we'd do it if I could make the time.'

The pause was longer this time, then Baxter said, ‘Listen, Monika, I'm a blunt, no-nonsense Yorkshireman. If you'd rather not see me again, you've only got to say the word.'

‘I don't … I haven't …' Paniatowski found herself spluttering. She took a deep breath. ‘I think – I'm almost sure – I want to see you, but it's all so complicated,' she continued.

‘Is that right?' Baxter asked.

‘Yes. You may not believe it, but it is. I was very involved with another man until quite recently …'

‘But that's over, is it?'

‘Yes.'

‘And there's no chance of you getting back together?'

‘None at all.'

‘Then what's the problem?'

‘And … and then there's the investigation. I'm up to my neck in it right now, and I just can't think of anything else.'

‘Then let's say no more about it, for the moment,' Baxter suggested. ‘But if you
are
in Dunethorpe tomorrow, we'll try to grab a bite of lunch together. And whether we do it as lovers, friends, colleagues – or even casual acquaintances – is entirely up to you. Fair enough?'

‘Fair enough,' Paniatowski agreed.

Woodend had been watching his sergeant, and noticing how tense she seemed to be as she spoke into the phone.

Now he turned to Beresford and said, ‘Why do I get the distinct feelin' that when you started tellin' me about Giles Thompson, your nervousness was only partly due to the fact that you were the new boy at the table, makin' his voice heard for the first time?'

‘I don't know, sir,' Beresford said, deadpan.

‘But there
was
another reason for it, wasn't there?'

‘Yes, sir.'

‘An' would you like to tell me about it?'

‘I'd really rather not.'

Woodend shook his head. ‘It doesn't work like that, lad. If you're goin' to be part of the team – even for a short time – you're goin' to have to learn to tell me what's on your mind.'

‘I spoke out when I did in order to save Sergeant Paniatowski from further embarrassment, sir,' Beresford said.

‘Now I wasn't expectin' that!' Woodend admitted. ‘Would you mind spellin' out for me exactly what you meant?'

Beresford swallowed hard. ‘You were talking about love affairs in general terms, sir, but I thought that there was a real danger that Sergeant Paniatowski might take it personally.'

‘An' why should she have done that?'

‘Don't you know, sir?'

‘That's not the question, lad. I'm more interested in what
you
think
you
know.'

Beresford gulped again. ‘For over a year, Sergeant Paniatowski was having an affair with Inspector Rutter,' he said.

‘An' who
else
in Whitebridge HQ knows this – or, should I say,
thinks
they know this?'

‘I can't speak for anybody above the level of sergeant.'

‘Then don't. Who knows among the rank an' file?'

‘Everybody,' Beresford said.

But of course they did, Woodend thought. He'd been foolish to ever imagine otherwise.

The servants in big houses the length and breadth of the country knew everything their masters were getting up to; the common soldiers, whether in barracks or out on the battlefield, were more aware of their officers' doings than the officers themselves ever dreamed they might be – and there were no secrets that could be hidden from the police canteen.

‘Have you always had this instinct for protectin' other people like you just tried to protect Sergeant Paniatowski, Constable?' he asked.

‘No, sir, it's something that's developed quite recently.'

‘An' why do you think that might be?'

‘I'd rather not say,' Beresford told him. ‘And this time, I
mean
it.'

‘Fair enough,' Woodend agreed.

Paniatowski returned to the table, and the moment she'd sat down she knocked back the rest of her vodka.

‘Was that call anythin' to do with the case, Monika?' Woodend asked.

‘No,' Paniatowski replied.

Woodend waited for her to tell him more, and when it became plain she wasn't about to, he said, ‘So exactly where are we, in terms of the investigation, do you think?'

‘We've got a fair number of leads to follow up on, but none of them are strong enough to indicate that it's the one we're really looking for,' Monika Paniatowski said.

‘Which means?'

‘That we have no choice but to keep plugging away at them until we get a breakthrough.'

‘Aye,' Woodend agreed. ‘An' while we're doin' that, we just have to pray that Major Maitland can keep control of his end of things, an' that the Chief Constable doesn't suddenly decide to go an' do somethin' bloody daft.'

Beresford looked down at his watch. ‘If there's nothing else, sir, I think I'd better go,' he said.

‘Go?' Woodend repeated. ‘But there's three-quarters of an hour's drinkin' time left yet.'

‘I know that,' Beresford agreed. ‘But, you see, sir, my mother will be waiting.'

Woodend wondered if he was joking – and decided that he wasn't. ‘Well, you'd better get yourself off, then,' he said.

Beresford stood up. ‘Good night, sir. Good night, Sarge.'

As soon as the constable had gone, Woodend ordered more drinks.

‘So what do you make of our new lad?' he asked Paniatowski.

‘When you told me over the phone that he was on the case, I was annoyed,' Monika admitted. ‘I didn't like the idea of bringing in somebody green – somebody who had no idea of how we work.'

So it's ‘us' again, is it? Woodend thought. The way
we
work.

‘Go on,' he said.

‘I can't say I'm impressed by the fact that he's still so tied to his mother's apron strings that he has to dash off home well before closing time,' Paniatowski continued. ‘But, despite that, I think I rather like him.'

‘An' so you should,' Woodend said.

‘Why?'

Because he stood up for you when your boss put his big size-ten foot right in it, Woodend thought.

‘Doesn't matter,' he said aloud. ‘Do you have any more thoughts on the case, or can we devote the rest of our evenin' to bitchin' about our beloved Chief Constable?'

‘I've had more thoughts,' Paniatowski said. ‘I've been worrying over what you said about learning more about people from extraordinary things they do than you ever can from the ordinary ones.'

‘Yes?'

‘That month which Burroughs spent in Manchester, seven years ago, doesn't fit into any pattern of behaviour he's displayed either before or since.'

‘So?'

‘So even though we're working against the clock, I think I'd like to take the time to go down to Manchester, and find out exactly what he was doing there.'

‘An' what about your investigation in Dunethorpe?'

‘As soon as I've finished in Manchester, I'll drive straight there and carry on where I left off.'

‘So when do you think you'll actually be back in DCI Baxter's territory?' Woodend asked.

‘Not too late,' Paniatowski replied, with a casualness which spoke volumes. ‘I'll probably arrive in Dunethorpe shortly after lunch.'

C
onstable Colin Beresford awoke – just as he'd trained himself to – the moment he heard his mother moving around.

‘Don't you try to do anything for yourself, Mum,' he called loudly. ‘I'll be down to help you in just a minute.'

Up until a year earlier, he had always thought of Alzheimer's – on the rare occasions he had thought about it all – as an old people's disease. So it had been truly devastating to be told by the grave-looking doctor that his own mother had become a sufferer.

‘But she's only sixty-one!' he'd protested.

The doctor had nodded, understandingly. ‘I know. And it's rare for it to occur in anyone of your mother's age. But I'm afraid there's no doubt that that's what it is. It seems as if some people are just unlucky that way.'

Unlucky?

The word bounced around in Beresford's brain. Unlucky … unlucky … unlucky …

It wasn't unlucky at all! It was bloody tragic!

‘What exactly will it do to her?' he asked – trying to be grown-up, trying to be brave.

‘She'll become forgetful,' the doctor explained. ‘The names of people and things she's familiar with will slip her mind. She won't remember certain events from the past. She may have trouble adding up her shopping bill.'