The Enemy Within (9 page)

‘So since I'm the Number Two on this investigation, you're here to ask for my permission?' Rutter asked.

‘Exactly,' Paniatowski said casually, as if she regarded the granting of that permission as a mere formality. ‘Can you get away from here, do you think?'

‘I suppose I could,' Rutter replied. ‘You'd feel happier if I accompanied you, would you?'

‘Don't know about that, but I should think it'd be more fun for
you
to come with me,' Paniatowski said cheerfully. She patted the passenger seat. ‘Get in, then, Inspector!'

Rutter had hardly had time to settle in the bucket seat before Paniatowski slammed the car into gear and was off again.

‘If it's not too much trouble, would you mind telling me where we're going, Sergeant?' Rutter asked.

Paniatowski threw the MGA into a dubiously legal U-turn, and once again her tyres screeched out a tortured protest.

‘We're going to a street called Rawalpindi Road,' she said. ‘It's not far from here. In fact, my guess is that it's no more than five minutes away on foot. A five minute walk from where we found the body! Significant, wouldn't you say?'

‘So you think that our victim lived in Rawalpindi Road?'

‘Exactly.'

‘And just
what
makes you think that?'

‘I've just found out that she was dying of cancer. That's why she was bald – because of the chemotherapy.'

‘I still don't see . . .'

‘Did you know Whitebridge General Hospital has a wing devoted exclusively to the treatment of cancer?'

‘No.'

‘Neither did I. Both of us being young and healthy, there's no reason why we should. But apparently it's quite a big unit, and it's where anybody with cancer who lives within a fifteen-mile radius of Whitebridge eventually ends up being treated. Anyway, they've got this one outpatient on their books – a woman called Betty Stubbs – who didn't turn up for her treatment this morning. According to the hospital, that's not like her at all. She's always been so reliable before.'

‘That doesn't necessarily mean––'

‘And not only that, but she's the right age, the right height and has the right kind of cancer at the right stage of development. In other words, my dear Watson, she fits the description of our stiff to a T.'

‘You seem to have learned a great deal,' Rutter said.

‘Yes, I have, haven't I?' Paniatowski replied complacently.

‘And they really gave out all that information
over the phone
?' Rutter asked, with growing unease.

‘Yes, they did.'

‘Isn't that against the rules? Isn't it, in all but the most extreme circumstances, actually
illegal
?'

‘Possibly.'

‘Yet they were perfectly willing to talk to you?'

Paniatowski grinned. ‘I didn't say that.'

‘Then what
are
you saying?'

The grin widened. ‘If either of us had rung up, they'd have given us the cold shoulder. But when it's a doctor who's making the inquiry – a member of their club, the medical equivalent of a fellow Freemason – then it's another matter altogether.'

‘And did a doctor make this particular inquiry?'

‘Yes.'

‘Which doctor?'

‘No, not a witch doctor,' Paniatowski said, the grin still in place. ‘A proper one, with all the right certificates hanging on the wall.'

‘What was the name of this doctor?' Rutter asked, almost – but not quite – adopting a cold official tone.

‘And you call yourself a detective!' Paniatowski replied, not noticing. ‘You should be able to work it out for yourself.'

Rutter thought for a moment, then the answer became obvious. ‘Was it Dr Shastri?'

‘The very same. She was most willing to oblige. I think that if she's handled in the right way, she could very well turn out to be a really valuable addition to the team.'

‘She broke the law,' Rutter said, his unease having now almost graduated to alarm. ‘You
both
broke the law!'

‘Possibly,' Paniatowski agreed. ‘But only in the interests of speeding up the investigation – of seeing justice done. Besides, things are only wrong if you get caught doing them. And we won't – because we're the only two people who know about it.'

‘You're forgetting me,' Rutter reminded her. ‘I know about it.'

‘Yes, but you don't really count.'

‘I am your superior officer. It is
my
job to see that you're doing
your
job within the limits of the law.'

Paniatowski laughed, as if she thought he'd
set out
to be funny. ‘Oh, come on, Bob!' she said.

Rutter turned away, so she couldn't see his frown. Monika was cutting far too many corners. Perhaps she always had, but now that he was closer to her – now that she trusted him more – he was starting to see the full extent of the problem. And it
was
a problem, because on occasions like this she was not only cutting corners herself, but also dragging him round them with her.

In the old days he could have pulled her up for such behaviour – perhaps even issued her with a warning. But now, in their changed circumstances, he was not sure he still had that option.

D
exter Bryant took the seat that his wife had recently vacated and gestured to the waiter to take away her unfinished food.

‘Sorry to be so late, Chief Inspector,' he said.

‘That's all right, I had a nice chat with your missus,' Woodend replied. ‘What was the problem? Difficulties with your son?'

‘With my stepson,' Bryant corrected him automatically. Then the Editor's eyes narrowed. ‘What makes you ask that?'

‘There just seemed to be a bit of tension between you.'

‘He was angry, but his anger wasn't directed at me,' Bryant said. ‘At least, it wasn't directed
specifically
at me. You must understand that the boy's been through some difficulties, and it's taking him a while to readjust. But I'm not unduly worried. Richard has many fine qualities, and he'll come right in the end.'

The waiter appeared with his notepad. ‘Are you ready to order now, Mr Bryant, sir?'

Bryant shook his head. ‘No, given that I'm starting a little late, I think I'll skip lunch and just have a gin and tonic.' He turned to Woodend. ‘I've been meaning to arrange a lunchtime meeting with you for weeks, but somehow I never quite got round to it. But now's the time, if there ever was one, isn't it?'

‘Is it?' Woodend replied. ‘Why?'

‘Because of the murder last night.'

‘Would you like to spell out exactly what you mean – just so there's no misunderstandin'?' Woodend asked cautiously.

Bryant laughed. ‘You think I'm here to ask for special access to police sources, don't you?'

‘It wouldn't be the first time that kind of thing's happened.'

‘Well, it's not happening now. Quite the reverse, in fact. I'm here to offer you the services of my newspaper – and that offer is unconditional.'

‘Again, I'd be happier if you spelled it out,' Woodend said.

‘Very well. We're already printing the dead woman's photograph in our next edition, though I've no doubt you'll have identified her by the time it hits the street. We're also more than willing to give prominence to any other appeal you want to make. And, of course, you can rely on a favourable editorial. I'm not in the business of attacking the police.' Bryant paused. ‘At least, I'm not in the habit of attacking them unless they're completely incompetent – and even if I didn't know your reputation, I can see just from looking at you that you're far from that.'

‘I always get a little bit worried when people start to flatter me, Mr Bryant,' Woodend said.

‘I don't blame you,' Bryant responded. ‘But it's not flattery to say that you're good at your job, just as it's not conceit for me to say that I'm good at mine. It's a realistic assessment of the situation as it exists.'

‘An' the most dangerous kind of flattery is the kind which says it's not flattery at all.'

Bryant laughed. ‘I can't really believe you're as cynical as you seem, Chief Inspector.'

‘Can't you? Why's that?'

‘Because nobody is.' Bryant's gin and tonic arrived, and he took a small sip. ‘There is one other way I can help you,' he continued, growing more serious again.

‘An' what way might that be?'

‘During the course of my career, the police have approached me several times with a request to plant false information in the paper – information aimed solely at misleading the man they're seeking. I'm not unique in this, I know, but I also know that some of my colleagues have refused to co-operate because they say it will damage their reputations. I'm not like that. I've always put duty before reputation, and if it helps, in even a small way, to catch a dangerous criminal, I'll print any lie you want me to print.'

‘Thank you,' Woodend said.

‘I mean it.'

‘I'm sure you do.' Woodend leant back in his chair. ‘Most things in this life operate on the tit-for-tat principle. Well, you've just offered me the “tit”. Isn't it about time I heard about the “tat”?'

‘You're right,' Bryant agreed. ‘I do want a favour.'

‘I thought so. Let's hear it, then.'

‘Last night, when I heard about the fire engines being called out––'

‘How
did
you hear about it?' Woodend interrupted.

Bryant smiled. ‘No comment.'

‘Was it one of my lads who tipped you the wink?'

‘I didn't hear it from the police.'

‘So it was somebody in the fire service?'

‘Again, no comment. A reporter who reveals his sources doesn't keep those sources very long.'

‘So you knew that there'd been a fire and the police were involved. Were you also aware there'd been a murder?'

Bryant frowned. ‘No, I wasn't. If I had been, I might not have . . .' He trailed off.

‘Might not have what?' Woodend asked, pouncing on the indecision.

‘Might not have sent Jamie Clegg down there,' Bryant admitted reluctantly.

‘Is that what this is all about?' Woodend asked. ‘One of your reporters?'

‘Yes, it is. He's a nice lad, Jamie. Very keen.'

‘Go on,' Woodend said.

Bryant's confidence had continued to ebb away, and now he seemed a little unsure how to proceed.

‘What . . . er . . . what happened is at least partly my fault,' he said. ‘I've been trying to inject a bit of life into the
Courier
, and it's possible that, as far as my staff are concerned, I've gone a little too far a little too fast.'

‘This Jamie Clegg,' Woodend said. ‘He wouldn't happen to be the feller my sergeant ended up chasin', by any chance?'

‘He would.'

‘You
told
him to sneak on to Mad Jack's Field an' try an' steal one of the petrol cans?'

‘Of course not. I would never have done such a thing. Not only is it unethical, but it's stupid – any journalist worth his salt knows you'll get more out of the police by co-operating than you will from trying to pull a fast one over on them. In fact, what Jamie did was
doubly
stupid – because trying to find a vital clue on a large site in the darkness was about as effective as pissing into the wind.'

‘Then if you had nothin' to do with it––'

‘But the point is, he may have thought that's what I
wanted
him to do – may have imagined that's what I meant when I told my staff they should use their initiative. That's why I say this whole thing might be partly my fault.'

‘I'm still not sure what you're after,' Woodend said.

‘Now that you know who your intruder was, you're probably thinking of charging him with something.'

‘Damn right I am.'

‘And indeed, you're perfectly entitled to do so. I couldn't blame you if you did. But the lad didn't mean any harm. And as far as I can ascertain, he didn't
do
any harm.'

‘He made my sergeant ladder one of her new nylon stockings.'

‘Then I'll make sure he buys her a new pair. Or perhaps even half a dozen pairs, to compensate for the inconvenience he's caused. But as I said, the only thing he's really guilty of is being too eager to do his job well. You and I both know what that's like. So could you let him off this time?'

‘If I do––'

‘If you do, I promise you I'll give him the biggest bollocking he's ever had in his life.'

‘I suppose it would cut down on the paperwork if I looked the other way for once,' Woodend said. ‘Besides, we're all entitled to make one mistake. But if he ever oversteps the mark again––'

‘He won't. From now on, I'll make sure I keep him on a pretty tight rein.'

Woodend nodded. ‘Then we'll say no more about it.'

‘Thank you,' the Editor said. ‘One more thing.'

‘Yes?'

‘There's something I need to warn you about. I didn't mention it earlier, in case you thought I was trying to curry favour. But now that I've got what
I
want, perhaps you'll take it at face value.'

‘You can be a long-winded bugger when you want to be, can't you?' Woodend said jovially.

Bryant grinned again. ‘There's always the danger that when you live off words, like I do, you'll end up strangling yourself with them. Do you want the warning or not?'

‘Aye, you may as well tell me, now that you're all keyed up for it,' Woodend said.

‘Am I right to think that the name Elizabeth Driver is not entirely unknown to you?'