Stone Killer

by Sally Spencer

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Woodend agreed. ‘Now you come to mention it, I think I did say that.’

  ‘Well, we’ve dismissed the first of your objections easily enough, haven’t we? We’ve agreed that whatever ultimately happens to Mrs Maitland, I’ll come out of the whole affair smelling of roses.’

  ‘Have we, sir?’

  ‘Haven’t we, Chief Inspector?’

  ‘Not really. If you do decide to charge Mrs Maitland with GBH, then I think you’ll come out of it smellin’ of somethin’ else entirely.’

  ‘I’m losing my patience with you, Chief Inspector,’ Marlowe said. ‘Why don’t you just come right out with what’s on your mind?’

  ‘All right,’ Woodend agreed. ‘If you’re goin’ to charge anybody with GBH, then I think it should be the person who swung the hammer which stove in Clive Burroughs’ skull.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘An’ that, sir, wasn’t Mrs Maitland.’

  Thirty-One

  It had been dark for more than an hour when Woodend and Colonel Danvers passed through the police barricade and entered the High Street. It had not been a particularly warm day, and with the setting of the sun it had grown bitterly cold.

  From somewhere in the distance, Woodend could hear the strains of the Salvation Army Band, playing their traditional carols. He’d almost forgotten that Christmas was so close, and he found himself wondering if, when the Queen made her Christmas Day Speech, he’d still be alive to watch.

  ‘Maitland’s been in there for over fifty hours now,’ Colonel Danvers said, as they approached the nearer of the armoured cars. ‘I know from experience that the strain must have been almost intolerable. God alone knows what state he’s in, or what he’s likely to do.’

  ‘Well, you certainly do know how to motivate a man who’s about to set off on a dangerous mission,’ Woodend said dryly.

  ‘You don’t have to go, you know,’ the Colonel told him. ‘You could let me go, instead. I’m a soldier, like him. He’ll listen to me.’

  ‘No, he won’t,’ Woodend told him. ‘It has to be me.’

  ‘Then at least put on a flak-jacket before you enter the bank.’

  Woodend shook his head. ‘That’d be sendin’ out all the wrong signals. He’ll think I’m only wearin’ it because there’s an assault group followin’ right behind me. If this is goin’ to work, it has to be because he’s sure that he trusts me.’

  Danvers shrugged. ‘Well, it’s your funeral,’ he said.

  ‘You really are good at this motivational stuff, aren’t you?’ Woodend countered.

  For the fourth time since the siege had begun, Woodend opened the heavy glass door and stepped inside the bank. He looked up at the camera Maitland had installed over the counter, waved his hand, and waited.

  He did not have to wait long. The door behind the counter opened, and Major Maitland appeared.

  ‘I didn’t send for you,’ he said angrily. ‘You’re only supposed to come when I send for you!’

  He wasn’t happy when things didn’t go strictly according to his plan, Woodend thought. He liked to be in total control at all times. That was how the military mind operated.

  But if this situation was going to work itself out without any loss of life, the Major was going to have to learn – and learn very quickly – to be a lot more flexible.

  ‘Well, what’s your explanation?’ Maitland demanded.

  ‘If I was the kind of feller who only came when he was sent for, I’d also be the kind of feller who wouldn’t be of much bloody use to you,’ Woodend replied.

  ‘I gave you orders!’

  ‘You told me what you wanted – which is not quite the same thing. An’ I’ve done what you asked.’

  ‘Has … has Judith been released?’ Maitland asked – and there was a slight tremble detectable in his voice.

  ‘No, she hasn’t,’ Woodend said. ‘Not yet. But a Royal Pardon’s been issued, an’—’

  ‘I don’t want that!’ Maitland said, in a voice which was almost a scream. ‘I don’t want her let off for something people still think she did – I want it proved that she didn’t do it at all.’

  It’s a pity Henry Marlowe isn’t here on the firing line to listen to this, Woodend thought – a pity he isn’t able to witness for himself how the brilliant scheme, which he’d thought would make his name, would never have worked.

  But then, it had never been on the cards that the Chief Constable would be there, had it? The words ‘Marlowe’ and ‘firing line’ had never belonged in the same sentence.

  ‘I know you wouldn’t be happy with just a pardon,’ he said to Maitland. ‘An’ you don’t have to be. I know who the real murderer is, an’ when you’ve let the hostages free, I’ll arrest him.’

  ‘Why not do it the other way round?’ Maitland demanded. ‘Why not arrest the killer first?’

  ‘Because that will take too long.’

  ‘I’ve got plenty of time,’ Maitland said. ‘All the time in the world.’

  ‘No, you haven’t,’ Woodend countered. ‘You an’ your lads must be worn down to a frazzle. Just listenin’ to you, I can tell your judgement’s almost gone. You’ll make a mistake soon – and somebody will end up gettin’ killed.’

  ‘My team and I are just as much in control as we were at the start of this operation,’ Maitland said.

  ‘How do you expect me to believe that, when you don’t even believe it yourself?’ Woodend wondered. ‘Besides, even if it were true, I don’t know how much longer I can hold back Colonel Danvers an’ his lads, who are just burstin’ to come in here an’ take a crack at you.’ He paused for the merest moment. ‘You’ve got everything you wanted, Major – or you will have soon, anyway. It’s time to put an end to all this.’

  Maitland hesitated. ‘How do I know I can trust you?’

  ‘You have no choice. Look, if all I’d wanted to do was con you, I could have done a better job than this. Say that, instead of comin’ in alone, I’d brought some feller with me who confessed, in front of you, to havin’ killed Clive Burroughs. Would that have made you any happier?’

  ‘It might have,’ Maitland said uncertainly.

  ‘No, it bloody wouldn’t! Because, for all you’d know, the man could be an actor from Whitebridge Rep. So ultimately, it’s your decision, an’ your judgement. Do you have faith in me, or don’t you?’

  Maitland’s hesitation was longer – agonizingly longer – this time.

  ‘I want to know who killed Burroughs,’ he said finally.

  ‘An’ so you will.’

  ‘There’s more. I want to know why he killed him, and how you know he killed him.’

  ‘That sounds fair enough,’ Woodend said.

  And told him.

  Woodend stood in the bank doorway, painfully aware that he was right in the sights of a dozen sniper rifles.

  ‘I need to speak to Colonel Danvers!’ he shouted in the direction of the nearest armoured car. ‘He can approach. He’ll be quite safe. I’ve Major Maitland’s word on that.’

  Danvers appeared from behind the armour-plating, and walked quickly across the street.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he asked.

  ‘No,’ Woodend replied. ‘I’m crappin’ myself in case somethin’ goes wrong – but I do have a deal.’

  ‘What kind of deal?’

  ‘You’re to clear the High Street completely of both your men and the police. You can leave the normal street-lightin’ on, but all the searchlights will have to be switched off. Once you’ve done those two things – an’ Maitland’s made sure you’ve done them – he’ll let all the hostages out.’

  ‘Why should he want the street cleared and the searchlights off?’ Danvers asked suspiciously.

  ‘He didn’t say.’

  ‘And you didn’t ask him?’

  ‘What the hell’s the matter with you, Colonel?’ Woodend demanded. ‘You wanted the hostages released, an’ he’s releasin’ the bloody hostages. Why are you quibblin’ about the small pri
nt?’

  ‘You have a point,’ Danvers conceded. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Maitland an’ his men are prepared to surrender themselves to you, but not immediately.’

  ‘Why not immediately? What’s the point of a delay?’

  ‘You’re askin’ questions that I don’t know the answer to, again. But if you want my opinion, I think they’re hopin’ that by surrenderin’ on their own terms, they’ll manage to salvage a little of their dignity.’

  ‘And they trust us to respect their terms?’

  ‘No, of course they don’t bloody trust you. Neither would I, in their place. But they’re hopin’ you won’t endanger the life of a senior police officer unless you absolutely have to.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m to stay in the bank with them until they surrender. So if I can make a personal plea here, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t go in for any “death or glory” tactics even once the hostages are completely clear of the building.’

  ‘Did you volunteer to stay with them?’

  ‘Of course I didn’t volunteer!’ Woodend said. ‘Nobody in his right mind would bloody volunteer. But,’ he conceded, ‘I did agree to it.’

  ‘Aren’t you concerned about your own safety?’

  ‘No,’ Woodend lied. ‘Maitland wants me alive, if only because I’ll be no bloody good to him dead.’

  An’ I hope those two lads he’s got with him also take that view, he added silently.

  Woodend had seen cowboy films in which cattle were herded into a corral, and the exit of the hostages reminded him very much of them. They came out of the back room in the twisted, disorganized caterpillar formation, which was all that the door-space allowed. They looked neither to the left nor right, but focused only on the front door and the freedom which lay beyond it. They were clumsy and confused. They stank – even from a distance – of sweat, fear and bowels which had not been able to quite contain themselves. They were an undignified stream of frightened humanity – and Woodend, who had sweated and worried enough himself – found it one of the most beautiful sights he had ever seen.

  ‘What now?’ he asked Major Maitland, once the hostages had cleared the building.

  ‘I thought I’d already made that plain,’ Maitland answered. ‘We wait.’

  ‘For how long?’

  ‘Until I say we stop waiting.’

  Minutes ticked by. Woodend’s legs ached, and he was starting to develop a fiendish headache.

  ‘Why haven’t your lads joined us?’ he asked.

  ‘Why should they?’ Maitland replied.

  ‘Why shouldn’t they?’ Woodend countered. ‘It’s not exactly the Ritz in here, but I’m sure it’s a bloody sight pleasanter than it is down in that vault. An’ now the hostages have gone, an’ there’s nobody left to guard, there’s no reason for them to stay down there, is there?’

  ‘Perhaps they like it in the vault,’ Major Maitland suggested.

  ‘They’ve gone, haven’t they?’ Woodend said, with a sudden insight into Maitland’s tactics. ‘They put on civvies, and left with the hostages.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Maitland agreed. ‘When they volunteered for this mission, I promised I’d get them out in one piece if I possibly could – and that’s just what I’ve done.’

  ‘They’ll be caught, you know.’

  ‘I doubt it. In all the confusion out there, they’ll have found it easy enough to slip away.’

  ‘An’ how will they get out of Whitebridge?’

  ‘Transport has been waiting to whisk them away ever since we first entered the bank.’

  ‘So that’s why we’re waitin’? To give them a chance to get away?’

  ‘That’s why we’re waiting.’

  ‘Even if they manage to get clear of Whitebridge, they can’t run for ever,’ Woodend pointed out.

  ‘They won’t need to. They both have alibis for at least a good part of this siege.’

  ‘Alibis can be broken.’

  ‘Not these alibis. They’ll be provided by their comrades, and they’ll never be broken. That’s something you should realize about the professional army, Chief Inspector – we know how to look after our own.’

  ‘An’ what about you? You’ve no chance of gettin’ away.’

  ‘True,’ Maitland agreed, ‘but I’ve got what I wanted, and I’ll take full responsibility for my actions.’

  ‘You’ll be in prison for a long time.’

  ‘Better me than Judith. I’m a hard man, Mr Woodend.’

  ‘An’ prison is hard – even on hard men.’

  Maitland laughed. ‘Men’s gaols aren’t run by the authorities. You know that. Real control’s in the hands of just a few prisoners, and I’m going to be one of them. Within six months, I’ll be running whatever prison they put me in.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if you were,’ Woodend admitted. ‘Did you really have the hostages wired up to explosives?’

  ‘The most important thing about wars – and this was a war of sorts – is what the people involved in them believe,’ Maitland said. ‘Clive of India defeated forces many times the size of his own, because the enemy believed he would defeat them. The armies opposing Napoleon knew they would lose because they were opposing Napoleon.’

  ‘An’ it wasn’t necessary to wire up your hostages because the people outside believed you had?’

  ‘Colonel Danvers might have been willing to take the chance that I hadn’t – and stormed the place on that basis. But wiser heads than his, higher up the chain of command, would never have let him get away with it.’

  ‘So the only real danger to the hostages was that they might get shot – either by your men, or by Colonel Danvers’ lads?’

  ‘They were in no danger from my men,’ Maitland boasted. ‘My men are well trained. They would never have done anything without a direct order from me – and I would never have given that order. I was always prepared to risk my own life, Chief Inspector, but never anyone else’s.’

  It was truly amazing just how arrogant the military mind could be, Woodend thought. It was almost inconceivable that anyone could be so sure he could maintain complete control over two armed men who were trapped in a fraught situation which might well cost them their lives.

  ‘You don’t believe me, do you?’ Maitland asked. ‘You think I’m just a bull-headed officer who has no idea what his men really think, or what they might really do.’

  ‘My opinion doesn’t actually matter, does it, Major?’ Woodend said. ‘Not any more.’

  ‘I still wouldn’t like you to go away with the wrong impression,’ Maitland replied.

  And Woodend realized that now it was all over – now he had got everything he wanted – the Major was actually starting to enjoy himself!

  ‘Do you have a sense of humour, Mr Woodend?’ Maitland asked. ‘Is your mind finely tuned to the little ironies of life?’

  ‘Depends who you talk to about me,’ Woodend replied. ‘Some of the people I work with think I’m a real comedian, but I don’t think my Chief Constable finds me very funny. Why do you ask?’

  ‘Just curious,’ Maitland said.

  He placed his submachine gun on the counter, and took his service revolver out of its holster.

  He looked totally exhausted, Woodend thought. And much worse than that – he looked as if he were about to do something incredibly stupid.

  ‘Listen, Major—’ the Chief Inspector began.

  ‘I’ve been thinking over what you said,’ Maitland interrupted him. ‘And perhaps you’re right. Perhaps a long prison sentence is too much of an unbearable strain for any man to stand.’

  They were roughly fifteen feet apart, and there was a counter and grille dividing them. True, there was a way under the counter. But using that would take time, and if Maitland tried what he seemed about to try, Woodend knew that however fast he moved, he would get there too late.

  ‘I thought you said you’d be running any prison they sent you to within six months,’ Woodend sa
id desperately.

  ‘I did, didn’t I?’ Maitland agreed. ‘But that was mere bravado! The truth is much colder and much more depressing.’

  Woodend shifted his weight on to his right foot. The odds against reaching Maitland in time remained as astronomical as they’d ever been, but he was still prepared to give it a try.

  ‘It would be very foolish of you to attempt any heroics at this stage of the game, especially with a man so obviously determined to kill somebody,’ Maitland said. ‘If I were in your position, my dear Chief Inspector, I’d just stand there and let it all happen.’

  ‘Wait!’ Woodend croaked.

  Maitland put the barrel of his gun in his mouth, and pulled the trigger. There was a loud click, then the Major withdrew the pistol again.

  ‘No bullets,’ he said. He smiled. ‘As I told you, it’s what the enemy believes that really matters in warfare. We had guns, so it was assumed they were loaded. But they weren’t. We didn’t bring a single round of ammunition with us. And there was obviously no need to, was there?’

  ‘You bastard!’ Woodend said with feeling. ‘You complete bloody bastard!’

  Maitland’s smile broadened. ‘I thought you said you had a sense of humour, Mr Woodend. It’s not much in evidence now, is it?’

  Thirty-Two

  Most of the Élite Catering building was in darkness, but a light was burning in the office, which meant that Stanley Keene was still hard at work.

  Woodend parked his Wolseley next to the small fleet of white vans which belonged to the business. They were a good advertisement in themselves, he thought. They looked neat, they looked efficient, and – apart from their number plates – they were identical.

  He walked along the row, checking the back doors of each one. They were all locked.

  Well, that was only to be expected. Probably one of the first things that Élite Catering emphasized to its employees was that the vans must always be locked when they were left unattended, and – over a period of time – checking that they were would have become a habit with all the company’s drivers.

  A car appeared in the distance, and as it drew closer, Woodend could see that it belonged to one of the local taxi firms. When a light came on in the foyer of Élite Catering, the Chief Inspector supposed that it was in response to the taxi’s imminent arrival, and then the vehicle signalled to pull in, and he knew he was right.