‘Mainly by not doin’ anythin’ to obstruct it,’ Woodend said. ‘Your Personnel Manager seemed to find it most inconvenient that I should want to talk your staff outside their normal break time.’
‘That little prick!’ Lucy Higson said with a vehemence that surprised him. ‘I told Derek we should never employ Tom Blaine. But my husband’s like so many men who’ve raised themselves through hard work and ability – far too impressed by other people’s paper qualifications.’
She reached into her pocket for a packet of cigarettes and offered it to Woodend.
‘I don’t smoke cork-tipped,’ Woodend said.
‘Quite right, too,’ Lucy Higson said. ‘It’s not a man’s cigarette.’ She placed one of the cigarettes between her lips, and without waiting for Woodend to offer her a light, produced a gold lighter out of her pocket. She lit the cigarette, and inhaled deeply. ‘Don’t you worry about young master Blaine,’ she continued. ‘I’ll keep him in order.’
‘What can you tell me about Pamela Rainsford?’ Woodend asked.
Lucy Higson took another drag of her cigarette. ‘She’s been my husband’s secretary for about three years. She was a nice girl. Not an outstanding personality or overly bright, but very conscientious. I knew she’d just suit Derek. That’s why I hired her.’
‘You hired her? Not Blaine?’
‘This was back in the days before Derek thought we needed a Personnel Manager. I’m very much looking forward to those days returning in the not-too-distant future.’
‘Do you think they ever will?’
Lucy Higson smiled again. ‘Oh yes. I usually get my own way – in the end,’ she said.
I’m sure you bloody do, Woodend thought. ‘What can you tell me about Pamela’s personal life?’ he asked.
‘Very little,’ Lucy Higson admitted. ‘She was quite a pretty girl, so I assume she had boyfriends. But she never told me about them, and I never asked. This is very much a businesslike business. We treat our employees well – far better than most of the companies around here – but we’ve never pretended we’re all part of one big happy family. I could probably find out something about her, if you wanted me to, but after what’s happened I assume you’d prefer to do that yourself.’
‘Aye, I would,’ Woodend agreed.
‘I’ll arrange for a room to be put at your disposal then,’ Lucy Higson said crisply. ‘Anything you want – people or resources – you only have to ask. The canteen does a pretty decent meal, so if you want anything to eat, simply pick up the internal phone and I’ll see it’s brought to you straight away.’
‘You’re very kind,’ Woodend said.
For a moment, the remark seemed to puzzle Lucy Higson. ‘It’s funny, you know, but I’ve never thought of myself as kind. Fair, yes – I pride myself on being fair – but never kind.’ A tear appeared in the corner of her right eye. ‘I said earlier that we’ve never thought of our employees as part of the family.’
‘I remember,’ Woodend replied.
‘So why do I feel as if I’ve just lost one of my family now?’ Lucy Higson wondered.
Four
Jenny Thomas – the woman whose sobs had been the first confirmation that the dead woman actually was Pamela Rainsford – sat opposite Woodend and Paniatowski in the office that Lucy Higson had provided for them.
She was, Woodend guessed, about the same age as Pamela had been. There was no wedding ring on her finger, so it seemed likely that she, like the dead woman, was unmarried.
He glanced down at the picture of Pamela which the personnel office had given him from her record, and then looked back up at Jenny. It seemed to him that the age-old tradition of the very pretty girl choosing a best friend who was – at best – plain, had clearly been followed in this case. Pamela, with her auburn hair, green eyes, pert nose and slim figure, had undoubtedly been what, in his day, would have been called a real looker. Jenny, on the other hand, had a dumpy shape and poor complexion, and would be very lucky to turn any heads when she walked down the street.
Jenny sniffed into the large white handkerchief she’d been holding on her lap. She had calmed down a little in the previous half-hour, but she was still very clearly distressed.
‘I understand that this is painful for you, but there are questions we have to ask,’ Woodend said soothingly.
Jenny Thomas managed a slight nod. ‘I know that.’
‘What can you tell us about Pamela?’ Paniatowski asked.
The other woman looked bewildered. ‘Tell you about her? I don’t know where to start,’ she confessed.
‘Let’s begin with when you first met her,’ Woodend suggested.
‘That would be when she first began working here, which was just over three years ago.’
‘Do you know where she’d been employed before that?’
‘She wasn’t. She was studying at secretarial college in Bradford.’ Jenny Thomas sniffed again, and this time Woodend thought he detected a sign of disdain. ‘It was a very good secretarial college,’ she continued. ‘That’s why Pamela started out as Mr Higson’s secretary, instead of having to work her way up from the typing pool, like everybody else.’
She had the better looks and the better job, Woodend thought – and even best friends can sometimes be envious.
‘She was rather old to be going to secretarial college, wasn’t she?’ Paniatowski asked.
‘She called it her second chance,’ Jenny Thomas said. ‘She was lucky there. Not all of us get one.’
No, Paniatowski thought, we don’t.
‘Do you know what she was doing before she went to secretarial college?’ the sergeant asked.
‘She was married.’
‘She must have been almost a child bride.’
‘She was. Got married as soon as she left school.’
‘But it didn’t last?’
‘No, it didn’t. She divorced the swine for desertion – which was no more than he deserved!’
‘You knew him, did you?’ Paniatowski asked.
‘No,’ Jenny Thomas admitted. ‘But you know what men are like.’
Paniatowski shot Woodend a warning look, then said, ‘Oh yes, I know what men are like, all right. Do you happen to know if Pamela had any contact with her husband after the divorce?’
‘She told me she hadn’t heard a word from him since the day he walked out of the door for a packet of cigarettes – and never came back.’
‘So what about the other men in her life?’ Paniatowski asked.
‘She’s had boyfriends, but they never lasted,’ Jenny said, and the hint of resentfulness was back.
‘Could you give us their names?’
‘I would if I knew them, but she was very secretive about them. Wouldn’t tell me who they were – or even where they worked – however much I asked.’
And I’ll bet you asked a lot, Woodend thought.
‘If you know so little about the relationships, how do you know they didn’t last long?’ Paniatowski wondered.
‘Because when they were over, she’d come back to me. I mean …’
‘Yes?’
‘We’d start knocking about together again. Going to the Saturday night dances at the Whitebridge Palais. Things like that.’
She sounded almost like a jealous lover, Woodend thought, but he was sure that had never been her intention.
What she had meant – even though she would not express it in those terms herself – was that when Pamela was unattached, she could bask in the reflected glory. Or to put it in it’s crudest terms, the ugly girl could always rely on a date with the ugly friend of the handsome young man who wanted to get off with Pamela.
‘Have you been going out to the Palais together recently?’ Paniatowski asked.
‘No,’ Jenny Thomas admitted. ‘Not recently.’
‘When was the last time you did?’
‘Must have been about a year ago.’
‘So her current boyfriend would appear to be more serious.’
; Jenny Thomas stuck her chin out defiantly. ‘It won’t last,’ she said, with all the conviction of a woman who really wanted to believe her own words. ‘It never lasts.’ And suddenly her chin began to wobble and fresh tears appeared in her eyes. ‘What am I saying?’ she asked no one in particular. ‘It can’t last, can it? Because Pamela’s dead!’
Maria Rutter ran her hand along the arm of the chair in which she was sitting.
Leather, she thought. Soft, expensive leather, both from the touch and the smell.
It was a pretty safe bet that any solicitor who invested in chairs like these was going to put in a pretty hefty bill for any work he did, but she didn’t mind that. She wanted the best, because when you were starting out with the disadvantage of being blind, you needed whatever edge you could get.
‘As I understand it, Mrs Rutter, you’re contemplating leaving your husband,’ the solicitor said, in a rich voice which blended in well with the chairs.
‘That’s correct,’ Maria agreed.
‘It’s a big step, you know,’ the solicitor cautioned. ‘Something of a leap in the dark.’ He paused for a moment, and she could imagine the horrified expression which had come to his face. ‘I’m sorry,’ he continued. ‘I didn’t mean …’
‘That’s all right,’ Maria assured him.
‘Is it …?’ the solicitor began. He paused again. ‘I don’t know quite how to put this.’
‘Were you going to ask if my husband has been less attentive to me since I’ve gone blind?’ Maria wondered.
‘Well, yes.’
‘I was blind when I married him. That’s not the problem.’
The problem wasn’t even Monika, she thought. The problem was that Bob had not only loved Monika, but that he still loved her.
‘It’s not my place to advise you on anything other than strictly legal matters,’ the solicitor said. He laughed uncomfortably. ‘After all, I’m not a marriage guidance councillor.’
‘But …?’ Maria asked.
‘But I think that in your special situation, you should think carefully before instituting legal proceedings.’
‘You mean that since I’m blind, I should be grateful for what I’ve got, however miserable my existence might be?’
‘No, no,’ the solicitor said hastily. ‘I wouldn’t quite put it like that.’
‘Then how would you put it?’
‘I’d just say that your life doesn’t need any more complications than it already has.’
Maria stood up. ‘Thank you for your time,’ she said, feeling in front of her with her white stick.
‘Please sit down again, until I can call someone to lead you out, Mrs Rutter, the solicitor said.
‘I can manage,’ Maria replied, negotiating her way around the chair.
‘The door’s—’
‘I know where the door is,’ Maria said sharply. ‘It’s only a few minutes since I came in through it.’
‘I know, but—’
‘I’m blind, not stupid.’
‘Quite,’ the solicitor agreed uneasily. He cleared his throat. ‘There is … er … a question of my fee.’
A mocking smile came to Maria’s lips. ‘You’d take money off a poor blind woman, would you?’ she asked. ‘A woman who is so pathetic that you expect her to stay with her husband however bad things get.’
‘I … er … sympathize with your predicament, but you must understand that business is business.’
‘Of course,’ Maria said. ‘Send me your bill.’
‘I’ll see it’s posted today,’ the solicitor said.
Maria’s smile broadened. ‘I wouldn’t have thought you could have prepared it so quickly.’
‘Oh, this is a very efficient office,’ the solicitor assured her.
‘And you have the right kind of typewriter, do you?’
‘The right kind of typewriter?’
‘Yes. You may not quite have come to appreciate this yet, but one of the disadvantages of being blind is that you can’t see. So if you want your bill paid, you’d better send it in Braille.’
Five
‘Got any contacts in the Bradford Police, Monika?’ Woodend asked, when Jenny Thomas had snuffled and shuffled her way out of the room.
‘Yes, as a matter of fact, I have,’ Paniatowski replied. ‘There’s a sergeant there who I met on a course last year.’
‘Did you get on well?’
‘Very. We liked each other from the start. It might have developed into something if …’
She didn’t say any more, but she didn’t need to.
It might have developed into somethin’ if she hadn’t still been desperately in love with Bob Rutter, Woodend thought, filling in the space.
There was an awkward pause – life seemed to be full of awkward pauses between them recently – then Woodend said, ‘It might be a good idea to get on to this mate of yours.’
Paniatowski nodded, rang Bradford Central, and asked to be connected to Sergeant Bill Conner.
‘I knew you couldn’t resist my charms for ever,’ Conner said, when he came on to the line.
‘Don’t flatter yourself, Sweet William,’ Paniatowski said lightly. ‘I’m only ringing because I want something.’
‘Of course you are,’ Conner agreed, happily enough. ‘That’s the way the women in my life always treat me. So what can I do for you, Monika?’
‘I was wondering if you had any records on a Pamela Rainsford,’ Paniatowski said.
‘Why? What’s she done?’ Conner asked.
‘You sound as if you know her.’
‘I do. Or at least, I did before she moved away. She was married to a mate of mine – Constable Tony Rainsford.’
‘And he deserted her, didn’t he? Walked out one morning and never came back?’
There was a pause on the other end of the line, then Conner said, ‘Who’s been spinnin’ you that line?’
‘It isn’t true? He didn’t walk out?’
‘He did not. Tony moved out, but right up until the day she left Bradford, she always knew where she could find him.’
‘Why did he move out?’
‘Why does anybody leave their wife?’
‘There’s dozens of reasons. What was his?’
Another pause. ‘To tell you the truth, I’m not really sure,’ Conner admitted. ‘When most men are bein’ given grief by their womenfolk, it’s usually impossible to make them shut up about it. But not Tony. He never said a word. But we could tell somethin’ was wrong, anyway.’
‘How?’
‘The last couple of years they were together, he’d come on duty lookin’ so rough you’d swear he’d been dragged through a hedge backwards.’
‘Was that because he was drinking heavily?’
‘Definitely not. Not at that time, anyway.’
‘Then what was his problem?’
‘Like I said, he didn’t talk about it. But if you ask me, I’d have to guess that there was somethin’ wrong in the bedroom department.’
‘That’s right, blame it on the woman!’ Paniatowski said, not quite sure whether Conner’s comment had amused her or angered her. ‘Women are such frigid bitches, aren’t they? They’ll never give a man what he really wants – what he really needs.’
It was anger, she decided, as she heard herself speak the last few words. Definitely anger.
‘I think you’ve got hold of the wrong end of the stick, Monika,’ Conner said. ‘I think it was him what was havin’ problems keepin’ up with her.’
‘So she was sleeping around?’
‘I don’t think so. If she had have been, we’d probably have known about it down at the station. An’ if that had been the case, I imagine he’d have cited it in the divorce proceedin’s.’
‘So he was the one who divorced her?’
‘That’s right.’
‘And what grounds?’
‘I believe it was mental cruelty.’
‘I’d like to speak to him,’ Paniatowski said.
‘I�
��m afraid you’re a bit late for that.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘He’s dead. Killed in a car crash a few months after Pamela left, poor bugger. It was the drink that got him, of course. He went from virtually teetotal to bein’ a ravin’ dipso in no time at all. I think that despite it all – whatever the “all” actually bloody was – he must have still loved her.’
‘You’re sure it was drink that caused the crash?’
‘Absolutely certain. I examined the wreck of his car myself. It smelled like a bloody distillery.’
Paniatowski sighed. ‘Well, thanks for your help anyway, Bill,’ she said.
‘You never did get around to tellin’ me why you were askin’ about her,’ Connor pointed out.
‘She was murdered last night.’
‘Oh,’ Connor said.
‘You don’t sound at all surprised,’ Paniatowski told him.
‘How can you say that! I’m right shocked!’ Conner protested. ‘Honestly I am.’ He paused for a second time. ‘But you’re not far off the mark, in a way,’ he admitted. ‘I never imagined she’d end up like that, but I’m not really surprised that she has, if you know what I mean.’
‘No, I’m not sure that I do,’ Paniatowski admitted.
‘Well, there was always somethin’ a little bit dangerous about Pamela,’ Conner explained. ‘I couldn’t put my finger on it exactly, but she always gave the impression she was livin’ on the edge.’
A procession of other young women and girls streamed through the office to be questioned by Woodend and Paniatowski. They varied from the very pretty to the downright unattractive, from the clearly quick and intelligent to the plainly dull and plodding. Some showed their obvious distress, while others were very subdued. And there were even a few, Woodend thought, who were secretly – and guiltily – thrilled to be involved even peripherally in a sensational murder. The only thing they all had in common was that they had very little to add to what Jenny Thomas had already said.
‘Pamela never talked much about her private life,’ a blonde invoice clerk said.
‘Wasn’t that unusual?’ Woodend asked.
‘I suppose it was, now I think about it.’
Dying in the Dark Page 4
