‘Yes, I do. He set his forensic team to work on Bob Rutter’s Cortina GT without even botherin’ to establish whether or not it was that car which was seen on Ash Croft on the night of the murder. He probably still doesn’t know whether they were examinin’ the right car or not, do you, Evans?’
‘As a matter of fact, I do know,’ DCI Evans said. ‘The Cortina on Ash Croft couldn’t have been Rutter’s, because Rutter’s car was at Melton’s Garage at the time, undergoing some minor adjustments.’
‘An’ how long have you known that?’ Woodend asked, feeling as if the ground he’d been so sure of was slipping away beneath him.
‘I’ve known since yesterday afternoon.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘You may believe – or disbelieve – whatever you choose, Mr Woodend,’ Evans said calmly.
‘If he – or any of his team – had actually been to Melton’s Garage, Paul Melton would have mentioned it to me when I was there myself,’ Woodend told Marlowe.
‘Well, Mr Evans?’ Marlowe asked.
‘We didn’t need to waste valuable police time going to the garage,’ Evans said. ‘We found the documentation for the adjustment work in the glove compartment of the Cortina.’
Overhead, there was a crash of thunder, followed rapidly by a searing bolt of lightning. And then it began to rain in earnest.
‘Any comment you’d care to make at this juncture, Mr Woodend?’ the Chief Constable asked.
‘It’s sloppy police work,’ Woodend said.
‘What is?’
‘If Bob Rutter had put the documentation anywhere other than in the car, DCI Evans’s team wouldn’t have found it.’
‘Yes, I should have thought that was obvious.’
‘An’ they’d have gone on treatin’ Rutter’s car as if it was the one which was spotted on Ash Croft. Which would have meant they wouldn’t be lookin’ for the Cortina that really was there.’
‘Nobody can actually say that this other Cortina did have anything to do with the murder,’ the Chief Constable pointed out.
‘An’ nobody can say for certain that it didn’t,’ Woodend countered. ‘Nor will they be able to, until they’ve conducted the kind of investigation which should have been conducted in the first bloody place.’
‘Mr Woodend does have a point, you know,’ Marlowe said to Evans. ‘It could be claimed, if one were feeling uncharitable, that you had in fact made a mistake there.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Evans agreed. ‘It’s noted, and I’ll see it doesn’t happen again. And I’ve already sent a man up to the garage to get a list of all the other Cortina GTs which were not there are the time.’
‘Good. Well, that seems to settle the matter, then.’
‘Is that it?’ Woodend demanded incredulously. ‘Is that all you’re goin’ to say to him? “Good. Well, that seems to settle the matter, then”?’
‘It’s all I’m going to say to Mr Evans, certainly,’ Marlowe told him. ‘But I still have a few words I’d like to direct at you.’
‘You’ve got what?’ Woodend asked.
‘It is no doubt useful to DCI Evans’s investigation that you’ve raised the question of the car on Ash Croft,’ the Chief Constable said. ‘But the fact of the matter is, you should never have put yourself in a position to ask the question in the first place.’
‘I don’t believe this!’ Woodend said.
‘You’re supposed to be investigating the Pamela Rainsford murder, not the Maria Rutter murder,’ the Chief Constable reminded him. ‘And then there’s the question of what happened last night.’
‘Last night!’
‘You had no business to be visiting DCI Evans’s suspect without clear permission from DCI Evans himself.’
‘You do realize that if I hadn’t gone – or even if I’d gone and arrived a couple of minutes later – Bob Rutter would be dead now?’ Woodend exploded. ‘You do understand that, don’t you?’
‘It was certainly very fortunate that you arrived at Rutter’s cell when you did,’ Marlowe said. ‘I’m delighted that you were able to save his life.’
‘Delighted!’ Woodend said, disgustedly.
‘Nevertheless, that is an entirely separate issue from the one we’re discussing. You had no business being there, and I am contemplating beginning a disciplinary procedure.’
‘Would you like my bloody resignation?’ Woodend shouted.
‘Are you offering it?’ Marlowe asked.
Was he? Woodend wondered. No, he bloody wasn’t! How could he, at this crucial stage of the game?
‘No, I’m not offerin’ to resign,’ Woodend said. ‘I’ll take my chances with the discipline board – if an’ when you convene it.’
‘Oh, it will be convened. You can be assured of that,’ Marlowe said.
‘So what happens now?’ Woodend asked.
‘What I’m tempted to do is suspend you,’ the Chief Constable admitted. ‘Unfortunately, I happen to have two murders on my hands at the same time as I’m battling against serious staff shortages. So what I’d like you to do, Mr Woodend – what I’m forced to allow you to do – is to continue with the Pamela Rainsford investigation. But if you go beyond your remit again, I will suspend you, even if it means taking over the investigation myself.’
‘Now that I would like to see,’ Woodend said.
Marlowe scowled. ‘You’re being insolent, Chief Inspector,’ he said.
‘I’m not followin’ you, sir,’ Woodend said innocently. ‘How can it be insolence to say I’d like to sit back myself an’ watch a real professional tacklin’ the job?’
‘Get out!’ Marlowe said.
‘On my way, sir,’ Woodend replied.
I shouldn’t have done that, he told himself as he was reaching for the door handle. I shouldn’t have done it – but, by God, it felt good.
The Duty Sergeant told Woodend that Constable Beresford was on his tea break and would very likely be in the canteen. And so he proved to be, playing cards with a couple of his mates.
Woodend slid into a free chair at their table. ‘If you wouldn’t mind, lads, I’d like a few words with Beresford in private,’ he said.
The other constables looked at each other, then at Beresford, then stood up and left.
Woodend waited until they were well clear of the table before he said, ‘I’ve just been to see the Chief Constable about the Cortina.’
Most constables would have directed their gaze at the table, but Beresford looked him straight in the eyes.
‘I told you I’d have to report our conversation, and that’s just what I did, sir,’ he said. ‘I wasn’t doin’ anything behind your back.’
‘Not behind my back, no,’ Woodend agreed.
‘I beg your pardon, sir.’
‘You don’t trust DCI Evans, do you?’
Now Beresford did turn away. ‘Mr Evans is my superior, sir,’ he said. ‘We are told to trust our superiors. We’re told that if we don’t, the whole system will collapse.’
‘Is that a “no” or a “yes”?’ Woodend wondered.
‘I suppose you’ll take it to mean whatever you want it to mean,’ Beresford said.
‘Aye, I probably will,’ Woodend said. ‘So you didn’t trust DCI Evans. An’ that’s why findin’ the service sheet in Mr Rutter’s car presented you with a problem. You see, bein’ the smart lad that you are, you’d already worked out that it would be helpful to DCI Evans’s case if the Cortina on Ash Croft turned out to be Mr Rutter’s. An’ you were worried that he might accidentally-on-purpose lose any evidence which proved that it wasn’t. Now I happen to think you were worryin’ unnecessarily – Evans may not be your kind of bobby, an’ he’s certainly not mine, but I don’t think he’s bent. Still, your concern does you credit.’
‘No comment,’ Beresford said.
‘I’m not surprised,’ Woodend told him. ‘So where were you to go from there? Well, you decided that the best way to make sure the evidence didn’t go missin’ was to make another se
nior officer aware of its existence. That’s why you rang me at the Drum, an’ told me about Melton’s Garage. I couldn’t quite pin the voice down at first, but now I’m sure it was you.’
‘But I dis—’ Beresford began.
‘You did what?’
‘Nothin’, sir.’
‘You disguised your voice. But you didn’t disguise it very well. An’ you called me “sir”, which was a mistake.’
‘We all make mistakes,’ Beresford said.
‘Aye, we do,’ Woodend agreed. ‘But you shouldn’t suffer too badly from this one, young Beresford, because if you ever need a friend in the Central Lanes Police, you’ve only to whistle an’ I’ll come runnin’.’
Provided, of course, I’m still in the Central Lanes Police when this case is over, he thought, as he made his way to the door.
Twenty-Five
The storm which had broken when he’d been in the Chief Constable’s office was continuing to vent its spleen on the inhabitants of Whitebridge more than an hour later. Rivers of angry water rushed headlong through the gutters, cascades of it gurgled furiously down the drains. Woodend, his collar turned up ineffectively against the deluge, strode rapidly towards the Yew Tree Café.
He would have preferred a different venue for what would probably turn out to be a difficult meeting with Monika Paniatowski, he thought as he hurried along. The Drum and Monkey came immediately to mind, but since that blessed haven wouldn’t be opening its doors for another hour, the café would just have to do.
Monika was already there when he arrived, sitting at a table by the window and gazing out at the storm without really seeing it. He would have said she looked rough, but that would have been rather like saying that Derek Higson’s Rolls-Royce was a moderately expensive car.
He sat down opposite her.
‘Have you seen him?’ she asked without preamble.
There was no need to ask who ‘he’ was, so Woodend merely nodded and then said, ‘Yes, I have.’
‘And how is he?’
‘Considerin’ he was probably no more than a minute or two from death when I found him, he’s not in bad shape.’
‘Have there been any … any …’
‘Permanent effects? They don’t think so. He’ll be speakin’ with a bit of a croaky voice for a while, but as far as they can tell at the hospital, there’s been no brain damage.’
‘He didn’t do it!’ Paniatowski said, letting the words gush from her mouth as if they’d been bursting to break free for quite some time.
‘Didn’t do what? Didn’t try to kill himself? Well, there was nobody else in the cell when I got there, an’ as much as I feel nothin’ but contempt for bobbies like Fatty Fletcher, I can’t actually see him just sittin’ back while somebody tried to commit murder on his watch.’
‘That’s not what I meant.’
‘Then what did you mean?’
‘Bob didn’t kill Maria!’
It was the last thing that Woodend had been expecting his sergeant to say to him.
‘What’s brought you round to this sudden change of mind?’ he asked, amazed.
‘The fact that he tried to hang himself last night,’ Paniatowski said, as if that explained everything.
‘There are those who’d say that was a confession of guilt, rather than a protestation of innocence,’ Woodend pointed out.
‘But I’m not one of them,’ Paniatowski countered. ‘Look, sir, you don’t know Bob like I do. I’m sorry, you may not like to hear that, being as close to him as your are, but it’s true.’
‘I’m not arguin’,’ Woodend said. ‘Let’s hear the rest of what’s on your mind.’
‘If Bob had killed Maria, he’d have taken his punishment like a man,’ Paniatowski said fiercely. ‘But he never would have killed Maria – I see that now I’ve started looking at the case through the eyes of a woman who loves him, rather than the eyes of a policewoman.’
‘If it wasn’t guilt that made him try to top himself, then what was it?’ Woodend asked.
‘Despair!’
‘Because he couldn’t face the thought of all them years in gaol for a crime he didn’t commit?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Have you got another theory?’
‘It might just have been that he couldn’t bear the thought of everybody looking at him and thinking he was guilty.’
It didn’t ring true, Woodend thought. It just didn’t ring true.
‘Now tell me what it is that’s really eatin’ away at you, Monika,’ he said gently.
‘Perhaps he tried to kill himself because he simply didn’t want to go on living now that Maria’s dead,’ Paniatowski said bitterly. ‘And what lesson can you draw from that, sir?’
‘I’m not sure that I can draw any—’
‘Then I’ll spell it out for you! He could tolerate life without me, but not life without her. He said he loved me, and perhaps he meant it. But she was the one who had his heart. She was the one who had his soul.’
Monika was on the verge of tears.
‘Listen, lass—’ Woodend began.
‘I don’t want your sympathy!’ she said, a burst of anger driving away the tears. ‘You asked why I thought he tried to kill himself, and I’ve told you. That’s the end of the matter. Can we now turn our minds to the problem of proving that he didn’t kill his wife?’
‘If you feel up to it.’
‘Of course I feel up to it! We’ve got a job to do, so let’s cut out all the emotional crap and get down to hard cases, shall we?’
‘Whatever you say,’ Woodend agreed. ‘Let’s talk about the Cortina GT, shall we? We know it wasn’t Bob’s, and it didn’t belong to any of Bascombe’s neighbours – so who did it belong to, and what the bloody hell was it doin’ there?’
‘The driver could have been a friend of one of Bascombe’s neighbours, just paying a social call,’ Paniatowski suggested.
‘In that case, he’d have parked in front of the house he was visitin’, instead of in front of one of the buildin’ shells. Nobody would have walked further down that muddy lane than he had to. Besides, if it belonged to a visitor, Evans would have found out about it from one of his team.’
‘How do you know he hasn’t?’
‘Because he assured Marlowe that he’d sent for the list of owners from Melton’s Garage. An’ he’d have no need to do that if he already knew whose car it was.’
‘Even so, the Cortina could have been parked there for a completely innocent purpose,’ Paniatowski said.
‘Even so, it’s the only bloody lead we’ve got!’ Woodend reminded her.
Paniatowski nodded. ‘You’re right.’
‘Since Paul Melton’s garage is the only official Ford dealer in this area – and since there’s a long waitin’ list for the new GT – we have to assume that’s where the car came from,’ Woodend continued.
‘So we need to know who he’s sold them to, and which of the cars he’s sold weren’t in the garage, being checked over, at the time of Maria’s murder.’
‘Exactly.’
‘And the only person we can get that information from is Paul Melton himself.’
‘Yes.’
‘But will he give it to us?’
‘I don’t see why he shouldn’t.’
Paniatowski lit up a cigarette, and took a deep, thoughtful drag. ‘But there’s also no reason why he shouldn’t tell DCI Evans that we’ve asked to see the list,’ she said.
‘True,’ Woodend agreed.
‘And Mr Marlowe’s already warned us off sticking our noses into the investigation.’
‘True again.’
‘So if Melton does tell Evans, we’re finished.’
‘No, we’re not,’ Woodend corrected her. ‘If he tells Evans, I’m finished – because I’ll be the one who does the askin’.’
‘You’re taking a big risk,’ Paniatowski cautioned.
‘I’m takin’ a bloody huge risk,’ Woodend said.
‘And it still m
ight not lead anywhere, because the Cortina could be just a red herring.’
Woodend grinned weakly. ‘Are you tryin’ to talk me out of it, Monika?’ he asked.
Paniatowski shook her head. ‘No, I’m not. Getting our hands on that information may just give us a chance. It might be a bit like drawing the three-legged horse in a sweepstake, but when it’s the only horse you’ve got, you just have to believe it will come through.’
Paul Melton was sitting behind his desk, munching his way through a plateful of thick-sliced toast, heavily ladled with strawberry jam.
‘One of the perks of being the boss is that you indulge yourself whenever you feel like it,’ he said with relish. ‘Would you fancy a piece of toast yourself, Chief Inspector?’
‘No thanks,’ Woodend said. ‘But there is something I would like.’
‘The list of people who’ve bought the new Cortina GT?’
‘That’s right.’
Melton nodded, and crammed another piece of toast into his mouth. When he’d chewed it up enough to speak again, he said, ‘The other bobby who was here told me you might come around and ask for it. He said that if you did, I wasn’t to give it to you.’
‘Did he, now?’ Woodend asked neutrally.
‘Which puts me in a sticky situation,’ Melton continued. ‘The thing is, I’ve always gone out of my way to avoid offending the police, but as matters stand, I can only avoid offending one bobby by offending another. So the question I have to ask myself is, which of the two bobbies is the more important? Would you like to help me out there?’
It would be pointless to lie, Woodend decided. ‘The lad who came round to see you probably isn’t as important as me, but he has the backin’ of the Chief Constable, an’ I don’t,’ he said.
‘Well, there you are then,’ Melton said, sucking some jam off his fingers. ‘There’s nothing I can do for you, is there?’
‘The other night, somebody killed a defenceless blind woman in Elm Croft,’ Woodend said. ‘That same somebody robbed a little baby of her mother. The Chief Constable an’ his cronies think Bob Rutter did it, but those of us who know him well are sure that he didn’t. Would you like to see the real killer brought to justice, Mr Melton?’
Dying in the Dark Page 18
