A Death Left Hanging

by Sally Spencer

  It is just after half past seven when Fred Dodds closes the door and imprisons her in his torture chamber. But he doesn’t assault her immediately. Oh no! He takes her into the living room, lifts her on to the sofa, and switches on the television.

  ‘I’ll be back in a few minutes,’ he says, going into the hall.

  But it will be nearly an hour before he returns.

  Why does he wait so long? Because he wishes to mentally savour the pleasure to come? Because he knows that the longer she is kept waiting, the more nervous – and perhaps the more appealing – she will become. She doesn’t know. She will never know.

  Perhaps he doesn’t even know himself.

  She looks around the room. At the pictures on the wall. At the coffee table, on which lie his cigarettes and her mother’s knitting.

  Her mother is knitting her a blue cardigan. She doesn’t need to do it – now that she is married to Fred Dodds she can afford to buy all Jane’s clothes in a shop – but it gives her pleasure. She always enjoys doing things for her daughter, however big or small each of those things might be. She loves Jane. She would give her life for her.

  The hands on the wall clock say it is nearly half past eight. The phone rings, but Jane daren’t answer it, and her stepfather chooses not to.

  Another minute or two tick away. Jane can hear the sound of a car at the far end of the street. And she can hear her stepfather’s heavy footfalls as he comes down the stairs. She bites her bottom lip as hard as she can. It hurts, but she wants it to hurt. She needs to punish herself for what has happened before and is about to happen again. She didn’t think it was possible to despise anyone as much as she now despises herself.

  He opens the door and enters the lounge. His whole face is filled with a wide, obscene leer.

  ‘Did you find it hard, having to wait so long?’ he asks. ‘I bet you did. I’ll bet you were so impatient that you wet your little knickers. I certainly hope that’s what happened.’

  He kneels down in front of the coffee table, so that his head is on the same level as hers. The car which she has heard earlier is getting closer.

  ‘Now how shall we begin?’ he asks. ‘Where would you like us to start?’

  ‘I . . . I don’t want . . .’ she stutters.

  ‘Of course you want! All this is your idea. I’d never have done it if you hadn’t encouraged me.’

  ‘I . . . I didn’t . . .’

  ‘Oh, you may not have put it into words, exactly, but the message was clear enough.’

  His hands start to reach for her. She doesn’t want it to happen! Whatever he says, she knows she doesn’t want it. She picks up one of the knitting needles that are lying on the table.

  Her only wish is to stop him going any further. She’s not aiming the needle at anywhere in particular. It is just chance that the needle goes up his left nostril.

  His eyes bulge and he slumps over to the side. In the road, the car comes to a stop.

  ‘She battered his head into a bloody pulp not because that was the way in which his father had died, and not because she hoped to dangle the possibility of another killer before the police and the jury,’ Paniatowski said. ‘She did it in order obliterate any evidence of the real cause of death.’

  Jane Hartley, tears streaming down her face, nodded.

  ‘Why did she do it?’ she sobbed. ‘Why didn’t she just tell the police the truth? What I did was in self-defence. No court in the land would ever have punished me for it.’

  ‘She probably guessed that herself,’ Paniatowski said. ‘But she didn’t have your legal training and experience, so she couldn’t know for sure. And even if there was only a very slight chance you’d be locked up, that wasn’t a chance she was prepared to take.’

  Jane Hartley dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief. ‘So what happens now?’ she asked, a little more in control of herself.

  ‘Nothing happens now,’ Paniatowski replied.

  ‘But there’ll have to be a trial. Or if not a trial, then at least some kind of hearing.’

  ‘My boss doesn’t think that will be necessary.’

  ‘If there isn’t a hearing, how will my mother’s name ever be cleared?’

  ‘Your mother took the blame for killing Fred Dodds because she didn’t want you to take it,’ Paniatowski said. ‘But I think there was another reason she kept quiet. She didn’t want what had gone on between you and your stepfather to become common knowledge. She didn’t want you to go through life with everybody pointing you out as some kind of freak.’

  ‘But . . .’

  ‘She died in order to keep what had happened to you a secret,’ Paniatowski told Jane Hartley, ‘and the best way you can honour her memory is to keep it secret yourself.’

  Thirty-One

  They sat at their usual table in the Drum and Monkey, drinking their usual drinks. It would been stretching things to call this end-of-case booze-up a celebration, but at least they could all agree it was a relief.

  ‘How do you think Jane Hartley will be feelin’ right now, Monika?’ Woodend asked.

  ‘I couldn’t say for certain,’ Paniatowski replied. ‘But if she’s anything like I was when I learned the truth, she’s probably wishing she could have stayed screwed up and ignorant.’

  ‘I can’t understand that,’ Rutter said. ‘Surely, it’s always better to know why you’re acting like you are, isn’t it?’

  Paniatowski shook her head. ‘If you don’t mind me saying so, that’s a typical outsider’s view. When you’re on the inside, things look very different. How can I explain it to you?’ She frowned as she turned the problem over in her head. ‘You don’t mind if I get a bit fanciful, do you?’ she said finally.

  ‘Not if it’ll help you to say what you want to say,’ Woodend told her.

  ‘Say you have a gammy leg,’ Paniatowski began. ‘You’d know it’s dragging you down and stopping you from achieving your full potential, but you think there’s nothing you can do about that. Then, one day, a doctor tells you that gangrene’s set in, and the leg has to come off. Once it’s been amputated you discover that, for the first time in your life, you have a real choice to make. If you want to, you can spend the rest of your days in a wheelchair, wishing that the leg had never gone bad in the first place. Alternatively, you can take the artificial limb the doctor’s offering you, and learn to walk again – perhaps even better than you ever have before. That’s the situation Jane Hartley’s in right now – she can sit there wishing she’d never been assaulted, or she can learn to walk. The second option’s the one she should take. But it’s not an easy choice to make.’

  ‘You managed it,’ Rutter said, with an unexpected hint of admiration in his voice.

  ‘I kept away from men for a long time,’ Paniatowski said. ‘Even when I did start going out with them, I kept feeling this urge to hurt or humiliate them. It was years before I could finally convince myself that they weren’t all just Arthur Jones in disguise.’

  The door swung open. The Chief Constable’s secretary entered the bar, and made a beeline for Woodend.

  ‘Sorry to disturb you like this, Chief Inspector,’ he said, ‘but Mr Marlowe wanted me to remind you that you have a six o’clock meeting with him.’

  Paniatowski and Rutter looked at each other, their eyes filled with a sudden panic. Was that still on? the eyes asked. Wasn’t the Inquisition Circus supposed to have left town by now?

  ‘This meetin’?’ Woodend said to the secretary. ‘Who’ll be there? Just him an’ me? Or is he plannin’ a big party?’

  ‘Mr Marlowe has been in consultation with some of his senior staff,’ the secretary said, ‘but I think they’ve all gone off duty now.’

  Woodend smiled. ‘That’s all right then,’ he said. He turned to Paniatowski and Rutter. ‘Are you two comin’ back to headquarters with me?’

  ‘Yes, we’ll––’ Rutter began.

  ‘We won’t be long, but there’s no point in rushing down our drinks, is there?’ Paniatowski interrupte
d.

  ‘None at all,’ Woodend agreed, looking down at his sergeant’s empty vodka glass.

  Though Marlowe never appeared best pleased to see Woodend, it seemed to be causing him particular pain that late afternoon.

  ‘Surprised to find me alone, Charlie?’ the Chief Constable asked.

  ‘Not really, sir,’ Woodend admitted.

  ‘Not really,’ Marlowe repeated, rolling the words around in his mouth as if he were sucking on a sour plum. ‘How do you do it, Charlie?’

  ‘How do I do what, sir?’

  ‘How do you always manage to wriggle your way out of almost impossible situations?’ Marlowe said.

  ‘I’m afraid I’m not quite followin’ you, sir.’

  Marlowe sighed heavily. ‘On that Maddox Row case, it seemed as if whoever was in charge of the investigation wouldn’t be able to do right for doing wrong, yet you managed to emerge as some kind of hero. You investigate the death of a school teacher, and end up making some of Scotland Yard’s finest officers look about as competent as a drunken tinker. You actually get suspended and investigated for corruption while investigating that shooting on the moors – but it’s other people who end up going to prison. What’s your secret?’

  ‘Clean livin’ an’ a clear conscience?’ Woodend suggested.

  ‘And then there’s this latest case of yours. Lord Sharpe and Jane Hartley wanted two completely different results. You couldn’t possibly satisfy them both. Yet Hartley has written me a note to say she doesn’t want us to pursue the matter of her mother’s execution any further, and Sharpe has rung me up to say –’ he reached for the pad on his desk – ‘and I bloody-well quote, “It would be a great pity if the Mid Lancs Police were to continue using an officer with the experience and talent of DCI Woodend on purely administrative matters.” What do you make of that, Charlie?’

  ‘I must say, I’m surprised, sir.’

  ‘You can’t even be bothered to lie properly, can you?’ Marlowe growled. ‘But just remember this – the papers might say you have the devil’s own luck, but that luck can’t last forever. You’ll put a foot wrong eventually, and when you do I’ll be waiting to fall on you like a ton of bricks.’

  ‘I’ve absolutely no doubt about that, sir,’ Woodend said. ‘Will there be anything else?’

  ‘No, nothing else,’ Marlowe made a sudden furious sweeping gesture with his hand. ‘Get out, Charlie. Leave me in peace.’

  ‘Certainly, sir,’ Woodend agreed.

  ‘What’s this all about?’ Rutter asked, as Paniatowski signalled the waiter for another round of drinks.

  ‘What’s what all about?’ Paniatowski countered.

  ‘The only time we’re normally alone together is when the job demands it. But the job’s over. So why are we still sitting here?’’

  ‘We’re still here because, before you go, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about. Do you remember what I said earlier? About how I used to feel the urge to hurt and humiliate men?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I think meeting Jane Hartley for the first time brought it all back to me. I think I started seeing men as the enemy again. All men – but you especially. And I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Forget it,’ Rutter said. ‘We’ve all got our blind spots. Look at me. As soon as I learned that Margaret Dodds had had an affair, I refused to see any good at all in the woman.’

  ‘But you don’t still feel like that, do you?’

  ‘Jesus, no! After all that Margaret Dodds went through, I don’t blame her for finding what relief she could in Seth Earnshaw’s arms.’

  Paniatowski looked sceptical. ‘You really don’t blame her?’

  ‘I really don’t,’ Rutter insisted. ‘If I’ve learned one thing from this case, it’s that there are a hundred worse things you can do to a person than be unfaithful to them.’

  ‘What about us?’ Paniatowski asked.

  ‘Us!’ Rutter repeated, sounding slightly alarmed.

  ‘Us,’ Paniatowski reiterated. ‘Our relationship. The way we work together.’

  ‘Oh, that,’ Rutter said. ‘What about it?’

  ‘As convenient as it would be to blame all our problems with each other on this particular investigation, we both know it goes deeper than that,’ Paniatowski said. ‘We’ve been at each other’s throats from the moment we met. Do you think we’ll ever learn to get on?’

  ‘Yes, if we both try hard, we might eventually end up with some sort of decent working partnership,’ Rutter said. ‘Especially now I know why I’ve kept dipping your pigtails in the ink well.’

  ‘Pigtails?’ Paniatowski said, puzzled. ‘Ink wells? What the hell does that mean?’

  He hadn’t realized he’d said that last bit out loud. ‘I think it means I’m losing my mind,’ he said evasively.

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about that,’ Paniatowski told him. ‘We all lose our minds in the end. It’s an occupational hazard.’

  ‘Well, that’s reassuring – I think,’ Rutter said, smiling gratefully.

  They lapsed into silence, but it was not the kind of silence they had known in the past. There was none of the old antagonism bubbling below the surface now. Instead it was a calming silence. A relaxing silence. An almost companionable silence.

  Rutter found himself wondering if Monika liked nature as much as he did. If it thrilled her to watch a kestrel swoop down from the skies. If she saw fantastic images in the clouds, and beauty in the swaying grasses. If looking at a tree could make her think that whatever else happened, life was worthwhile.

  ‘It’s funny the way everyone’s different,’ Paniatowski said, as if she had been following her thoughts as the kestrel follows the air currents.

  ‘How do you mean?’ Rutter asked.

  ‘Take marriage. It really suits some people. You, for example. You love Maria with all your heart, don’t you?’

  Rutter nodded. ‘And I admire her more than anyone else I ever met. I don’t think I’d ever be able to summon up the courage – even once – that she has to summon up every day of her life.’

  ‘And, of course, you’d never even imagine leaving her.’

  ‘Never. Losing her would be like losing the biggest part of myself. I wouldn’t know who I was or where I was without Maria.’

  Paniatowski nodded, as if he had merely confirmed her suspicions. ‘I’ve thought seriously about marriage myself,’ she said, ‘but now I’m sure that it’s not for me. I like being with other people some of the time, but at others I feel like being alone – and when I get that feeling, I don’t see why I should have to justify it to anyone else. Can you understand that?’

  ‘Yes,’ Rutter said, ‘I think I can.’

  ‘So what I look for is nice, uncomplicated relationships. No promises and no commitments on either side. No one getting hurt – especially those people on the fringes of the relationship. I don’t drag my private life into anyone else’s, and I don’t want anyone else’s dragged into mine.’

  Rutter found himself thinking of birds again – and of rabbits scurrying to their holes, and squirrels scampering along tree branches.

  ‘You’ve gone very quiet,’ Paniatowski said. ‘I’ve not been too profound for you, have I?’

  ‘No,’ Rutter replied, a little startled. ‘No, not at all. I was just wondering if we really have to go back to the station.’

  ‘Doesn’t seem much point in it, does there? We’d only be sitting around, twiddling our thumbs.’

  ‘Of course, if Cloggin’-it Charlie was still with us, we’d stay here until we were all rolling drunk, and then piss off home.’

  ‘True, but I don’t really feel like getting rolling drunk today,’ Paniatowski admitted.

  ‘Neither do I,’ Rutter agreed. ‘So why don’t we do something else instead?’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘It’s a lovely day, and there are still a few hours of light left. We could go for a drive in the country. We might even wait around to watch the sun set. What do you think?’
/>
  ‘That would be nice,’ Paniatowski said.

  Epilogue

  Jane Hartley stood on the platform at Whitebridge Station, waiting for the train that would whisk her back to London. She would never return to her home town again, she decided. There would be no point in doing so now.

  The mental film of that last, fateful night in the life of Fred Dodds was still playing in her head. But it was more than just a repetition of her previous viewings of it. Much, much more!

  When she’d seen the film for the first time, under Paniatowski’s guidance, it had been running at high speed, so while she had gained a general impression of what had gone on, the details had all been a bit of a blur. Now the film had slowed down, and she could linger on some of the parts which she had missed the first few times through.

  Fred Dodds has just entered the room. Jane calls him ‘Daddy’ – because she has been told to, and because she can’t think of what else to call him – but she knows he is not her real father.

  He is bending over her now, his face a contorted mask of unnatural lust. Jane’s small hand gropes around on the coffee table, and then she feels the knitting needle between her fingers. She jabs – and sees it disappear up her stepfather’s nostril.

  He barely has time to topple backwards before the door is flung open and her mother rushes into the room.

  ‘Oh my God, you’ve killed him,’ Margaret Dodds gasps.

  Jane feels hot tears forming in her eyes. ‘I didn’t mean to, Mummy. I didn’t mean––’

  ‘It wasn’t your fault, darling. Don’t ever think that it was your fault.’

  Margaret picks her up, carries her across the room and deposits her in the armchair furthest away from the supine Fred Dodds.

  ‘I want you to stay right here until I say you can move,’ Jane’s mother tells her. ‘Have you got that?’

  ‘Yes, Mummy.’

  ‘There’s my big brave girl.’

  Margaret goes into the hallway, and Jane can hear her talking urgently into the telephone. When Margaret returns to the living room she looks down at Fred – as if wondering what to do next – then starts to walk towards the back door.