‘Not always, no,’ replied Liz Duffy, clearly amused at having got such a strong reaction from the sergeant. ‘Always is such a long time, isn’t it? So let’s just say that when I saw him with Monika at the mortuary, I realized what a great opportunity I’d been presented with.’
‘An opportunity to do what?’ Paniatowski asked.
‘To find out how the investigation was going, of course. After all, I did have a certain interest in knowing how close you were to catching the killer.’
‘And you thought Jack Crane would give you that information?’
‘I knew he would. As long as I could convince him I was the girl he wanted me to be, he was putty in my hands.’
‘And by “the girl he wanted me to be” you meant a girl who was falling for him as he was obviously falling for you?’
‘Spot on.’
‘Didn’t you feel guilty about using him in that way?’
‘Not at all. He had his chance with me a long time ago, and he threw it away,’ Liz Duffy said indifferently.
‘How did he throw it away?’
‘It made him uncomfortable that I cared for him so much. Then I met Simon. I didn’t make him feel uncomfortable. He relished what I had to offer. And that’s when I realized that I’d been no more than fond of Jack. You can only really – truly – love one man in your entire life, you know, and I love Simon.’
‘You loved him,’ Paniatowski corrected her.
‘I love him,’ Liz Duffy said passionately. ‘He’s still with me – and I still talk to him.’
‘And does he answer?’
Duffy looked at Paniatowski almost pityingly. ‘Do you think I’m some kind of lunatic? Of course he doesn’t answer me! But we were so close that I know what he’d say if he did answer.’
‘And you know he would have said you should kill Jill?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why would he have said it?’
‘Don’t you know?’
‘I think so, but I’d still like you to explain it to me.’
‘We used to go to a golf club in Birmingham, and sometimes – at the dinner dances – Simon would chat to a girl called Susan Williams. He didn’t particularly want to chat to her, of course, but he sensed she was a lonely little girl, and he was a very kind man. As it turned out, his kindness wasn’t enough for her. She wanted much more. So she tricked him into meeting her in Sutton Park.’
And that was why it had to be the park, Paniatowski thought – that was why it always had to be the park!
‘What happened in Sutton Park?’ she asked.
‘Susan seduced my Simon,’ Liz Duffy said. ‘It was a moment of weakness on his part, I freely admit that, but he’s not to blame. It would never have happened if she hadn’t made it happen.’
Paniatowski glanced down at the notes she’d taken down when talking to Midlands Police, an hour earlier.
‘There was no seduction,’ she said. ‘The girl was raped.’
‘No, she wasn’t. She only claimed she was raped later.
‘Why would she have done that?’
‘Because Simon realized his mistake almost immediately, and said he wanted nothing more to do with her. Well, she was heartbroken, wasn’t she? Who wouldn’t be heartbroken about being turned down by Simon? And she decided that if she couldn’t have him, no one could, so she said he’d raped her.’
‘For God’s sake, all the evidence was there, and it was an open-and-shut case,’ Paniatowski exploded. ‘And when he’d finished raping her, he sodomized her with a bottle!’
‘I don’t think it’s true that she was sodomized,’ Liz Duffy said firmly.
‘According to the police surgeon, there’s absolutely no doubt about it. Are you doubting the word of one of your colleagues?’
Liz Duffy shifted uncomfortably in her seat.
‘Well, maybe I’m wrong about her not being sodomized,’ she conceded. ‘But if she was,’ she added, as a new thought came into her mind, ‘then that only proves my point, doesn’t it?’
‘And what point is that?’
‘That she was the kind of girl who would stoop to anything. I expect some other man did that to her – I expect she asked him to do it.’
‘The Birmingham police found the ski mask that your husband had been wearing.’
‘They planted it on him. They had to arrest someone, you see, and if that “someone” was a good-looking man who they were probably all jealous of, then so much the better.’
‘It wasn’t just one rape he committed – the police believe he was responsible for a string of them.’
‘They believe! Then why didn’t they charge him with more? Why did they send him to prison only for what he was supposed to have done to Susan Williams?’ A single tear leaked from the corner of Liz Duffy’s eye. ‘I did everything I could to help him. I hired the best lawyers money could buy. It didn’t do any good. I failed him.’
‘So you killed Jill as some kind of warped revenge on Susan Williams?’ Paniatowski asked, though she knew that wasn’t the case at all.
‘Of course not,’ Liz Duffy said scornfully. ‘I’m not so mean, petty or spiteful to have done that.’
‘Then why did you kill her?’
‘Jill was dancing with her new brother-in-law, and she started pressing up against him, and . . .’
‘And . . .?’
‘And that’s when Simon spoke to me.’
When the phone rang on the desk in Baxter’s prison office, it was Inspector Grimes who picked it up.
‘Yes?’ he said.
‘This is the switchboard operator at Whitebridge Police Headquarters,’ said the voice on the end of the line. ‘Could I speak to Chief Constable George Baxter, please?’
Grimes looked across the room at the big ginger man, who was sitting on the camp bed and staring at his hands.
‘I’m afraid Mr Baxter can’t come to the phone at the moment,’ he said. ‘Can I take a message?’
‘Not really,’ the switchboard operator replied. ‘It’s this girl, you see.’
‘What girl?’
‘She’s calling from Birmingham. She says she has Mr Baxter’s business card.’
‘I expect a lot of people have Mr Baxter’s business card.’
‘Yes, but she says he gave it to her last night. She says he told her if she felt the need to talk, she’d only to ring and he’d drop whatever he was doing and have a chat with her.’
Grimes glanced across at George Baxter again. The big ginger man was still sitting as rigid as a statue. He didn’t seem to know this conversation was going on. He probably didn’t even quite realize where he was.
‘He can’t talk now,’ the inspector said. ‘Tell her to ring him again in a few days.’
‘Only she seems very upset,’ the switchboard operator persisted.
‘She’s very upset!’ Grimes exploded. ‘How do you think he feels? I’ve just had to tell the poor bugger his wife’s been killed!’
‘What! Mrs Baxter? Dead! I didn’t know.’
The powers-that-be had probably been keeping it quiet until Baxter himself had been informed, Grimes told himself. They often did in situations like this, and he should have thought of that before shooting his mouth off.
‘Listen, don’t mention it to anyone until there’s been an official announcement,’ he told the switchboard operator.
‘I only saw her the other day. It’s all a bit of a shock,’ the operator said.
‘Yes, I imagine it must be,’ Grimes agreed.
‘So I’m to tell this girl to call back in a few days, am I?’
‘Yes, I think that would be best.’
‘Simon spoke to you while Jill was dancing with her brother-in-law,’ Paniatowski said. ‘I thought you told me that Simon didn’t speak to you.’
‘You’re splitting hairs,’ Liz Duffy said angrily. ‘But if it will make you feel any happier, let’s just say that the thought which came into my head could have been what Simon would have said.’
‘And what was it that Simon said – or could have said?’
‘He said, “Now do you see?”’
‘Now do you see?’ Paniatowski asked, pouncing on the word. ‘Now do you see what?’
A look of real shame came to Liz Duffy’s face.
‘I’d been starting to have doubts,’ she admitted.
‘Doubts?’
‘I was beginning to think that Simon hadn’t been entirely honest with me about what had gone on in Sutton Park. That’s why what happened at that wedding reception was almost like an epiphany, because suddenly I could see just what these girls were like – and how helpless the men who fall under their spell are.’
‘How would killing her have helped Simon?’
‘It wouldn’t. He was lost. He’d given way, under the strain of all the injustice, and hanged himself in his cell. But he was the kind of wonderful caring man who would have wanted me to save others from the fate that befell him.’
‘So you killed Jill to save her brother-in-law?’
‘Perhaps him, or perhaps some other poor soul who would eventually have fallen into her clutches. All I knew was that she had to be stopped before she did any real damage.’
‘So it was a totally altruistic act?’
‘Yes, I’m an unselfish person by nature – that’s why I’m a doctor.’
‘You did it for yourself,’ Paniatowski said harshly. ‘You had to believe that Jill – and all girls like her – were evil, because that meant that what Simon had claimed was true. And what was the best way to prove to yourself that you really did believe she was evil? Why, by killing her – because you’re a doctor, and you could never bring yourself to kill someone who was innocent. But it’s a circular argument – you kill them because they’re guilty, and they must be guilty because you’ve killed them.’
‘That’s what we medics call “pop psychology”,’ Liz Duffy said, a little uneasily.
‘And what you’ve just said is what we detectives call “self-justification”,’ Paniatowski countered. ‘You were wondering why you went to the park again, the night after you killed Jill. Well, I’ll tell you – it was because once you’d started, you couldn’t stop.’
‘Oh, I’d got a taste for blood, had I?’
‘No, it wasn’t that at all.’
‘Then what was it?’
And there was at least a part of Duffy that was interested in hearing the answer, Paniatowski thought.
‘You realized that if you’d killed one girl because she was guilty, then you had no excuse for letting other girls – who were equally as guilty – go on living. You saw yourself as an even-handed instrument of justice. You had to – because the alternative was far too terrible to contemplate.’
‘And what alternative might that be?’ Liz Duffy challenged.
‘Why, that you’d willingly sacrificed your own personality – your whole sense of self-esteem – on the altar of Simon-worship, and that Simon had turned out to be no kind of god at all. That by looking for a replacement for your darling daddy – and ending up with a pervert – you’d thrown your life away. It really was much easier to keep on killing than face that truth, wasn’t it?’
The thunder boomed, the lights flickered – then went off – and the sheet lightning overhead illuminated Liz Duffy’s crumbling face in its ghostly yellow glow.
The power came on again, and Liz Duffy gave Paniatowski a look of pure hatred.
‘I want to see a lawyer now,’ she said.
‘The kinds of problems that you have can’t be fixed by any lawyer,’ Paniatowski told. ‘You need to think about what you’ve done and why you’ve done it, Liz – it’s the only way you’ll ever have a chance of finding peace.’
‘Lawyer!’ Duffy screamed. ‘I demand to see a lawyer!’
EPILOGUE
Jo Baxter’s funeral took place on a chill March morning. The church – St John’s – was packed. Many of the people there were police officers who had not known her personally, but respected her husband, and had come to offer him their support. If Jo was in heaven – and some of those there believed that she was – then she was probably looking down on the service and reflecting bitterly that, even in death, she was not so much Jo Baxter as Mrs George Baxter.
Once the service was over, and the body laid to rest, George Baxter positioned himself by the lychgate, from where he could thank the mourners individually for putting in an appearance. He looked pretty much as he always did – big and impressive and in charge – except that though his moustache was still like a big ginger caterpillar, his shock of hair had turned quite white.
The team joined the line, which was slowly shuffling forwards. They didn’t say anything to each other. Somehow, that wouldn’t have seemed quite right.
They finally reached the front of the queue.
‘Thank you for coming, Detective Inspector Beresford,’ Baxter said, shaking Beresford’s hand firmly. ‘It was good of you to come, Detective Sergeant Meadows.’ Shake. ‘I appreciate your kindness, Detective Constable Crane.’ Shake.
And then it was Paniatowski’s turn.
‘You did a good job with the Liz Duffy case, Detective Chief Inspector Paniatowski,’ Baxter said. ‘Well done.’
And though he had made eye contact with the other three, he looked through Paniatowski as if she were not there.
They filed past the chief constable and into the street.
‘A drink,’ Paniatowski said firmly. ‘I need a drink.’
And none of the team disagreed.
The pub was just across the street from the church, and was called the Bishop’s Arms. They grabbed a table near the window, and ordered a round of drinks.
‘There’s a rumour going round that Mrs Baxter committed suicide,’ Beresford said.
‘That wasn’t what the coroner ruled,’ Paniatowski said sharply, remembering the way that Baxter had refused to look at her.
‘The rumours also say that she was doing ninety when she came off the road, and that she had enough alcohol in her to start a distillery,’ Beresford said.
‘For God’s sake, sir, shut up!’ Meadows exploded. ‘The woman’s dead and buried – let her rest in peace.’
‘Fair enough,’ Beresford said, looking a little shamefaced.
Paniatowski took a sip of her vodka, and thought about the other news she would soon have to break. Her original plan had been to inform Jack Crane, and then tell the others later, but she now decided that it might be better for Crane if he heard it while he was surrounded by his colleagues.
‘Last night, Liz Duffy hanged herself in her cell,’ she said.
‘Oh my God,’ Crane said, turning white.
Meadows put her hand on his shoulder. ‘Easy, Jack,’ she said softly.
‘She wasn’t the girl you once knew, Jack,’ Paniatowski said. ‘She’d turned into a completely different person.’
‘But she still could have been the girl I knew,’ Crane said. ‘If only I’d tried to win her back . . . if only I’d warned her about Simon . . .’
Paniatowski’s sudden rage took everyone – including herself – completely by surprise.
‘Don’t you dare blame yourself,’ she shouted across the table. ‘Don’t you bloody dare!’
‘I’m . . . I’m sorry, boss,’ Crane stuttered.
‘If I ever hear you talking like that again, you’re off the team,’ Paniatowski told him. ‘If I even suspect you’re thinking like that, you’re gone.’
The people at the other tables had turned around to see what all the fuss was about.
Paniatowski stood up.
‘If you’ll excuse me, I think I need a breath of fresh air,’ she said, and headed for the door.
‘What was that all about?’ Beresford asked, when she’d gone.
‘I rather think she might be a little upset, sir,’ Meadows said. ‘And you didn’t help the situation much.’
‘Me? What did I do wrong?’
‘You kept going on about whethe
r or not Mrs Baxter had committed suicide. Didn’t you even notice the way the chief constable avoided the boss’s eyes at the lychgate?’
‘I didn’t, as a matter of fact, but I don’t see what the one thing’s got to do with the other,’ Beresford said.
‘No,’ Meadows agreed. ‘You probably don’t.’ She stood up. ‘I think I’ll grab a little fresh air myself.’
Meadows found Paniatowski in the churchyard, gazing down at a headstone that said:
Arthur Jones
1911–1961
Rest in Peace
‘When I saw you coming in here, I thought you might be visiting your father’s grave,’ Meadows said.
‘He’s buried in the Catholic cemetery, along with my mother,’ Paniatowski replied.
So who’s this Arthur Jones?’
‘He was my stepfather. He began raping me when I was eleven, and only finally stopped when I’d grown big enough and strong enough to start fighting back.’
‘Oh God, I’m so sorry!’ Meadows said.
‘What for?’ Paniatowski asked.
‘When we were questioning Liz Duffy, I suggested that her father may have raped her.’
‘Yes, you did.’
‘I’d never have done it if I’d known that had happened to you. It must have brought it all back to you. It must have been terrible.’
‘It did bring it all back to me, and it wasn’t terrible,’ Paniatowski said. ‘It was exactly the right thing to say – and it got us the result we wanted.’
They stood in silence for a few moments, then Meadows said, ‘Would you mind if I asked you another question, boss?’
‘Not at all.’
‘Why are you here, at the graveside of a man you must hate?’
‘To remind myself that I don’t hate him any longer – that I’ve trained myself not to hate him.’
‘I see,’ Meadows said.
Paniatowski smiled. ‘No, you don’t – not yet.’
She paused, opened her handbag, took out her cigarettes, and then, remembering where she was, returned the packet to the bag.
‘I don’t hate the Germans for killing my father, either,’ she continued. ‘I used to, but now I just accept that he was in a war, and that in wars, bad things happen. The past is gone forever, and on the journey through the rest of your life, you can’t allow the dead to walk beside you and keep spewing their poison into your ears.’
A Walk With the Dead Page 25
