‘What are you talking about!’ Marlowe demanded. ‘Don’t you realize that I don’t give a toss about Murray’s state of mind. All I care about is how bad this makes us look.’
‘I don’t see how we could have handled it any differently,’ Woodend told him. ‘We’re simply not trained or equipped to deal with professional assassins, which is what Nikopolidis more or less was. An’ how likely did it seem that Hough was behind the whole thing – that he was intendin’ to die himself?’
‘You should have spotted it sooner,’ Marlowe said.
‘Aye, you’re right,’ Woodend agreed. ‘Not that it would have made much difference to the outcome, even if I had.’
‘It would have made a difference to this police force,’ Marlowe said. ‘It would have made a difference to your future prospects.’
‘I beg your pardon, sir?’
‘I have to inform you, Chief Inspector Woodend, that as from this moment you are suspended on full pay.’
‘Until when?’
‘Until a board of inquiry can be convened to investigate your mis-handling of this case.’
‘You mean to determine whether or not I did mis-handle it,’ Woodend suggested.
‘No, I meant exactly what I said,’ Marlowe told him.
Woodend nodded slowly. ‘So the board’s report is already written, is it? At least in your head?’
‘Yes, it is,’ Marlowe said, with unusual candour. ‘I intend to break you, Chief Inspector. I shall take no personal pleasure from it, but that is what I intend to do.’
‘I don’t think you’re bein’ quite honest about that last point, sir,’ Woodend said. ‘The truth is that if you can break me, you’ll be chuffed as little apples.’
‘Perhaps you’re right – in the long term,’ Marlowe conceded. ‘Perhaps, at some time in the future, I will be able to truly savour the process I am about to initiate. But at the moment, I am simply doing whatever I can to ensure my own survival.’
‘An’ there’s no room in the lifeboat for two,’ Woodend said.
‘Just so,’ Marlowe agreed. He held out his hand, palm upwards. ‘If you don’t mind, I’ll take your warrant card now, Chief Inspector.’
An air of gloom hovered over the team’s usual table at the Drum and Monkey that night.
‘Have you spoken to Monika, sir?’ Rutter asked, more to fill in the silence than because he wanted to hear the answer.
‘Aye, I have spoken to her,’ Woodend replied. ‘Her plane was diverted to somewhere down south, so she’ll not be back till the mornin’. She’s not exactly pleased about it, but at least it means she’s been spared havin’ to attend this mournful bloody gatherin’.’ He took a slug of his pint. ‘An’ while we’re on the subject of my wake, I’m not entirely sure you two lads should be here, either. Now I’ve been given the black spot, you might be well advised to pretend that any past association you’ve had with me was certainly not a matter of choice on your part.’
‘It doesn’t work like that, sir,’ Beresford said, and his tone was very gentle, as if he were talking to an injured bird. ‘We’re on your team, and we’ll continue to be on it until there’s no team to be on.’
‘Too bloody true,’ Rutter agreed. ‘Anyway, I’m confident you’ll beat this thing, sir.’
‘I’m not so sure you’re right about that,’ Woodend said. ‘The press will be screamin’ for somebody’s blood, an’ I have to admit, I’m likeliest-looking donor. Anyway, why should I fight it? I’m only a few years away from retirement, an’ while the pension won’t be exactly wonderful, I’ll be able to live off it, as long as I watch the pennies carefully. Who knows, I might just move to Spain, an’ set up a private detective agency with my mate Paco.’
‘It doesn’t sound like you,’ Rutter said dubiously.
‘Doesn’t it?’ Woodend asked. ‘Listen, for the past twenty years I’ve been puttin’ more hours into the job than Soft Mick. I’ve worked till my back ached an’ my head was spinnin’. I’ve seen things that would probably turn most men’s stomachs – an’ which have certainly turned mine. An’ on top of that, I’ve had to serve under a long line of dickheads, culminatin’ in the Dickhead-in-Chief, Henry-bloody-Marlowe. Who needs it?’
Rutter grinned. ‘You do,’ he said.
‘Aye, you’re right,’ Woodend agreed with a sigh. ‘I do.’
‘Phone call for Mr Rutter,’ the landlord called across the bar.
‘Better take it,’ Woodend said. ‘It could be that they’ve already assigned you a new boss, an’ he’s wonderin’ what you’re doin’ still dancin’ the hornpipe on a sinkin’ ship.’
Elizabeth Driver was lying in a deep luxurious bath, in a hotel where her bill – when it was finally presented – would just about equal the national debt of a small country. She was not alone in the bath, but she had given the muscular young man who was sharing it with her strict instructions that he should keep quiet while she made her phone call – and since she had delivered the instructions in words of one syllable, she was fairly confident that he had understood her.
‘Rutter,’ said a voice at the other end of the line.
‘Oh, hello, darling!’ Elizabeth Driver said – then wondered immediately if ‘darling’ was not pushing things a little too far, a little too fast.
‘Is that you, Elizabeth?’ Rutter asked.
No ‘darling’ from him in return, then, so perhaps she’d better cool things off a little.
‘I heard on the news that you’ve solved the case of the headless man,’ she said.
‘In a way – and at a cost,’ Rutter told her.
‘At a cost?’
‘Cloggin’-it Charlie’s been suspended. He doesn’t think he’ll survive the board of inquiry.’
‘But that’s terrible!’ Elizabeth Driver gasped.
‘Don’t pretend to be upset about it, Liz,’ Rutter said. ‘You never did like the man.’
There was an element of rebuke to his tone, she thought, but at least he was calling her Liz, which was a definite improvement.
‘You’re right that Mr Woodend and I haven’t always got on,’ she agreed, ‘but I’ve always respected him for the good bobby he is, and I had been hoping that, as we got to know each other better, we’d learn to like each other more – if only for your sake.’
‘You never cease to surprise me,’ Rutter said. ‘There I was, thinking you’d be over the moon that he was about to lose his job, and instead you really sound quite distressed.’
‘I am distressed,’ Elizabeth Driver said.
And so she was. Charlie Woodend was going to be one of the cornerstones of her book. She didn’t want him crucified now – she wanted him crucified when she was in a position from which she could hammer in the nails personally.
‘I’ve got another piece of news,’ Rutter said. ‘And it’s good news, this time. Louisa is coming to Whitebridge next week.’
‘Who?’
‘Louisa. My daughter!’
‘Oh, Louisa,’ Elizabeth Driver said. ‘Must be a bad line, because I could have sworn you said something else. Yes, that is good news.’
She was simply going to have to cosy up to the snotty little brat if she was to get really close to Rutter, she told herself. It would be a strain, but it would still be a relatively small price to pay for having a best-selling exposé handed to her on a platter.
‘I’m really looking forward to meeting the little poppet,’ she continued. ‘Listen, darling, I simply have to go now, because I’m working to a very tight deadline on my latest story, and my editor will go absolutely bananas if I don’t manage to meet it.’
‘If you’re that busy, then it was very nice of you to find the time to ring me,’ Rutter said.
‘It wasn’t nice at all,’ Elizabeth Driver told him. ‘I rang you because I miss you.’
It was a rather good closing line, and so she hung up immediately.
The man at the other end of the bath smiled amiably at her, reminding her of a none-too-bright
puppy who only wants to please.
‘Finished?’ he asked.
‘The phone call’s finished, but I’m certainly not,’ Elizabeth Driver told him. ‘You remember that thing you were doing to me earlier?’
‘Yes?’
‘Do it to me again.’
Most of the customers in the public bar of the Drum and Monkey noticed the new arrival almost the moment he came through the door. Perhaps it was his expensive herringbone suit which immediately attracted their attention, or perhaps it was the aura of self-confidence which seemed to encase him. Whatever the cause, the man himself did not seem aware of the minor sensation he was causing, and having located Woodend, he made a bee-line for his table.
‘Good evening, Chief Inspector,’ he said.
‘Good evening to you, an’ all,’ Woodend replied. He turned to Beresford. ‘This is Mr Forsyth. He’s a spy.’
Forsyth laughed lightly. ‘Mr Woodend will have his little joke,’ he told Beresford. ‘In point of fact, I’m no more than a very minor official in the Foreign Office.’
‘A spy,’ Woodend repeated.
‘Have it your own way, Mr Woodend,’ Forsyth said easily. ‘Would you excuse us for a few minutes, Constable Beresford?’
‘How do you know my name?’ Beresford asked.
‘You’ve not been listenin’, lad,’ Woodend told him. ‘He’s a spy.’
Beresford stood up. ‘Well, I’ll … if you’ll … call me when you need me, sir,’ he said awkwardly.
‘Don’t worry, I will,’ Woodend replied.
Forsyth sat down in the seat that Beresford had vacated. He was holding something in his hand, and now he laid it flat on the table. It was Woodend’s warrant card, and at even the sight of it, the chief inspector’s hands began to itch.
‘I’ve just had a most interesting chat with your chief constable,’ Forsyth said. ‘Apparently, he now thinks that he acted rather hastily earlier. He’s completely given up the idea of convening a board of inquiry, and is hoping that you’ll be willing to report for duty tomorrow morning as if the whole unpleasant scene in his office had never happened.’
‘How the hell did you manage that?’ Woodend wondered.
‘Oh, it was easy enough,’ Forsyth said lightly. ‘Everyone has secrets they’d rather not have made public – and we know what most of them are.’
Woodend looked down at his precious warrant card, but, as hard it was to restrain himself, he still made no move to pick it up.
‘Go ahead,’ Forsyth said encouragingly. ‘It’s yours. Take it!’
‘Before I do that, let’s talk about just what it’s goin’ to cost me,’ Woodend replied.
‘I’d be more than happy to, Chief Inspector,’ Forsyth agreed, ‘but first I’d like to order a drink.’
He signalled to the waiter. It was a minimalist gesture, but the man noticed immediately, and came straight over to the table.
‘I’ll have a double of the best malt whisky you have on offer,’ Forsyth said. ‘And a pint for you, Chief Inspector?’
Woodend looked down at his glass, which was almost empty. ‘Thanks, but I’m all right for the moment,’ he said.
The waiter – well aware of the chief inspector’s drinking habits – did his best to hide his look of astonishment. ‘Are you sure about that, Mr Woodend?’ he asked.
‘I’m sure,’ Woodend told him. ‘You’d better go an’ get that expensive malt whisky, before there’s a run on it.’
The waiter nodded, and returned to the bar like a man in a trance.
Once he’d gone, Forsyth said, ‘It’s my job to keep the lid on things, but I’m rather afraid you’re the kind of chap who likes to show everybody what’s still bubbling up in the pot.’
‘Go on,’ Woodend said, non-committally.
‘All five men who were involved in that rather unpleasant incident in Cyprus seven years ago are now dead. And that being the case, we would rather like you to consider the matter closed.’
‘An’ what about the other buggers?’ Woodend asked.
‘Which “other buggers” are you referring to?’
‘You know that as well as I do. I’m talkin’ about the army officers who were in charge at the time – the ones who knew what had gone on, an’ decided to cover it up.’
‘I’m sure they acted from the best possible motives.’
‘Best possible motives?’ Woodend repeated. ‘In law, we call what they did bein’ “an accessory after the fact”.’
‘In diplomacy, we call it choosing the option likely to cause the least damage within the context of the bigger picture.’
‘So that’s the price, is it?’ Woodend asked. ‘I keep my job as long as I’m prepared to let the guilty parties get away with it?’
‘Essentially.’
Woodend took a swig of what was left of his pint. ‘I won’t do it,’ he said firmly.
‘I could make sure that any inquiry that was held went heavily against you,’ Forsyth pointed out. ‘You might not only lose your job – you might lose your pension, as well.’
‘I still won’t do it.’
Forsyth looked pained. ‘Oh dear, you’re going to force me to be unpleasant, and I was so hoping to avoid that,’ he said.
‘Be as unpleasant as you like,’ Woodend invited.
‘Very well. How is Sergeant Paniatowski coming to terms with being a killer?’
‘You what?’
‘We both know that Sergeant Paniatowski did something at Haverton Camp which resulted in the death of a very prominent person.’
‘It was his own actions which killed him.’
‘True. But she was the one who made those actions possible, and – as I think I may have said at the time – we could make out a case for charging her with manslaughter if we chose to.’
‘You also said at the time that it would cause your masters considerable political embarrassment if she ever actually went to trial – an’, as far as I can see, that’s not changed.’
The waiter returned with the malt whisky. Forsyth gave him a pound note, and waved away the change.
‘You’re quite right about that, of course, Chief Inspector,’ he said. ‘But it would also cause my masters considerable embarrassment if this Cyprus business ever became public knowledge.’
‘An’ you don’t want to have to deal with two embarrassments at the same time, do you? So even if I do go public with this Cyprus business, you’ll still leave Monika alone.’
‘You’ve certainly made a good logical case for that, but it ignores the realpolitik of the wider picture,’ Forsyth said smoothly.
‘Does it?’
‘Indeed it does. If we let you get away with this, it gives those who find themselves in a similar position in the future the licence to believe they can do the same as you have done. You are the first crack in the dam, and if we don’t staunch it now, the deluge will follow.’
‘Which, in the interest of justice an’ open government, might not be a bad thing,’ Woodend pointed out.
‘We simply can’t allow that to happen,’ Forsyth continued, ignoring him. ‘And if, in order to avoid such a situation arising, we have to deal with two embarrassing situations tomorrow morning, then we will grit our teeth and do just that. In other words, if you raise the issue of Cyprus again, we will prosecute Sergeant Paniatowski. And furthermore, we will win – because nobody, not even you, believes that the judicial system can remain impartial when it feels the whole weight of government pressing down on it.’
Woodend picked up his warrant card, slipped it into his pocket, and stood up.
‘I suddenly feel the need for a breath of fresh air,’ he said.
‘I’m sure you do,’ Forsyth agreed. ‘But please do remember, Chief Inspector, that it is because of organizations like mine that there is still fresh air for you to breathe.’
‘An’ you should remember that you can sometimes pay such a price to keep the air fresh that eventually you can’t hide the stink whatever you do,’ Wo
odend countered, heading for the door.
Author’s Note
Several of DCI Woodend’s earlier cases are mentioned during the course of this book, and for any readers interested in following them up, I have listed below where they can be found.
The Helen Dunn kidnapping occurs in The Red Herring. Paco Ruiz, the Spanish detective, helps Woodend make his case in The Butcher Beyond. Maria Rutter is murdered in Dying in the Dark, and Bradley Pine is disembowelled in Sins of the Fathers. And finally, the Haverton Camp murder is central to A Long Time Dead.
Dangerous Games Page 24
