A Walk With the Dead (11 page)

‘Nobody?' Liz Duffy repeated sceptically.

‘Well, Sergeant Meadows knows – but she's a special case.'

‘What makes her special?'

‘She's just weird,' Crane said. He paused. ‘You'd have to meet her to understand what I'm talking about.'

‘So Monika has no idea that you're really Jack Crane, MA (Oxon)?'

‘No, and Inspector Beresford doesn't know, either.'

‘Why are you making such a big secret of it?'

‘Monika was educated at the local secondary modern, and Inspector Beresford went to a comprehensive school. God alone knows what exotic course Sergeant Meadows followed before she finally turned up in Whitebridge – but like I said, she's weird.'

‘If that was an explanation of why you're being so mysterious, it wasn't a very good one,' Liz Duffy said.

‘There's still a lot of prejudice against a university education in the force,' Crane explained. ‘As it stands, I'm being judged on my merits, but if people knew I was a “university boy”, they wouldn't take me seriously.'

‘Not even Monika Paniatowski?'

‘She'd take me seriously now, because I've worked with her for a while – but I'm not sure even
she
would have done at the beginning.'

‘You should come clean, you know, Jack,' Liz Duffy said. ‘Living a lie – even a relatively harmless one like that – can have a very destructive effect on your personality. Believe me, I know.'

‘
You
know?'

‘As a doctor, I've seen it with my own eyes – on so many occasions.'

‘I've been meaning to confess to the boss, and I will – very soon,' Crane said. ‘But in the meantime, I'd be grateful if you didn't say anything.'

‘You can rely on me,' Liz Duffy told him.

‘Thank you.'

A silence fell between them – that awkward sort of silence which comes when two people who haven't seen each other for years have finished the business in hand, and don't know what to say next.

‘So what have you been doing since the days when we'd go punting up and down the Isis, with me doing all the work and you sitting back and stuffing yourself with strawberries and cream?'

‘I did
some
of the work,' Liz Duffy said, in mock rebuke. ‘And I never
stuffed
myself with strawberries and cream, because, even back then, I had to watch my figure.'

The conversation sounded all wrong, Crane thought. Liz had described what had gone on in the morgue as a pantomime, but what was happening now was more like a play – a bad, hastily written drama about two Oxford graduates who had just happened to meet up again after several years. And perhaps the reason they were behaving in that way was because playing a part was so much less painful than playing themselves.

‘Seriously, what
have
you been doing?' he asked, in an attempt to break away from the role that his psyche had imposed on him.

Liz Duffy shrugged. ‘I've been doing pretty much what you'd have expected me to do. I qualified as a doctor, I worked in a hospital for a while, then I went into general practice. It's all been quite exciting – in its way – but compared to your career path, it seems very dull and predictable.'

‘I'm sure nothing you ever did could be dull,' Crane said.

Was he slipping back into playing a role, he asked himself. No, he was sure he wasn't. This was Jack Crane speaking – and when he'd said Liz could never be dull, he'd meant it.

‘Are you married?' Liz asked.

‘No. Are you?'

‘Sadly not,' Liz told him. She took a deep breath. ‘Would you like to come round to my flat one night – for dinner? I promise you, I'm a much better cook than I used to be.'

‘I'd like it very much,' Crane said.

‘Then let's set a definite date for it. What about tomorrow night, for example?'

‘I'm not sure,' Crane told her.

‘I'm being too pushy, aren't I?' Liz Duffy asked. ‘It's always been a failing of mine.'

‘No, it's not that,' Crane protested. ‘It's just that I'm part of a murder investigation, and my time's not really my own.'

‘You could surely squeeze in an hour or so to slip round for a drink, couldn't you?' Liz asked hopefully.

‘I'm not even sure of that,' Crane admitted.

‘Well, how about we make the arrangement purely tentative?' Liz suggested. ‘I'll be at home, and if you can manage to come round, we'll have that drink. If not, we can postpone it to another night, when you have your killer safely behind bars.'

‘That seems a bit unfair on you,' Crane said dubiously.

‘I'll be at home whether you come or not,' Liz Duffy said. ‘Being so new to the area, I don't have much of a social life.'

‘I'll try to make it if I possibly can,' Crane promised.

‘I know you will,' Liz Duffy said.

Since Beresford and Paniatowski were not facing the door of the public bar, they didn't see Crane come in. Meadows, on the other hand, had a clear view of his entrance, and, noticing an obvious spring in his step, wondered what had caused it.

‘Ah, DC Crane!' Beresford said, when Crane reached the table. ‘How good of you to find the time to drop in and talk to us.'

Crane's
joie de vivre
drained away.

‘The boss said it would be all right—' he began.

‘Sit down, Jack,' Paniatowski interrupted him. ‘We were considering the possibility that the reason Jill went to the park was to meet a boyfriend. What do you think?'

‘She obviously
had
a boyfriend,' Crane said, taking his seat. ‘You can't put love bites on your
own
neck. And what other reason could a young teenager have for going to the park on Saturday
but
to meet her boyfriend? Besides, she was wearing her favourite top – the one she only usually wore when she was out with her Auntie Vanessa.'

‘Then we're all agreed,' Paniatowski said. ‘She went to the park because she had a date with a boyfriend who her mother knew nothing about – and having met her mother, I can quite see why Jill might want to keep him a secret. But did she actually
see
that boyfriend?'

‘And if she did, did he kill her?' Beresford added.

‘And if he
did
kill her,
why
did he kill her?' Meadows said.

‘It could have been through jealousy,' Crane suggested. ‘Perhaps he found out she was seeing another boy.'

‘I don't think that's likely,' Paniatowski said.

‘You don't think
what's
likely?' Meadows asked.

‘I don't think it's likely that she'd have
two
boyfriends. In fact, after seeing her for myself at her aunt's reception, I'm surprised she even had one – though all the evidence clearly indicates that she did.'

‘If we assume for the moment that there's only one boyfriend, and that he didn't kill her, why hasn't he come forward?' Beresford asked.

‘He might not even know she's dead yet,' Meadows said.

‘That's rather unlikely, isn't it?'

‘She attended a girl's school,' Meadows pointed out. ‘If the boyfriend's school is at the other end of town – and if he's not the kind to read the newspaper or listen to the radio – then it's more than possible that he hasn't heard yet.'

‘And even if he has heard, he might be frightened to come forward,' Crane said.

‘I don't think the boyfriend did it,' Paniatowski said decisively. ‘Dr Duffy called it a “clean kill”. I don't like the term – and neither does she, as a matter of fact – but I do know what she means by it. Jill's murder seems to me to have been a rather cold – almost clinical – one, and I can't see it being carried out by a schoolboy.'

‘If we could only find the boyfriend in question, we'd be able to rule out all kinds of possibilities,' Beresford said.

‘I'll have his name for you by the end of the afternoon,' Kate Meadows told the team.

‘And how do you propose to do that?' Beresford wondered.

‘I'm interviewing a number of girls from Jill's school this afternoon. They'll tell me who he is.'

‘You seem very confident that you'll be able to get them to talk,' Beresford said.

‘I am,' Meadows replied.

The first thing that Paniatowski noticed as she crossed the pub car park was the big blue Jaguar – and the second thing was the big ginger man, who was towering over her little MGA.

‘I thought you were investigating that prison suicide in Yorkshire, sir,' she said.

‘I was,' Baxter replied. ‘Or, to be more accurate, I am. But I felt the need to talk to you about your investigation.'

‘I don't like having people looking over my shoulder when I'm working on a case,' Paniatowski told him. ‘And with respect, sir, you should know that better than anyone.'

‘The question is, after what happened to Louisa, should you be on the case at all?' Baxter said.

‘I can handle it,' Paniatowski said.

‘Are you seriously trying to tell me that you're not finding it a tremendous strain?'

‘Well, of course I find it a bloody strain. I find all my cases a strain. Murder's a straining business.'

‘But this one is particularly hard on you – and you know it.'

Paniatowski sighed. ‘Yes, I do know it,' she admitted.

‘So why not hand it on to someone else?'

‘I couldn't do that, even if I wanted to.'

‘Why not?'

‘Because of Louisa.'

‘Ah, now I see it,' Baxter said. ‘So you're looking for someone to vent your anger on for what happened to your daughter, are you? You can't punish the man who took Louisa, and this killer is standing in as a sort of substitute.'

‘It's not that at all,' Paniatowski said, shaking her head.

‘Then what is it?'

‘Louisa was very shaken just after the abduction, but she's got to the point now where she can tell herself that the whole incident was just one of the things – like falling off a swing or getting lost in the woods – that can happen when you're growing up, and that while it might have been very frightening at the time, it's of no real importance in the general scheme of things.'

‘That's a very sensible attitude, and I'm glad she's been able to adopt it,' Baxter said.

‘But if I walk away from this case, that will be a signal to her that I couldn't handle it. And it won't take her long to realize
why
I couldn't handle it. And suddenly, because it's still so important to me, the abduction will start to be important to her again.'

‘She'd have to make the connection first,' Baxter pointed out. ‘And how likely do you think that is?'

‘It's very likely,' Paniatowski said firmly. ‘She's got Bob Rutter's genes – and that means she's a very smart girl. She might not see the link immediately, but she
will
see it – and when she does, her whole world will collapse around her.'

‘You could lie to her about your reasons for withdrawing from the case,' Baxter suggested.

‘I could,' Paniatowski agreed, ‘but she wouldn't believe me.'

‘I see your problem and, believe me, I really do sympathize with you,' Baxter said, ‘but I'm the chief constable, and I have to look beyond Louisa's needs to those of the wider community.'

‘And what exactly does that mean?'

‘It means you're so emotionally involved that I'm not sure you can lead this investigation effectively. It means that a killer may get away because you're not up to the job. It means that you could damage the reputation of the Mid Lancs Constabulary and your own reputation. And I'm not sure I can run the risk of any of those things happening.'

‘It's
because
I'm emotionally involved that I'm the best person for the job,' Paniatowski argued desperately. ‘There's nobody in the force who wants to catch this killer more than I do. There's nobody who'll be prepared to pull out as many stops as I will.'

‘It's not your
commitment
that I'm casting doubts on . . .' Baxter began.

‘Give me four days to get a result, George,' Paniatowski pleaded. ‘That's all I'm asking – just four days!'

Baxter hesitated for perhaps half a minute, then he looked down at his watch.

‘You have exactly seventy-two hours to make an arrest, Detective Chief Inspector Paniatowski – and your time starts right now,' he said.

She could have hugged him – hugged so hard that she'd have half squeezed the life out of even his massive frame – but instead, she just said, ‘Thank you, sir. I really appreciate it.'

‘Don't thank me until we both know I've made the right decision,' Baxter told her.

Then he turned, and walked quickly back to his Jaguar.

As he drove away, he didn't wave goodbye. In fact, he didn't even glance in her direction.

And that was perhaps a good thing, because after all the effort she'd put into persuading him to keep her on the case, she was exhausted, and anyone looking at her at that moment would have seen a lone and uncertain figure.

Jo Baxter stepped out of the jewellery shop in the centre of Whitebridge clutching a small box in her hand. The box contained a pair of rather expensive cufflinks that she had just bought for her husband to welcome him home after he had completed his investigation in Yorkshire.

As she walked along the street, she wondered just how long George was likely to be away.

‘I'm planning on it being a week,' he'd told her, ‘but if I hit resistance, it could be much longer than that.'

‘But if it is any longer, you will come home at the weekends, won't you?' she'd asked.

‘Prisons don't close down at the weekends – and it was over a weekend that Jeremy Templar hanged himself.'