The Dead Hand of History (21 page)

‘And did these business trips of hers necessitate her staying away from home overnight?'

‘Once in a while they did,' Jenny said, sounding puzzled. ‘Why are you asking?'

‘I was wondering if she happened to be away a week last Wednesday,' Paniatowski said.

Or to put it another way, she thought, I was wondering if she happened to be away when (according to the report that DC Blake had just made) a Mr and Mrs Lord checked in at the Old Oak Tree Inn in Knorsbury.

‘Linda
was
away one night that week,' Jenny said. ‘She went to a short conference of bakery managers in Leeds. But I can't remember exactly which night it was. I expect the details will be in her appointment book, which she always keeps on her desk, so if you'll give me a minute, I'll . . .'

Jenny froze.

‘Take it easy,' Paniatowski said softly.

‘The . . . the book's in her office but I can't . . . I don't want to . . .' Jenny mumbled.

‘But you don't want to go in there yourself just yet?' Paniatowski supplied.

Jenny nodded. ‘It's weak of me, I know, and maybe tomorrow I'll be able to face it . . .'

‘You said the appointment book would be on her desk. Would you mind if I went and found it myself?'

‘Of course not.'

‘And while I'm in there, would you have any objection to my searching the office?'

‘
Searching
it?' Jenny asked, alarmed.

‘I need to look for evidence,' Paniatowski explained. ‘Anything that might give me a clue as to who Linda's murderer might be.'

Jenny hesitated. ‘You won't make a mess, will you? You'll leave everything as you found it?'

‘Of course,' Paniatowski agreed.

And she was thinking, Linda Szymborska's only been dead for a little over twenty-four hours, and
already
her sister's turning her office into a shrine.

The moment Paniatowski stepped into Linda's office, she realized how wrong she'd been about Jenny's intentions for the place.

The evidence was all there.

The heavy teak desk – which most other firms would have got rid of years earlier.

The framed prize certificates which proclaimed that, generations ago, Brunskill's loaves had triumphed over other brands of bread which probably no longer existed.

The huge painting dominating the far wall.

There was no
need
to turn this place into a shrine – because it already
was
one.

She gave the portrait a closer inspection. In the great tradition of Lancashire tycoons, Seth Brunskill had had it painted in oils, and – also in that tradition – the man himself was giving the artist a hard stare, as if assessing whether or not he was getting value for money.

He had been a handsome man, with much the same sort of handsomeness as Stan Szymborska and Tom Whittington possessed, Paniatowski thought. That surprised her, although given that both his daughters were good-looking women – or rather, one was, and one
had been
– it shouldn't have done.

Perhaps her expectations of Seth Brunskill had been shaped by Sergeant Sid Roberts' sour view of the man, she told herself. And perhaps Roberts had been right – for while the features were undoubtedly strong and regular, there was no humour in the eyes, and no signs of compassion around the mouth.

She could not picture Seth dandling Linda or Jenny on his knee, or tickling one of them under the chin. On the other hand, it was easy to imagine him scowling at them when they had done something of which he disapproved – and Paniatowski could almost
hear
him saying that they had disappointed him, and they must try harder next time.

DS Walker was well into his third pint of best bitter when the man with the dandruff-flecked collar sat down next to him, uninvited.

‘Detective Sergeant Walker?' the man asked, though it was not really a question at all. ‘I'm—'

‘I know who you are,' Walker said gruffly. ‘What exactly do you want, Mr Traynor?'

‘Just a few words.'

‘Well, here's a
couple
of words for you,' Walker said, after taking a sip of his pint. ‘Piss off!'

‘You're not very keen on the press, are you?' Traynor asked.

Walker lit up a cigarette. ‘Well, let's put it this way,' he suggested, ‘if I was planning to push a line of people off a cliff, then reporters would certainly be
in
that line, right after lawyers and foreigners.'

‘And where would detective chief inspectors be in the line?' Traynor wondered.

‘What?'

‘You don't much like DCI Paniatowski, do you?'

Walker shrugged. ‘I've nothing against her.'

‘And
I
don't like her, either,' Traynor said, choosing to treat the veracity of the comment with the contempt it deserved.

‘Why's that?'

‘Because she's had her chance to cooperate with me, and she's not taken it – which means that, in my book, there's a black mark against her name.'

‘Is there any particular reason that you're telling me this, Mr Traynor?' Walker wondered.

‘Have you ever heard the expression, “My enemy's enemy is my friend”?' the reporter asked.

‘Might have done,' Walker said evasively.

‘It's not a trick,' Traynor assured him.

‘Then what
is
it?'

‘It's an
offer
. If you help me, Detective Sergeant Walker, then I'll be more than willing to help you.'

Walker frowned. ‘Would you care to spell that out?'

‘Certainly. I'd very much like to know just how a big a cock-up DCI Paniatowski's making of her new job, and if you were to provide me with a few details, you could rest assured I'd make sure the rest of the world found out, too. Now, some people might call that kind of thing disloyal . . .'

‘And what would
you
call it?'

‘I'd call it loyalty of the highest order.'

‘Would you?'

‘Indeed. Because if DCI Paniatowski's not doing her job properly, then it's your duty as a member of the Police Force – and the well-being of that force is where your loyalty
truly
lies – to make the general public aware of that failing. And, of course – though I know this wouldn't sway you one way or the other – there might be a bit of money in it for you.'

‘That sounds suspiciously like you're making an attempt to bribe me,' Walker said.

‘I wouldn't put it quite like . . .'

‘And if you think I'd be willing to betray my boss, then you don't know me at all.'

Traynor stood up again. ‘I'm sorry,' he said, awkwardly. ‘I seem to have made a mistake.'

‘A big one,' Walker growled.

‘No hard feelings?' Traynor said, offering his hand.

‘Aren't there?' asked Walker, pointedly ignoring it.

Traynor began to walk slowly towards the door.

‘I must be losing my touch,' he told himself. ‘I really must. I could have sworn that Walker was just the sort of man who'd . . .'

And then he heard the sergeant call out from behind him, ‘Hold on a minute, will you, Mr Traynor!'

The reporter turned around. ‘Yes, Sergeant?'

‘You forgot to leave me your business card,' Walker pointed out.

Traynor smiled in self-congratulation. ‘Losing my touch?' he asked himself. ‘Not a bit of it! I can still smell out the stink of human weakness from across a crowded room.'

‘You're quite right, Sergeant,' he told Walker. ‘I
did
forget to leave you my card.'

Jenny Brunskill was still sitting at her desk – still apparently absorbed in her work – but it was obvious she had been crying again.

‘Did you find anything?' she asked Paniatowski hopefully. ‘Were there any of the clues you were looking for?'

Paniatowski shook her head. ‘No,' she admitted. ‘But it was a bit of a long shot anyway. And there are plenty of other lines of investigation that we've been following.'

‘You
will
catch him, won't you?' Jenny Brunskill asked.

And, as always when she was asked that question, Paniatowski found herself struggling for an answer – because while she wanted to give the assurance which was being sought, she could not ignore the fact that there were some murderers who
did
get away with it.

‘We're doing all we can,' she said.

Jenny smiled weakly. ‘I believe you are,' she said. ‘You're trying your best, and that's all any of us can do.' She paused for a second, then continued, ‘Did you find Linda's appointment book all right?'

‘Yes. It
was
Wednesday night that she was away.' Paniatowski lit up a cigarette. ‘Why didn't you go with her to Leeds?'

‘Oh, that sort of thing simply isn't my cup of tea,' Jenny said, almost apologetically. ‘I look after the books, and Linda looks after – Linda
looked
after – the people.'

‘So Linda went
alone
?' Paniatowski asked.

‘Yes. Why would you ask that?'

‘Well, I just thought that Stan might have gone with her.'

‘He used to, but then Linda said that since she was always working so hard on those trips, there wasn't much point in taking him along.'

‘Or, since it was a
bakery
conference, I thought she might have taken her head baker with her.'

‘That kind of conference isn't about
baking
the bread,' Jenny said. ‘It's much more to do with reviewing the baking industry as a whole, and finding ways to . . .' She suddenly stopped talking, and her face turned as white as flour. ‘What are you suggesting?' she demanded. ‘Do you think that Tom and Linda . . . that Linda and Tom could have . . .?'

‘You must surely already have considered the possibility that they were having an affair,' Paniatowski said.

‘Never!' Jenny said, in a voice which was now almost a scream. ‘The idea never even occurred to me! And it
still
doesn't! Linda wouldn't do that to Stan! She wouldn't
dare
do it!'

‘So on the Wednesday that Linda was in Leeds, Tom was in the bakery
all day
, was he?' Paniatowski asked.

Jenny looked away. ‘I have work to do,' she said.

‘
Was
Tom here all day?' Paniatowski persisted.

‘No, as a matter of fact, he wasn't here at all that Wednesday.'

‘You said that without even consulting your records,' Paniatowski pointed out.

‘There's
no need
to consult them. I
know
it was the same day.'

‘How can you be so sure?'

‘Because of the way things happened that day.'

‘Go on,' Paniatowski said.

‘Linda was just about to set off for Leeds when Tom phoned in sick. She nearly didn't go at all, because, with Tom out, she thought she'd better work in the bakery herself. But I said we should be able to cope for just one day, and she said that in that case . . .' A look of horrified realization suddenly filled Jenny's face. ‘Oh, my God,' she moaned.

‘Was Tom often off sick?' Paniatowski asked.

‘No, he was almost never . . . I can't remember the last time he . . .'

‘So doesn't it strike you as awfully convenient that he should be sick on the same day as Linda was going to Leeds?' Paniatowski said softly.

‘Tom
was
sick that day,' Jenny said desperately. ‘I
know
he was sick. He
had to be
sick.'

EIGHTEEN

S
ergeant Walker took a sip from the pint of best bitter, and smacked his lips with satisfaction.

They always said the first pint of the day was the best, he thought, and they were quite right. Not that this
was
his first pint of the day – strictly speaking, it was his fifth – but it was his first in the Drum and Monkey, and that had to count for something.

The night before, alone in his shithole of a flat, he had sunk to a bit of a low point, he realized, but now, after a few pints, the world was starting to look a much better place, and even his problems seemed more manageable.

‘We're waiting, Sergeant,' said one of his bigger problems, who was sitting across the table from him.

‘Sorry, ma'am, I was just getting all the details of my report straight in my head,' Walker replied. ‘This is the area we've covered this morning,' he continued, pointing to shaded-in parts of the map which he'd spread out on the table. ‘As you can see, I've concentrated my men on areas where there were abandoned buildings, because it seemed to me that the killer would have chosen somewhere he was unlikely to be interrupted.'

‘Makes sense,' Paniatowski agreed.

‘So we gave it our best shot, and I'm afraid we still didn't find anything,' Walker concluded.

‘But at least you've narrowed down the area that's still left to be searched,' Beresford said encouragingly. ‘And it will be narrowed down even further this afternoon, which means that by tomorrow—'

‘Tomorrow?' Walker interrupted, wondering if his last two pints in the Green Man should have been accompanied by whisky chasers. ‘Are you saying we'll still be searching
tomorrow
?'

‘Yes,' Beresford replied, with a note of surprise in his voice. ‘We'll certainly continue the search tomorrow, unless, of course, you strike lucky sometime this afternoon.'