The Red Herring (18 page)

Dunn nodded. ‘Very well,' he said. ‘Helen was naturally shocked when Janice was drowned – more than shocked. But she pulled herself out of it very quickly – just I would have expected her to – because she saw her duty as clearly as I saw mine.'

‘Her
duty
?'

‘Helen's mother has never been a strong woman. Normal life is hard enough for her to get through, without her burden being increased by a family tragedy. She would have gone completely to pieces after Janice died if it hadn't been for the support that Helen and I gave her. And I have to admit that Helen has been magnificent throughout the whole affair. She has tried her utmost not only to be the best daughter she can be, but also to fill the space left by Janice as well. Does that answer your question?'

‘Yes,' Woodend said pensively. ‘I think it does.'

‘Do you have any more questions?'

‘Just the one,' Woodend said.

‘And what might that be?'

‘When you answered the door just now, the first thing I expected you to ask me was whether I'd found your daughter. But you didn't do that – an' I'm wonderin' why.'

‘You'd have been happier if I'd chosen to behave completely irrationally, would you?' Dunn asked.

‘Come again?'

‘I'm a pilot. I'm trained to assess crisis situations, and to react instantly. When I saw you at the door, I could tell immediately that you didn't have good news to bring me – or any tragic news, either – so what would have been the point in wasting time by asking you if you did?'

‘No point at all,' Woodend agreed. ‘But most men would have done, anyway.'

‘I'm not most men.'

‘No,' Woodend said pensively. ‘You're not, are you?'

‘What was the name of that German inspector who helped us out on the Westbury Park case?' Woodend asked Rutter as they drove back to police headquarters.

‘Kohl. Hans Kohl.'

‘You got on well with him, didn't you?'

‘Very well. He's a good bobby.'

‘An' do you still keep in touch with him?'

Rutter shrugged. ‘Sort of. We exchange Christmas cards, and he sent Maria some flowers when Lindie was born. Why do you ask?'

‘Get in touch with him,' Woodend said. ‘Ask him to see what he can find out about Janice Dunn's death.'

‘Any particular reason?' Rutter asked.

‘Not
that
particular,' Woodend admitted. ‘I'm just tryin' to build a better picture of the whole situation. With any other case, I'd probably have relied on whatever the parents told me, but tryin' to get any information out of Squadron Leader Dunn is like tryin' to squeeze blood from a stone.'

‘A
cold
stone,' Rutter said.

‘A very cold stone indeed,' Woodend agreed.

I
t was as Monika Paniatowski's MGA overtook a lorry in a way which could have only been called reckless – even by her own high-speed standards – that DCI Horrocks finally spoke.

‘Is there something on your mind, Monika?' he asked. ‘Because if there is, I rather think I'd like to hear about it – before you kill us both.'

Paniatowski slowed down almost to a crawl, infuriating the driver of the lorry she'd so recently shot past. ‘Are you any more comfortable with this speed, sir?' she asked.

‘Out with it, Monika,' Horrocks said.

Why not? Paniatowski asked herself. Why not tell the bastard exactly what was going through her head?

‘What the hell sort of stunt do you think you were pulling back there at the base, sir?' she demanded.

‘Stunt?' Horrocks repeated. ‘I'm not sure I know what you mean. If you remember, I asked you if it would embarrass you to stay in the room while Tooley told me more about his adulterous activities. I certainly wanted you to, because I knew that would make him uncomfortable – and men who are not at their ease often let slip more than they intended to. So when you said you didn't mind staying, I took you at your word. If I'd realised how much it would upset you––'

‘It didn't upset me,' Paniatowski said. ‘I'm a detective sergeant, not a nun. If he'd pulled out his John Thomas, slapped it on the desk, and asked us both to sign it for him, I wouldn't have got upset – I'd just have asked him if he wanted my full name or only my initials.'

‘So if that didn't bother you . . .?'

‘It's what happened later that I'm angry about.'

‘You mean the fact that I
did
eventually ask you to leave?'

‘You know bloody well that's what I mean.' Paniatowski said, pressing down harder on the accelerator again and picking up speed as she approached a sharp bend. ‘Listen, sir, can't we make a deal?'

‘What kind of deal?'

‘If you don't treat me like a complete bloody idiot, I won't treat you like one.'

Horrocks nodded. ‘All right.'

‘Why did you throw me out?'

‘The reason I asked you to leave when I did was because I could see that the rest of the interview would have nothing to do with the particular investigation you were involved in.'

‘Then what
did
it have to do with, sir?'

‘I thought I told you to call me Jack.'

‘I've tried that, and I don't feel comfortable with it. Chief Inspector Woodend's a friend of mine – I trust him – and I don't even call
him
by his first name.'

Horrocks smiled. ‘Which is another way of saying, I suppose, that you
don't
trust me.'

‘You haven't given me much reason to so far, have you?'

‘Perhaps not,' Horrocks replied. ‘All right, let's start again, shall we? Your interest in talking to Captain Tooley was to see how he squared up as a murder suspect. Having heard him for yourself, do you think it's likely that he's Verity Beale's murderer?'

‘No, not really,' Paniatowski admitted.

‘Neither do I. His brain might be residing somewhere in his underpants, but that doesn't make him a killer. He's a worried man – we both saw that – but I think he's far more worried his wife will find out about his little fling than he is about being charged with the murder. Do you agree with me on that?'

‘Yes, I do.'

‘So, having put him fairly low down on our list of suspects, I took the opportunity to do a favour for a colleague.'

‘A colleague? From the Yard?'

‘No, not from the Yard. From the Federal Bureau of Investigation in Washington DC.'

‘You seem to have some long-distance friends,' Paniatowski said.

‘His name's Sam Goldsmith, not that that will mean anything to you. I met him at one of these international conferences which senior officers have to attend from time to time, and we seemed to hit it off right from the start.'

‘How very cosy for the pair of you,' Paniatowski said, still refusing to be mollified.

‘You're getting what you told me you wanted, Monika – just don't push it too far,' Horrocks said, with a hint of reproach in his voice.

‘Sorry, sir. Carry on.'

‘As you may, or may not, know, the FBI has a records and files system that we could only dream of possessing here in England,' Horrocks continued, ‘and so, last night I gave old Sam a ring to see if there was anything useful he could tell me about Tooley. Or anyone else on the base, for that matter.'

‘Go on.'

That's where I got the information about Tooley being something of a Red sympathiser – from Sam. Frankly, I didn't think that would be of much use to us in the Verity Beale case, and it hasn't been. On the other hand, since Sam had tried his best to help us, I thought I'd return the compliment by finding out whether there was anything Captain Tooley has done since he's been here in England which could be added to his FBI dossier.'

‘And was there?'

‘Not on the surface. Frankly, I think the Americans in general – and the FBI in particular – are a little too obsessed with “Reds under the bed”. Still, I suppose you can't blame them at the moment, what with all this palaver blowing up over Cuba. And it never does any harm to have the Yanks on your side, does it?'

‘I suppose not.'

‘So have I explained my actions to your satisfaction?'

‘It might have helped if you'd briefed me about what you were going to do before we ever saw Tooley,' Paniatowski said.

‘Yes, you're right. Now I've got to know you better, I won't make the same mistake again,' Horrocks said, perhaps just a little ambiguously.

‘Any word yet on the Armstrong Siddeley which was parked outside the pub where Miss Beale had her last drink?' Paniatowski asked.

‘The Yard's still working on it,' Horrocks said brusquely.

‘What about Verity Beale's personal history before she came up to Lancashire?'

‘They're still working on that, too.'

‘The forensics from the Spinner car park?'

‘I'm waiting for that report, as well.'

‘With all due respect, sir, it doesn't seem as if the Yard's doing very much at all,' Paniatowski said.

‘And with all due consideration for your feelings of impatience, Sergeant, it's the officer in charge,
not his bagman
, who decides whether or not the case is moving at a satisfactory pace,' Horrocks replied, with an edge to his voice.

Paniatowski swallowed – hard! ‘Sorry, sir,' she said. ‘So given that we haven't got much information to work on, where
do
we go from here?'

‘Well, as you've been at such pains to point out, there's not really much we
can
do until we hear from London,' Horrocks said. ‘Why don't we go for a drive?'

‘A drive?'

‘Yes. I thought you could show me a bit of the countryside, and then we could stop off at a pleasant pub for lunch.'

‘We're in the middle of a murder investigation, sir,' Paniatowski pointed out.

‘True. But it's unlikely the murderer's going to go away just because we take a few hours off, now is it? Besides, I'm a new boy here. I think it might be useful to get the lay of the land – develop a feeling for the area. Isn't that the way your beloved Chief Inspector Woodend – Cloggin'-it Charlie – usually works?'

‘Yes, sir, it is,' Paniatowski said. ‘But how did
you
know that?'

O
nly the previous morning, Park Road had been no more than a quiet street which ran past Whitebridge's oldest school. The murder – and the kidnapping which followed it – had changed all that. The modest sign which announced the name of the school was now flanked by two hastily painted notices which screamed that the public were not admitted under any circumstances. The playground, empty the last time Woodend visited the school, was being patrolled by three uniformed men from a private security firm. And on the fringes of the park itself stood at least a couple of dozen people, gazing with morbid curiosity at the school buildings, as if they expected them to be the backdrop for some sudden, dramatic incident.

Nor was that all, Woodend noted as he slowed down and indicated that he was pulling in. Standing at the gate, and obviously arguing with one of the security men, was a young woman who had long black hair and was dressed in one of the trench coats which had almost become
de rigueur
for crime reporters.

The chief inspector sighed heavily. He was not surprised that Elizabeth Driver had chosen this particular story as the material from which to spin a piece of creative fiction she would then pass off as hard news, but she was certainly a complication he really didn't need on a case which mattered as much to him as this one did.

Ignoring the double yellow lines on the road, he parked his car just beyond the school gate. By the time he had opened the door to step out, Elizabeth Driver, notebook in hand, was standing directly in front of him.

‘Those bloody idiots on the gate won't let me go into the school,' she complained.

‘How amazin',' Woodend replied.

‘I could really help them with this one.'

‘Maybe you could if you wanted to,' Woodend agreed, ‘but let's face it, Miss Driver, helpin' other people has never really been one of your priorities, now has it?'

‘So you won't give me a quote on the murder?'

‘The murder investigation has nothin' to do with me,' Woodend said, thinking to himself: Unless it's connected to the kidnapping.

And if it
was
connected, Elizabeth Driver was the
last
person he'd tell!

The reporter smiled. ‘I know the murder investigation hasn't got anything to do with you. That's rather what I hoped for a quote on.'

‘Come again?' Woodend said.

‘I've covered enough murders now to know the way the police run things, and I've never come across anything like this investigation.'

‘What do you mean by that?' Woodend asked, becoming curious, despite himself.

‘There's normally a big team assigned to a murder. This time, in case you haven't noticed, the team consists solely of your mate, Sergeant Monika Paniatowski, and a chief inspector from London.'

‘An' in case
you
haven't noticed, we've got a missin' girl who's takin' up most of our manpower,' Woodend countered.

‘So you're saying that Miss Beale's horrific murder is being largely ignored?' Elizabeth Driver prompted.

‘No, I'm not sayin' that at all – as you well know. What I
am
sayin' is that it's bein' mostly handled by people outside this force – mainly from the Yard – which is somethin' you should already know if you were doin' your job properly.'

‘Another thing,' Elizabeth Driver said, undeterred, as always, by the implied rebuke. ‘Why is this copper from London doing his level best to keep away from the spotlight? He wasn't part of the television appeal last night, and he hasn't called any press conferences yet.'