The Red Herring (23 page)

The bald man smirked. ‘Names don't matter,' he said. ‘Just take it from me that my boss is bigger than your boss. Now step out of the way.'

It was very tempting to have a pop at him, if only to see the smirk disappear as the nose flattened. But Baldy was right – Woodend couldn't take on both of them – and, seeing no other option, he stepped to the side and let them pass.

The two ‘policemen' and their prisoner crossed the road. They stopped in front of a parked Ford Zephyr, and while the bald man was bundling Martin Dove into the back seat, his partner opened the driver's door and climbed behind the wheel. And then they were gone, driving off down Park Road.

Woodend reached into the voluminous pocket of his hairy sports jacket and pulled out the radio which he – and the rest of the Central Lancs Police – had only recently been issued with.

‘There's a black Ford Zephyr just reachin' the bottom of Park Road,' he told the controller. ‘I want it intercepted as soon as possible.'

‘Do you have the number, sir?' the controller asked, and when Woodend had recited it to him, he said, ‘I'm afraid there's nothing we can do about that particular vehicle, sir.'

‘What do you mean, there's nothin' you can do?' Woodend demanded. ‘I've just
told
you what to do.'

‘Yes, sir,' the controller said awkwardly. ‘But I've also received a strict instruction from DCC Ainsworth that a car with that registration is not to be impeded in any way.'

I
will not be intimidated, DCC Ainsworth told himself. I'm in charge here, I'm perfectly capable of being a hard, ruthless bastard when necessary, and I will
not
be intimidated!

Yet it was hard not to be intimidated by Woodend at that moment. He was a big man under normal circumstances, but now, swollen with rage, he seemed to fill half the room.

‘Why don't you sit down, so we can discuss this calmly over a couple of glasses of Scotch?' the DCC suggested.

‘With respect,
sir
, it's answers I want right now, not Scotch!' Woodend replied.

‘Then you'd better ask your questions, hadn't you, Chief Inspector?' Ainsworth suggested.

‘I've just seen Martin Dove – a teacher who may be involved in both Helen Dunn's kidnappin' and Verity Beale's murder – arrested by two bobbies who wouldn't even show me their identification,' Woodend said. ‘Then I ring up my inspector an' find that the same thing's happened to him when he tried to question an engineer called Roger Cray. So what I want to know is this – who are these fellers and what the bloody hell are they doin' on my patch?'

‘They're from the West Riding Police. Both Cray and Dove come within the scope of an investigation they've been conducting for some time – an investigation which has nothing to do with any cases we're handling.'

‘What kind of investigation?'

‘I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to reveal that at the moment.'

‘So the two fellers who I saw arrestin' Martin Dove at Eddie's were from Yorkshire?'

‘That's correct.'

‘Then why did they have London accents?'

‘I have a Kent accent, yet I still work for the Central Lancs Police,' Ainsworth said. ‘What's the point you're trying to make, Chief Inspector?'

‘That I don't believe a bloody word of any of this!'

‘I'd think carefully before you called me a liar again, Charlie,' the DCC said, his voice suddenly as cold as an outside lavatory in February. ‘You're not dealing with a soft touch like DCS Whittle here. One more word out of place, and I'll have you on suspension for insubordination.'

He meant it, Woodend thought. Whatever flack he had to take from the Police Federation later, Ainsworth was clearly willing to make good his threat now. And suspension was something Woodend dared not risk, because, with him out of the picture, who would there be to look out for poor little Helen Dunn?

The chief inspector took a deep breath. ‘I'm sorry, sir, I was completely out of line just now,' he forced himself to say.

‘So you accept the fact that the two detectives you saw in the playground were from Yorkshire?'

‘If that's what you tell me, sir, then of course I have no alternative but to believe you.'

Ainsworth nodded. ‘I really think you
should
sit down, Charlie,' he said, opening his drawer and taking out two glasses and a bottle of Bell's.

Woodend sat, and watched as the DCC poured out two shots of Scotch. ‘How long have you known about this Yorkshire Police operation, sir?' he asked, trying as hard as he was able to sound reasonable.

‘I can't go into specifics, you understand,' Ainsworth replied, ‘so let's just say that I've known about it for quite some time.'

‘It must be an important operation.'

‘It is.'

‘Important enough to mean that while these two bobbies from Yorkshire were allowed into the BAI factory, my lad Bob Rutter – investigatin' a case that really matters locally – couldn't get past the gate.'

‘I understand and sympathise with your concerns, Chief Inspector,' Ainsworth said.

‘That's as may be, sir – but you're still not prepared to tell me what I need to know.'

Ainsworth shook his head. ‘I'm really sorry, but I can't.'

‘Why wouldn't these two fellers from Yorkshire show me some identification, even though they were operatin' on our patch?'

‘They were instructed not to show their warrant cards to anyone below the rank of DCC.'

‘Who by?'

‘What's your next question?' Ainsworth asked.

‘You do know they threatened to beat the shit out of me if I got in their way, don't you?'

‘I'm sure that was just a joke in poor taste.'

‘They weren't jokin',' Woodend said firmly.

‘Then I'll put in a complaint about their behaviour through the proper channels.'

‘An' which channels might they be?'

‘Next question,' Ainsworth said.

‘When can I see Cray and Dove?'

‘You can't.'

‘I can't? But they're vital to my investigation.'

‘You're wrong about that.'

‘Cray's car – which is an Armstrong Siddeley Sapphire, an' so is practically bloody unmistakeable – was seen parked outside the Spinner the night Verity Beale was murdered. It was spotted again on the edge of the park, just before Helen Dunn disappeared. This mornin' I've learned that Dove was also observed goin' into the park just before Helen was kidnapped. Is all that coincidence? I don't think so for a minute – an' I'd be willin' to bet you that if I showed Martin Dove's photograph to the landlord of the Spinner, he'd recognise him as Cray's drinkin' companion.'

‘You'd win your bet,' Ainsworth said. ‘Dove
was
with Cray in the Spinner the night before last. And the two
were
meeting in the park at the time Helen Dunn disappeared. But what they were up to has nothing whatsoever to do with either the kidnapping or the murder. I can assure you of that.'

You lyin' toe-rag! Woodend thought. But aloud, all he said was, ‘An' what if your assurance just isn't good enough?'

‘It'll have to be.'

‘You're askin' me to investigate this kidnappin' not only with my hands tied behind my back, but blindfolded as well,' Woodend protested.

‘And I'm very sorry to have to do so, as I've already been at pains to point out. But that's the way it has to be.' Ainsworth took a sip of his Scotch. ‘If I were in your shoes, Charlie, I'd forget Dove and Cray altogether. Why not concentrate on your other leads instead?'

‘Because we don't
have
any other leads,' Woodend said.

‘Then find some,' the DCC told him.

The moment Woodend had left his office, Ainsworth picked up the telephone and asked to be connected to a number which he had already called several times previously that day.

‘Yes?' said the cool voice on the other end of the line.

‘What the bloody hell do you think you're playing at there?' Ainsworth demanded.

‘I take it that you've just had a visit from Cloggin'-it Charlie?' the other man said.

‘Too right I've just had a visit from Woodend. He ran into your men at the school. They threatened him with violence.'

‘And what else did you expect them to do?'

‘I would have expected them to use a little tact, for God's sake!' Ainsworth said, exasperatedly.

‘You may not realise it, but we're fighting a war here,' the other man said. ‘It might not involve soldiers in uniform or pitched battles, but it's still a war for all that. We don't have time to go pussyfooting around, so even though we never set out to hurt Chief Inspector Woodend's delicate feelings, you can't expect me to shed any tears over the fact that we have.'

‘Woodend's only one part of the picture,' Ainsworth said. ‘I'm doing my very best to keep a lid on a bubbling pot here, and what you're doing isn't helping me at all.'

‘You won't have to hold that lid down for much longer,' the other man promised him. ‘By tomorrow morning it should be all over.'

Then, without waiting for Ainsworth to reply, he hung up.

Roger Cray looked around the room into which the bald policeman and his partner had thrust him. There was not much to see. It was a small room, and from the teddy bear pattern on the tattering and peeling wallpaper, he guessed that it had once been a child's bedroom. And it was somewhere in Whitebridge – he was sure of that – because though he had been blindfolded for most of his time in the car, the journey had not long been long enough for them to have gone far beyond the city centre.

He wished he could look out of the window, but the place it had once occupied had been so efficiently bricked-up that not a single ray of light from the outside penetrated it.

For a moment, he contemplated escape, then quickly dismissed the idea. He had no tools to smash his way through the brickwork – the room was bare except for a single rickety chair, and that would soon splinter if he tried to use it as an implement. Nor could he see a way of getting through the door, because though the rest of the room was in a state of dilapidation, the door was new, and seemed to be made of solid steel. Besides, he admitted to himself, even if he had had a hammer and chisel, he would not have dared to use them, because the two men who brought him there might hear him – and he was more frightened of those two men than he had ever been of anything or anyone before.

He heard footsteps in the corridor outside, then the sound of a key turning in the lock. The door creaked open, and he found himself praying that he could at least keep control of his bladder.

The man who entered the room was tall, with film-star good looks, and was a complete stranger to Cray. He smiled, and said, ‘Sorry to have kept you waiting for so long.'

‘I . . . I want you to let me go,' Cray stuttered.

‘I'm afraid that isn't going to happen,' the smiling man told him. ‘At least, not until you've given us what we want.'

‘And what
do
you want?' Cray asked, tremulously.

‘Tell me about Verity Beale.'

‘Idon'tknow . . . I'm not sure how to . . .'

‘Start at the beginning, go on to the end, and then stop. When and where did you meet her?'

‘I . . . I met her at the plant where I work about six weeks ago.'

‘And what was she doing in an aircraft factory?'

‘She . . . she said she wanted to organise an educational trip to it for some of her pupils. We got talking and . . .'

‘And you arranged to see each other socially?'

‘Yes.'

‘I'd really be very interested to know why she picked
you
to start socialising with.'

‘I don't know.'

The other man's expression hardened. ‘Don't lie to me, Mr Cray,' he warned. ‘You'll never get out of here if you lie to me.'

Never!

Never?

The word bounced around Cray's brain like an exploding bomb. ‘I . . . I thought at first she was attracted to me,' he admitted.

‘Did you sleep with her?'

‘No, but she let me . . . she let me . . .'

‘Feel her up?'

‘I suppose so.'

‘You said you thought
at first
that she was attracted to you. What were your
second
thoughts on the matter.'

‘That she was more interested in me because of the friends I had.'

‘Specifically, she was interested in your friend Martin Dove.'

‘Yes.'

‘But he's not really your friend at all, is he?' the other man asked. ‘He's really no more than someone you share an interest with.'

‘You could put it like that.'

‘I
do
put it like that. You're two pieces of shit who naturally found yourselves sticking together. But I digress. What made you start to suspect that Verity Beale was more interested in your associates than she was in you?'

‘The questions she asked. She tried to make them sound casual, but I could tell there was something more behind them.'

‘So it must have come as quite a shock to you when you saw her enter the Spinner the night before last?'

‘Yes . . . I . . . yes.'

‘It threw a real spanner into the works, didn't it? You saw weeks of careful planning going down the drain.'

‘Martin said it didn't really matter. He said we could still go ahead as planned.'

‘But you weren't convinced, were you? So you came up with another plan, and Dove reluctantly accepted it. The two of you pretended that you were leaving the pub. But you didn't go far. You waited on the edge of the car park. You saw the American, who Verity Beale had been drinking with, leave on his own. That was a lucky break for you, wasn't it?'