A Death Left Hanging (23 page)

‘So what?' Paniatowski said. ‘I don't see why we're even wasting our time considering it at all.'

What was coming next? Woodend wondered, alarmed. Had Monika cranked up her instability to the point at which it was not enough for her just to attack Rutter? Did she now feel the need to have a go at her boss as well?

‘Why do you think it's a waste of our time?' he asked, preparing himself for the worst.

‘If Fred did kill Marcus, then it's of no interest what they said to each other, because they're both dead,' Paniatowski said, keeping her voice level and her tone more reasonable than Woodend had feared might be the case. ‘And if Fred
didn't
kill Marcus – and I, for one, don't think he did – then the only conversations we need to be interested in are ones between Marcus and whoever murdered him. Unfortunately, we don't know who this other person is.'

‘What makes you think Fred didn't kill his father?' Woodend asked.

‘There are two reasons. The first is that it only took Sergeant Parker a couple of hours to decide that Fred wasn't guilty.'

‘An' the second?'

‘The second is exactly the same as the one we used for arguing that Margaret wasn't guilty of killing Fred.'

‘You mean, if he was going to kill his father, why do it in a way that was bound to draw attention to him?'

‘Exactly. The two cases are identical – except for the fact that Margaret was hanged and he wasn't.'

‘So, correct me if I'm wrong, you're puttin' forward the theory that there was only one killer, an' that he
tried
to frame Fred for one of his murders an'
succeeded
in framin' Margaret for the other.'

‘It's a possibility, isn't it?'

Woodend lit up a Capstan Full Strength. ‘
Anythin's
a possibility,' he conceded. ‘But not only do we not have a suspect who fits in with that particular theory, we don't even have a motive. Unless, of course, you're suggestin' that Bithwaite killed Marcus Dodds – in the hope that Fred Dodds would sell up, buy an import-export business and then take him on as the chief clerk.'

‘Cuthburtson could have committed both crimes,' Paniatowski argued.

‘What makes you think that, lass?'

‘Cuthburtson wants to go into business with Fred Dodds, but Fred hasn't got any money for his half of the investment. So Cuthburtson kills Marcus Dodds, and Fred inherits. Later on, after Fred and Cuthburtson have their big row – which is probably about money again – Cuthburtson kills Fred, too.'

‘Very neat,' Woodend said. ‘Except that if Cuthburtson wanted Fred to inherit, he wouldn't have committed the murder in a way which was bound to throw suspicion on his future partner.'

‘Shit!' Paniatowski said. ‘I hadn't thought of that!'

‘Even so, the Cuthburtson connection is not one that we should ignore,' Woodend said. ‘You didn't find the cable we got from Canada very helpful, did you, Bob?'

‘Not helpful at all,' Rutter replied. ‘As far as I can tell, the Mounties went to the Cuthburtson house, the Cuthburtsons told them they had nothing to say, and the Mounties left it at that.'

‘I'll ring the family myself an' see if I can get a bit more information out of them,' Woodend said.

He looked from Rutter to Paniatowski, then back to Rutter again, hoping to see a look of sudden inspiration light up on one of their faces. Nothing! Still, there was no harm in asking.

‘Any more theories?' he said. ‘Any suggestions? Any possible connections?'

‘I've got one possible connection, but it's pretty weak,' Rutter said.

‘Let's hear it anyway.'

‘Margaret Dodds' father was a vicar, and so was the father of Fred Dodds' friend Sidney Hill.'

‘Oh, for God's sake!' Paniatowski exploded.

Rutter shot her an angry look. ‘Your helpful comments are always appreciated,' he said.

‘Well, really! Talk about tenuous! What's your theory? That there's a curse on the children of Church of England clergymen? That the whole thing's the work of a group of Satanists?'

‘Monika . . .' Woodend said.

Paniatowski ignored him. She knew she was losing control of herself again – and she didn't give a damn!

‘Maybe that's how all the young women fit into this case!' she continued. ‘Maybe Margaret Dodds, Dorothy Hill and Louise Cuthburtson were all sacrificial virgins. Yes, and maybe Fred Dodds is really Satan, and all his friends are fallen angels. That would make sense – or at least it would make
more
sense than Rutter's grubby little idea that Margaret was some kind of nymphomaniac and––'

‘That's enough, Sergeant,' Woodend said, more sharply this time.

‘But, sir . . .!'

‘Don't make me have to send you out of the room, Monika,' Woodend threatened.

The words hit Paniatowski like a bucketful of iced water. Sent out of the room! Exiled from the case! She couldn't bear that.

‘I'm sorry, sir,' she said. ‘I'm sorry, Inspector Rutter. I know it's no excuse, but this case has got right under my skin.'

‘I don't think it's makin' any of us exactly happy,' Woodend conceded. ‘Do you want to go back to what you were saying, Bob?'

Rutter cleared his throat. ‘All I was attempting to suggest was that the two people Fred Dodds got closest to – his best friend and his wife – both had fathers in the Church. I was wondering if it was this connection that made them both appeal to Dodds.'

Woodend nodded thoughtfully. ‘Monika?'

‘I'm sure Inspector Rutter has a point,' Paniatowski said.

Woodend sighed. ‘You're of no more use to me when you're sayin' nowt than you are when you're flyin' off the handle,' he told his sergeant. ‘What do you
really
think, Monika?'

‘I can understand why Inspector Rutter brought the point up,' Paniatowski forced herself to say. ‘Superficially it's an attractive connection, but ultimately I think it's a red herring.'

‘Would you care to expand on that?'

‘No.'

‘Then I will. Both fathers were clergymen, but they had very little else in common. All Margaret's father wanted was the life of a country priest. Sidney's, on the other hand, was determined to rise to the top of the ladder. Margaret was an only child; Sidney had a sister. Margaret grew up and went off to university; Sidney killed himself before he'd even left school. If there's a common factor between the two households, then I've no idea what it might be. Is that what you wanted to say, Monika?'

‘Yes.'

‘Then why didn't you?'

She shouldn't speak – she knew she shouldn't – but the goblin that seemed to have taken control of her would not let her be silent.

‘I let you say it rather than me because, if you say it, it's good detective work,' Paniatowski told Woodend.

‘An' if you say it?'

‘If I say it, it's nothing but an irrational, hysterical, vindictive attack on Inspector Rutter's latest theory.'

Woodend turned to Rutter. ‘Could you give us a few minutes, Bob?'

‘Of course,' Rutter replied.

‘I'm all right,' Paniatowski said, when Rutter had closed the door behind him.

‘No, you're not,' Woodend contradicted her. ‘You're strung tighter than I've ever seen you, and if you're not careful, you'll snap.'

‘It's Inspector Rutter's fault. He––'

‘You get up his nose just as much as he gets up yours. It's been that way ever since fate an' the Mid Lancs Constabulary threw you together. You both used to be able to control it. He still can.'

‘One slip!' Paniatowski said angrily. ‘One slip and I have to listen to all this crap.'

‘It's more than one slip, Monika. It's been building up since this case started. That's why I want you to take some time off.'

‘You mean I'm being suspended?' Paniatowski asked disbelievingly.

Woodend shook his head. ‘The very fact that you could even think I'd suspend you proves your judgement's been shot to hell. Of course you're not suspended. You won't even be on leave – officially.'

‘But I will
be
on leave?'

‘The rest will do you good, Monika.'

‘And just how long is this “rest” of mine supposed to go on for?'

‘I don't know,' Woodend admitted. ‘I was rather hopin' that you'd be able to gauge that for yourself. But since you can't even seem to understand that if you don't take a break you'll––'

‘You need me here,' Paniatowski said desperately.

‘No, I don't,' Woodend said, shaking his head and looking up at the wall clock again. ‘What I need right at this moment is a trusty bagman. That's what you used to be – an' what I hope you'll be in the future. But we're not talking about the future – we're talkin' about the here an' now. An' here an' now, you're nothin' but a liability.'

Paniatowski felt her eyes begin to moisten. ‘I never thought that you – of all people – would ever stab me in the back,' she said bitterly.

‘Go home, Monika,' Woodend said. ‘Get your head down an' have a good night's sleep. Who knows, by tomorrow mornin' you might be feelin' fit enough to come back.'

‘Charlie, please . . .'

‘Go home now!'

Paniatowski sprang to her feet, and saluted. ‘Yes, sir,' she said crisply.

Then, before he could see her tears, she opened the door and stepped out into the corridor.

‘F
ollow the main corridor to the end, then turn left. The matron's door is the first on your right,' said the young woman who was mopping the tiled entrance hall of the Councilman Stephenson Old People's Home.

As Rutter walked down the corridor, he was aware that his progress was being followed by several pairs of eyes. He supposed he should not have been surprised. Visitors at that time of day were probably a novelty, especially relatively young visitors with a full head of hair and their own teeth.

The home had once been the town workhouse, which, while turning away the poor it had judged to be undeserving, had served as a refuge for any of the
deserving
poor who were willing to leave their personal dignity in a wicker basket by the entrance. Some attempt had been made to soften the atmosphere of the place since those austere days – the bare brick walls had been plastered and painted, pictures of seaside towns had been hung – but to Rutter the atmosphere seemed still to be thick with the odour of carbolic soap and the clogging sickliness of the workhouse attendants' self-satisfied piety.

The matron's office was located in the heart of the building, and the matron herself was a stocky woman with blue-rinsed hair captured in a tight perm.

‘So you'd like to see Mr Parker, would you?' she said, when Rutter had introduced himself. ‘Not on official business, I trust.'

‘Well, in a way it is,' the inspector admitted.

‘But Mr Parker can't have done anything wrong! He hasn't put a foot outside the home for years.'

‘I'm probably not making myself clear,' Rutter said. ‘It's more in the nature of a professional visit. I want to consult him about a case he worked on when he was a sergeant in the Mid Lancs Police.'

‘But he's been retired for years.'

‘Since 1945,' Rutter agreed. ‘Mr Parker retired from the Force as soon as the war was over, and they had the fresh manpower available to be able to release him from his duties.'

The matron laughed. The sound of her amusement had an unexpected tinkling bell quality about it. ‘I'd have thought all the cases Mr Parker worked on would have been closed long ago,' she said.

‘You don't know just how much I wish that was true,' Rutter told her.

Mr Parker turned out to be a very old man who was confined to a very old chair. When Rutter offered him one of his cigarettes, the ex-sergeant shook his head.

‘Can't be doing with them modern cork-tipped things,' he said. ‘They make me cough.'

Rutter reached into his pocket, and pulled out a packet of Players' Navy Cut. ‘How about one of these?' he suggested.

A twinkle came into the old man's eyes. ‘Now you're talking,' he said. ‘Smoke them as well, do you?'

‘No,' Rutter replied. ‘I brought them for you. It was my boss, DCI Woodend, who suggested you might prefer them.'

‘Sounds like the right kind of boss to work for.' Mr Parker lit his Players' with trembling hands and inhaled greedily. ‘A real fag,' he said happily. ‘I've not been able to afford anything more than roll-ups since the Coronation.'

‘The reason I've come is because I'd like to ask you about the Marcus Dodds case,' Rutter said.

A look of caution instantly flooded into the old man's eyes. ‘Oh aye?' he said.

‘You were the detective in charge of the investigation, weren't you?'

‘You know I was.'

‘And at first you arrested Fred Dodds.'

‘No, I didn't. It was a uniformed constable who arrested Fred. I was the one that let him go.'

‘Yes – why
did
you do that?' Rutter asked casually.

‘How do you mean?'

‘He was the obvious suspect, yet you released him less than two hours after he'd been taken into custody. I wouldn't have thought that was anything like enough time for you to have examined all the evidence and decided you could rule him out.'

‘What if he'd had a cast-iron alibi?' Parker asked.

‘Did he?'

‘He might have done.'

‘What about other suspects? Were there any?'

‘Aye, every other bugger on two legs in the whole of Simcaster. Marcus Dodds was a brute and a bully. Nobody liked him, and when his wife died of the flu, there were them as said it came a blessed relief to her. I never actually heard anybody say they were sorry Marcus was dead, but if I had've done I'd have wondered why – and probably put him right at the top of my list of suspects. Even if we'd put some poor sod on trial, we'd never have found a jury in this town that didn't want to give him a medal.' The old detective smiled. ‘I'm exaggerating, of course, but you get the general picture.'