Backlash (7 page)

‘
It's where I put all my loose change,' she says meekly. ‘It soon adds up, you know.
'

‘
Anything else?' the constable asks.

‘
My photograph album. I don't know why they took that – but they did.
'

‘
All in all, a very valuable haul,' the constable said. ‘Well, madam, I don't think we should have much trouble catching your criminals for you.
'

‘
You don't?
'

‘
Not at all. The thieves are bound to want to fence your piggy bank for a king's ransom, and when they do, we'll arrest them.
'

‘
It's not funny,' Elaine says. ‘Those things might not seem much, but they mean a lot to me. All my pictures of my dad were in that album.
'

‘
I'd advise you not to raise your voice to a police officer, madam,' says the young constable, suddenly sounding very grave and official.

‘
You're a disgrace to your uniform, and I'm going to report you,' she says – and now she has progressed from shouting to actually screaming.

‘
Oh, you'll report me, will you?' he hectors. ‘Well, go ahead – you pathetic dyke.
'

‘I never thought she'd do it, but she did,' Mrs Williams told Paniatowski. ‘She phoned police headquarters and Tom came round himself – personally – to investigate. He was very angry when he learned what the constable had said to Elaine, and not three hours had gone by before that constable was back here, apologizing for his behaviour.' The old woman chuckled. ‘I don't think I've ever seen a man look so dropped on as he did at that moment, but he sounded sincere enough when he said he was very sorry, and – do you know – I think he might actually have become a better policeman because of what Tom said to him.'

Because Tom's a bloody marvel, Paniatowski thought sourly. Because Tom can work miracles!

‘And then, I think it must have been two or three days later, Tom came round to see us again,' Mrs Williams continued. ‘And you'll never guess what he brought with him.'

‘Your stolen property,' Paniatowski said, guessing anyway.

‘That's right,' Mrs Williams agreed. She paused again. ‘Tell me, how often do the police manage to recover things that have been stolen in a burglary?'

‘Not often enough,' Paniatowski admitted.

‘That's what I thought,' the old woman said, almost complacently. ‘But Tom brought everything back, even the piggy bank! And on top of all that, he invited us out for afternoon tea.'

‘That was nice of him,' Paniatowski said, in a flat voice.

‘Of course, I could tell – even though he was being so polite about it – that he wasn't really inviting both of us, he was inviting Elaine.'

‘And she agreed.'

Mrs Williams smiled. ‘She didn't want to, but I pushed her into it. And then one thing led to another, and within a year they were married.'

‘I see,' Paniatowski said.

‘You don't believe me, do you?' Mrs Williams asked, and now there was a hard edge to her voice.

‘I'm sorry?'

‘You don't believe anything I've told you about Elaine. You think I'm nothing but a mad old bat, who just sees what she wants to see, but really has no idea of what's really going on.'

‘I assure you—' Paniatowski began.

‘I'd like to show you something,' Mrs Williams interrupted her.

She stood up and hobbled over to the sideboard. Paniatowski heard the sound of a drawer being opened, and when the old woman turned round again, she had a photograph album in her hands.

Mrs Williams sat down again, and opened the album.

‘Elaine would be furious if she knew about some of the old pictures I've still got,' she said. ‘That's why I keep them well out of sight.' She selected a page, and handed the album over to Paniatowski. ‘Look at that!' she commanded.

Paniatowski studied the photograph. For a moment, she thought the woman she was looking at might be a much younger Mrs Williams, but then she began to see the differences. Certainly, the two women looked alike, and certainly the girl in the photograph was wearing the same kind of frumpy clothes that Mrs Williams was wearing now, but there was a look in her eyes – a downcast, defeated look, the sort of look which said that taking her photograph was simply a waste of film – that clearly distinguished her from her mother.

‘That was taken a few months before she met Tom,' Mrs Williams said. ‘Now turn over to the next page.'

It couldn't be the same woman, Paniatowski thought, as she did as instructed – though it clearly was.

This woman was smartly dressed and exuded an air of confidence. And the dull downcast eyes were now vivacious and intelligent.

‘That photograph was taken a year after the other one,' Mrs Williams said, with just a hint of triumph in her voice. ‘Do you see what I'm getting at, now?'

‘Yes,' Paniatowski admitted. ‘I do see.'

‘Tom made a new woman out of her,' Mrs Williams said. ‘There's nothing Tom
can't
do, when he puts his mind to it. And that's why I'm not worried that she's gone missing, because
he'll
find her.'

Have I got it all wrong? Paniatowski asked herself. Have I got
him
all wrong?

Because maybe he was no longer the man she had known. Maybe love of Elaine had changed him, just as her love for him had so obviously changed Elaine herself. Maybe he was a better police officer than she was. And maybe Mrs Williams was right and he really
could
work miracles.

There were no shoes in Elaine Kershaw's wardrobe to match the heel found under the rhododendron bush.

‘It's not hers,' Meadows said.

‘What isn't?' Beresford asked.

‘The heel.'

‘Are you saying somebody else left it there?'

‘No. I think she was wearing them when the heel became detached, but they're not her shoes.'

‘I don't see how you can possibly have decided that,' Beresford said.

‘Look at the rest of the shoes in the wardrobe, sir. There's plenty of them – she likes her shoes – but there's nothing that's anything like as extreme.'

‘So?'

‘So if she liked this style of shoe, she'd have had at least one other pair. That's why I guarantee that when you show this particular heel to Mr Kershaw, he won't recognize it.'

‘Then if the shoes weren't Elaine's . . .'

‘Her killer brought them with him—' Meadows came to an abrupt halt. ‘I mean, her abductor brought them with him,' she continued, slightly shakily.

‘Why did you say “killer” just now?' Beresford asked.

‘I don't know,' Meadows replied.

And Beresford was almost certain she was lying.

‘Go on with what you were saying,' he told the sergeant.

‘The kidnapper brought the shoes with him, and then either made her put them on, or put them on her himself,' Meadows said.

‘Why would he have done that?'

‘I don't know,' Meadows repeated.

And once again, Beresford was not sure he believed her.

‘Perhaps I'm wrong,' Meadows said. ‘Perhaps Mr Kershaw will recognize them. He may even have bought them for her himself.'

‘Maybe he did,' Beresford agreed. ‘But that still doesn't explain why a woman with flu was wearing them around the house.'

‘Would you like to go for a drink tonight, sir?' Meadows asked, out of nowhere.

‘We always go for a drink when we're in the middle of an investigation,' Beresford said. ‘We've done some of our best thinking at the Drum.'

‘I didn't mean that, sir,' Meadows said. She paused, as if considering exactly how to phrase what she wanted to say next. ‘You do know I've only just been posted to the Mid Lancs Division, don't you?'

‘Of course.'

‘Well, I've got my flat set up – it's small but it's nice and cosy – and I've worked out where to go to do my shopping and where to take my dry cleaning.'

‘Yes?'

‘So I'm pretty much settled in. But I still don't know anybody – socially, I mean. And so I thought it might be quite nice if you and I went out for a drink. Unless you think that might be inappropriate – what with you being my superior officer and everything.'

‘No, it's not inappropriate,' Beresford said. ‘I often go out for a drink with the boss, even when we're not working on a case.'

‘Yes, but the boss is older than you, isn't she?'

‘And what do you mean by that?'

‘Just that, since she is an older woman, there are not likely to be any complications, are there?'

‘And do you see any complications in us going out together?' Beresford asked, as his heart began to beat a little bit faster.

‘I don't know,' Meadows said – and this time, when she used the phrase, she really was being honest. ‘Neither of us can know. We'll just have to try it and see how it turns out, won't we. If you're willing, that is.'

‘Oh, I'm willing,' Beresford said – though he knew that he shouldn't.

SEVEN

T
he tailback began about half a mile from the Piper's Brook roundabout. Had Paniatowski wished to, she could have turned on her siren and shot along the hard shoulder. Instead, she chose to edge slowly forward with the rest of the frustrated motorists, because it gave her time to think, to examine what she'd learned – and to ask herself if she was seeing it as she
should
see it, or whether she was viewing it through a lens darkened by something that had happened long ago.

At about a hundred yards from the roundabout, the two lanes shrank down to one, and she could almost hear the groans from the other drivers trapped in their own metal boxes on wheels.

Several uniformed officers were on duty, waving the vehicles through to a twisting lane marked by bollards. Paniatowski swung to the right and parked on the hard shoulder.

She was just climbing out of the MGA when one of the uniformed bobbies strode furiously towards her.

‘What's your problem?' he called from the distance. ‘Are you blind? Or are you just stupid?'

He was probably twenty-two or twenty-three, Paniatowski thought, as she watched him draw closer, and though that made him too young to possibly be the officer who had called Elaine Kershaw a pathetic dyke, he was cast from the same mould.

‘You're new to the force, aren't you?' she asked.

‘That's none of your bloody business, luv,' the constable said.

‘You should call me “madam”,' Paniatowski told him. ‘I am, after all, a member of the public who you've sworn to serve.'

‘You've got a nerve,' the constable told her. ‘You're too thick to obey simple instructions, and yet you expect me to call you . . .'

He stopped, abruptly, when he saw the warrant card Paniatowski was holding out in front of her.

‘All right,' she conceded, ‘don't call me “madam” – call me “ma'am”.'

The constable looked down at the ground. ‘I'm sorry, ma'am, I didn't realize that . . .' he mumbled.

‘Name!' Paniatowski barked.

‘Perkins, ma'am. Roger Perkins.'

‘Right, Perkins, I'll be watching you,' Paniatowski promised. ‘And maybe you could return the favour by watching my car while I go and look at the scene of the accident.'

‘Yes, ma'am,' the downcast Perkins replied. ‘Certainly, ma'am.'

The main wreckage of Kershaw's car had already been towed away, but there was still ample evidence of the crash and explosion – broken glass, pieces of metal, chunks of rubber – on the closed-off lanes which had not yet been fully cleared.

Paniatowski mounted the roundabout.

Kershaw's tyres had gouged a deep track through the grass as he had struggled to keep control of his vehicle, but, despite what must have been a desperate effort on his part, he had still hit the oak tree with some force, as was evidenced by the scarring on its mighty trunk.

Paniatowski wondered briefly if anything would ever make her desperate enough to drive so recklessly – to risk not only her life, but the lives of others. Then she realized that she already had the answer – understood that if Louisa's safety was at stake, she would take any risk at all, without even thinking about it.

‘Mr Kershaw was lucky to come out of that alive,' said a voice to her left, and turning, she saw a sergeant she knew.

‘Yes, he was,' she agreed.

But would Kershaw think the same, if things turned out as badly as they very well might?

Marie was used to going to bed late. It was, as Lucy said, ‘an occupational requirement'. And what Lucy really meant was that it was much easier to get a punter to part with his money if he was drunk, and the later it got, the more likely that possibility became. Which was why, while a lot of the trade came when the pubs closed their doors, the more ‘lucrative contracts' – Lucy's words again – were negotiated at around two o'clock in the morning, as the private drinking clubs finally shut up shop for the night.