âHer “friend” hat!' Paniatowski repeated, with some disgust.
âYou don't know her as she is now,' Rutter said. âShe's changed a great deal since you last met.'
âSo you
did
discuss the case with her?' Woodend persisted.
âYes, I did,' Rutter said defiantly.
âAn' when would that have been, exactly?'
âAn hour or so before your first interview with Mr Marlowe. I was very disturbed about what was probably going to happen to you. I needed to talk to someone about it, and I knew Liz wouldn't abuse my confidence.'
âWrong!' Woodend said.
âWrong?' Rutter repeated.
Woodend unfolded the newspaper. âTake a look at this!'
Rutter quickly scanned it. âBloody hell fire!' he said.
âThat's exactly what I thought when I read it,' Woodend told him.
BLIND JUSTICE!
by Elizabeth Driver
The statue of Justice which sits proudly on top of the Central Criminal Court wears a blindfold to demonstrate her impartiality. The law treats everyone equally, which is only how things should be.
But there are other ways in which justice â or perhaps I should say the police â can be blind, as is shown in the case of Chief Inspector Charlie Woodend of the Whitebridge Police.
I have been a big fan of âCloggin'-it Charlie', as he is affectionately known to his colleagues, for a number of years. The brilliance of his detection work is universally admitted, though his unorthodox approach can sometimes make other, less imaginative officers, feel uncomfortable.
Yesterday, Cloggin'-it Charlie brilliantly cracked another difficult case, the brutal murder of one little girl, and the kidnapping and physical abuse of another. And what is to be his reward for this new triumph, you ask yourselves. A medal, perhaps? Promotion to the rank of superintendent?
Not according to my sources close to the Central Lancs Police. They claim that Charlie is be hauled up before a disciplinary board, and may even lose his job.
There was more in the same vein, but Rutter had read enough to get the general idea.
âGood old Liz!' he said. âWell, that explains Marlowe's sudden turn-around, doesn't it?'
Yes, it certainly did, Woodend agreed. The phone call that had come through while he was getting slated in the chief constable's office must have outlined exactly what this article was going to say, and Marlowe â like the coward he was â had been thrown into a complete panic.
âYou must thank Miss Driver for the article the next time you talk to her,' he told Rutter.
âI rather think you should thank her yourself,' Rutter said, with a hint of a rebuke in his tone.
âAye, you're right,' Woodend agreed.
And Bob
was
right. He should do it personally.
But he didn't like being indebted to a woman with the moral standards of a slug. And what was really concerning him was that he couldn't work out
why
she'd gone in to bat for him.
There was one thing he
was
certain of â that he wasn't buying into Bob's vision of her as the new improved Elizabeth Driver, with her halo sparkling brightly in the golden sunlight. No, she was playing some devious game of her own, and though he had no idea what it was yet, he was sure he would find out soon enough â and that when he did, he wouldn't like it at all.