‘Most of what he said was in a foreign language,’ Brian Steele told Paniatowski. ‘German or French, or something like that.’
‘It was Latin,’ Craig corrected him.
His uncle looked at him sharply, as if annoyed that Craig knew something that he didn’t.
‘Who told you that?’ he demanded.
‘Tommy O’Donnell,’ Craig said. He turned to Paniatowski. ‘Tommy was another member of the team,’ he explained.
‘And how would somebody like Tommy O’Donnell know whether it was Latin or just gobbledegook?’ Brian asked scornfully.
‘He’s a Catholic,’ Craig said.
‘Oh, is he?’ Brian said. ‘Well, that would explain it, I suppose. Is this Tully feller a Catholic, an’ all?’ he asked Paniatowski.
‘I believe he is.’
Brian sniffed. ‘Well, there you are, then. People are entitled to follow any faith they choose, even if it is Papist.’
‘Did he say anything that wasn’t in Latin?’ Paniatowski asked.
‘Not that I heard. But then I didn’t have much opportunity to hear it, did I? Because that’s when your Mr Marlowe decided to stick his oar into the proceedings again.’
‘I thought he was taking care of Bradley Pine.’
‘He had been. But he seemed to lose any interest in Pine, and from then on, all he cared about was Tully.’
Marlowe has stuck close to Tully all the way down from the mountainside, and now, when the ambulances arrive at the rescue centre, he announces that he will travel in the same ambulance as the man.
‘You’ll be in the way of the paramedics,’ Brian Steele says.
‘I’ll be assisting the paramedics,’ Marlowe tells him.
‘Have they agreed to it?’
‘They will. And anyway, what happens between them and me is no concern of yours. Your part of the rescue operation is over.’
‘I don’t want people falling down and kissing my feet for what I do for them, but I don’t like being spoken to like that, either,’ Brian Steele said. ‘If the bugger hadn’t been a policeman, I’d have dropped him where he was standing.’
‘I wish you had,’ Paniatowski said.
‘Pardon?’
‘I wish you had … had pointed out to him how ungrateful he was being,’ Paniatowski quickly corrected herself. ‘But there’s one thing I still don’t understand about this whole affair.’
‘And what might that be?’
‘I don’t understand why I’ve never heard anything about any of this before today. Surely, if Mr Marlowe had rung the papers, as Craig says he did, his part in the rescue would have been splashed all over them.’
‘So it would,’ Craig agreed, ‘if he hadn’t had second thoughts about the whole thing on the way back to town.’
The ambulance carrying Jeremy Tully arrives at the hospital ahead of the one carrying Bradley Pine, and Marlowe is the first person to climb out of it. He sees the half a dozen news photographers who are gathered around the door which leads into the main hospital building, and visibly blanches.
The paramedics are already in the process of lifting Tully’s stretcher out of the vehicle when Marlowe swings round to face them again.
‘Wait!’ he says.
‘What do you mean?’ one of the paramedics asks.
‘Isn’t plain English good enough for you?’ Marlowe demands. ‘I want you to wait until I tell you it’s all right to bloody-well unload him.’
‘Now just a minute—’ the paramedic begins.
‘And if you don’t do exactly what I say, I’ll personally ensure that the local police make your life a bloody misery from now on,’ Marlowe hisses.
The mountain rescue Land Rover and Superintendent Springer’s car pull up behind the ambulance. Craig Steele gets out of the one, and Springer out of the other. They reach the ambulance at roughly the same time.
‘What’s the delay?’ Springer asks.
‘Get rid of them,’ Marlowe says, gesturing towards the pressmen.
Superintendent Springer looks puzzled. ‘But I thought you told me that you wanted them to—’
‘I want them out of here!’
Springer walks over to the reporters, and explains that his colleague has decided that it would be best for the injured men if they weren’t bothered by reporters at this point. He apologizes for the inconvenience, and promises them he’ll find a way to make it up to them in the near future.
The journalists readily agree – this is, after all, nothing more than a common or garden mountain rescue, and now Springer’s in their debt, he’ll throw them something really juicy next time.
Marlowe waits until the reporters are well clear of the area, and only then does he allow the paramedics to get on with their job.
‘So why do you think there was a sudden about-face on Mr Marlowe’s part?’ Paniatowski asked.
‘Who knows?’ Craig Steele replied. ‘I was right there, and I certainly don’t. Maybe it was something that Mr Pine had said to him. Or maybe it was what Mr Tully wanted.’
‘I thought you said Tully was speaking in Latin!’ said his uncle, still smarting over the earlier revelation of his ignorance.
‘Perhaps he’d switched back to English,’ Craig suggested. ‘Or perhaps Mr Marlowe knows Latin.’
Mr Marlowe doesn’t know his arse from his elbow most of the time, Paniatowski thought, but she kept it to herself.
‘What happened after that?’ she asked.
‘We wouldn’t know,’ Brian Steele told her. ‘Our job was done. And unlike your Mr Marlowe, we didn’t want to get in the way of other professionals who were trying to do theirs.’
‘So we all went straight to the pub and got absolutely legless,’ his nephew said.
‘So we stood down from duty,’ Brian Steele corrected him.
‘But I do know that Mr Marlowe didn’t leave immediately, because I saw him in town the next day,’ Craig said.
Twenty-Nine
‘They may well be livin’ in the so-called “Permissive Society” down in London, an’ possibly they are in Manchester an’ all,’ Woodend said, gazing into his pint of bitter as if he suspected that the answer to all the mysteries of the world were contained in a single glass, ‘but the idea of “doin’ your own thing” is still an alien concept to Whitebridge.’
Bob Rutter grinned. ‘And what do you think the reason for that is, sir?’ he asked.
‘It’s because the glue that’s always held industrial towns like this one together is conformity. The mills dictated the pattern of life, you see, lad. Everybody started work at the same time, everybody left work at the same time – and everybody went on holiday at the same time, usually to the same place, while all the mills were closed down for maintenance. An’ even though the mills have gone, we’re still livin’ in their shadow.’
‘I don’t see that should necessarily stop the middle class from “doing their own thing”,’ Rutter said.
‘That’s where you’re wrong, lad. They don’t have to conform to the same things as the workers, but they still do have to conform. There’s as much a proper way to dress – an’ a proper way to behave – up at that Golf an’ Country Club as there is down in the cobbled streets. There’s rules which are not written down, but everybody still knows. An’ if you want a good example of what happens when you break the rules, you’ve only got to look at the case of Alec Hawtrey.’
‘Yes, I can imagine he was somewhat shunned by some of his old Catholic friends, because they didn’t recognize that his second marriage was—’ Bob Rutter began.
‘From what I’ve heard up at the Golf Club, he was shunned by nearly every bugger – because if you can’t fit in with one part of the Establishment, you’ll find yourself unwelcome in any part of it.’
‘Poor devil,’ Rutter said.
‘Poor devil, indeed,’ Woodend agreed. ‘Alec Hawtrey seems to have sacrificed a great deal by givin’ into the temptations of the—’ He stopped abruptly, and made great show of chec
king his watch. ‘I wonder where the devil young Monika’s got to?’ he continued. ‘She should have been back from her trip to the Lakes by now.’
‘He sacrificed a great deal by giving into the temptations of the flesh,’ Rutter completed. ‘Isn’t that what you were about to say?’
‘Aye, I was,’ Woodend admitted. ‘However careful I try to be, I always seem to be puttin’ my foot right in it on that particular question, don’t I? I’m really very sorry, lad.’
‘There’s no need to apologize. We can’t make what’s happened go away by just ignoring it.’
‘Monika said pretty much the same thing to me. An’ you may well both have a point. On the other hand, there isn’t much to be gained by constantly draggin’ it into the spotlight, is there?’
‘As a matter of fact, there is,’ Rutter said. ‘It’s only by frankly and openly confessing our sins that we can ever hope to put them behind us. That’s why I’m seriously considering Elizabeth’s idea of—’
He stopped himself speaking mid-sentence, just as the chief inspector had done earlier.
‘What was that?’ Woodend asked.
‘Nothing.’
‘Which Elizabeth are we talkin’ about? Do I know her?’
‘Let’s change the subject,’ Rutter suggested forcefully. ‘What do you make of what the old colonel told me this afternoon?’
‘Well, he pretty much confirmed what we already suspected, didn’t he?’ Woodend said. ‘That the killer was actin’ on his own.’
‘True. But Colonel Thompson also confirmed that the killer made no effort to put the body in the boot, and I still haven’t been able to work out why that should have been.’
‘It was a foggy night, an’ there weren’t many people about on the streets,’ Woodend pointed out. ‘Maybe the killer thought puttin’ him on the back seat would be safe enough.’
‘There weren’t many people about, but there were some – which meant there was still an element of risk,’ Rutter countered. ‘Say he’d been pulled up at a traffic light, and a passing pedestrian had just happened to look into the car. Say there’d been an accident somewhere on his route, and the traffic patrol sent to deal with it had flagged him down.’
‘There’d only have been a slight possibility of either of those things actually happenin’.’
‘Agreed. But why run any risk at all, when he didn’t have to?’
‘You’re right, of course,’ Woodend agreed. ‘An’ since, accordin’ to your pal the colonel, he had opened the boot, his initial thought must have been to put Pine in there.’
‘And then there’s the difference between the ways he closed the door and closed the boot,’ Rutter said. ‘Colonel Thompson says that he slammed the back door, but he shut the boot very gently.’
‘Almost as if he didn’t want to damage whatever – or whoever – was inside it,’ Woodend mused. ‘Perhaps he did have an accomplice after all, an’ the accomplice was hidin’ in the boot.’
The bar door swung open, and Monika Paniatowski walked in. Even from a distance, both men could see that her face was flushed with excitement, and as she strode across the room it looked as if she could hardly wait to tell Woodend and Rutter what it was that she’d discovered.
‘Did you know that Mr Marlowe was in the rescue party that brought Pine, Hawtrey and Tully down from the mountainside?’ she asked, the moment she’d reached the table.
Woodend frowned. ‘No, I certainly bloody didn’t! An’ perhaps more to the point, why didn’t I know?’
‘Because Marlowe didn’t want to advertise the fact that he’d been there at all. Nor would I, if I’d helped to cover up a murder!’
‘So you’re comin’ round to the idea that what Tully wrote in his letter was no more than the simple truth?’
‘The evidence certainly seems to be pointing that way.’
Paniatowski quickly filled Woodend and Rutter in on her conversation with the mountain rescue men, including the details of the blood spatters on the trousers and boots, and the patch of blood on the sleeve of Hawtrey’s jacket.
‘Maybe all the blood did come from a wound in his arm,’ Woodend suggested.
‘The sleeve of his jacket wasn’t torn!’ Paniatowski countered. ‘If it had have been, I’m sure either Brian or Craig Steele would have mentioned it. If it had have been, they’d have seen the wound on the arm for themselves, instead of just being told about it.’
‘I still don’t see why the sleeve had to be torn,’ Woodend said.
‘Neither do I,’ Rutter agreed. ‘As a kid, I was always falling down and grazing my knee without actually tearing my pants.’
‘But this wasn’t just a graze,’ Paniatowski pointed out. ‘Hawtrey must have lost at least a pint of blood.’
‘Good point,’ Woodend conceded. ‘But if that’s the case, why didn’t these Steele fellers – who are experienced mountain rescuers – reach the same conclusion that you did?’
‘Because they’d got plenty of other things to think about at the time,’ Paniatowski argued. ‘Hawtrey was dead. There was nothing more they could do for him, and they were well aware of it. So they paid him virtually no attention at all. Besides, conditions were still hazardous, even though the blizzard had lifted somewhat, and their main concern was to get the living – Pine and Tully – back to safety. But the really big difference is that they weren’t looking for signs of foul play – why should they have been? – but I was!’
‘So are you sayin’ that you don’t think Alec Hawtrey was wounded in the arm?’
‘No, I’m not saying that at all. The patch of blood on the sleeve of his jacket would seem to indicate that he was almost definitely wounded there, possibly during the struggle.’
‘Well, then?’
‘But what I am putting forward is the idea that there was another wound – a fatal one – on some other part of his body. What I don’t know is how Marlowe managed to persuade the local medical examiner to ignore the wounds.’
‘He didn’t have to,’ Woodend said. ‘It was good old Doc Pierson, our completely discredited police doctor, who carried out the autopsy.’
‘Well, that explains everything!’ Paniatowski told him.
‘No, it doesn’t,’ Woodend contradicted her. ‘We know Doc Pierson was willin’ to bend the rules on other occasions – that’s why he’s in gaol now. But Marlowe had nothin’ to gain by helpin’ to cover up a murder. In fact, he had one hell of a lot to lose.’
‘Maybe Bradley Pine told him there hadn’t been a murder at all,’ Paniatowski suggested.
‘An’ why would he have believed him, when, accordin’ to you, there was clear evidence of foul play somewhere on Hawtrey’s body?’
‘Perhaps Pine managed to persuade the chief constable that he and Hawtrey had got into a fight over Thelma, and he’d killed Hawtrey accidentally.’
‘Even if Marlowe had believed that – which would be stretchin’ even his credulity to the absolute limit – he’d still be running one hell of a risk assistin’ in a cover-up,’ Woodend said dubiously. ‘An’, knowin’ him as I do, I can’t honestly see our Mr Marlowe sticking his neck out for anybody.’
‘Perhaps he had no choice in the matter,’ Paniatowski said. ‘Perhaps Marlowe’s got a guilty secret, and Pine knew all about it.’
‘Now that is a possibility,’ Woodend said.
It was more than a possibility, and it didn’t even have to be a big secret that Pine had got hold of. Given that Marlowe was already planning to stand for parliament at the time, even a sordid little secret – for example, a liking for wearing women’s underwear – would have been enough to sink his political ambitions.
‘But we’ve still got a big problem, even if we’re finally thinkin’ along the right lines,’ Woodend said, frowning deeply. ‘Marlowe’s never goin’ to admit to his involvement, however much we try to pressure him. An’ we can’t have another autopsy carried out on Hawtrey, because – very conveniently for everybody involved in the cover-up, an’ v
ery inconveniently for us – the bugger was cremated.’ He gazed down into the pint glass again, and when he raised his head he was looking considerably more cheerful. ‘Still, we’ve got at least a couple of strings left to our bow, haven’t we?’ he asked the other two.
‘And what strings might they be?’ Rutter wondered.
‘The first one is Jeremy Tully. He knows exactly what happened on that mountainside – because he was there.’
‘And now he’s in Australia,’ Paniatowski said.
‘Which is a long, long way, but that still doesn’t mean he’s beyond our reach,’ Woodend told her. ‘I’ve been on the phone to the Australian police this afternoon, an’ they’ve promised to interview him as soon as possible.’
‘Is the other string Doc Pierson?’ Rutter asked.
‘The other string’s Doc Pierson,’ Woodend agreed. ‘I’ve made an appointment to visit him in Saltney Prison tomorrow mornin’.’
‘Why should he be willing to tell you what you want to know?’ Paniatowski asked.
‘No reason at all, that I can think of,’ Woodend conceded. ‘So I’ll just have to charm him into it, won’t I? An’ – let’s be honest about this – I’m well-known for my charm.’
‘Practically world-famous,’ Rutter said, deadpan.
A waiter arrived with a vodka for Paniatowski, and the sergeant drained it in one gulp.
‘I think I’ll have an early night,’ she said, placing the empty glass on the table.
‘That’s not like you at all,’ Woodend told her.
And it wasn’t. Normally Monika would rather do anything than go back to her lonely flat.
‘I’ve done a lot of driving today, and it’s rather taken it out of me,’ Paniatowski explained.
And that wasn’t like her, either, Woodend thought. She loved driving. It never seemed to tire her.
‘I’d better be going, too,’ Rutter said, standing up. ‘I’m due to meet someone in half an hour.’
‘About the case?’ Woodend asked.
Rutter hesitated. ‘No, it’s a personal matter,’ he said finally.
Woodend looked first at Rutter, then at Paniatowski, then back at Rutter again.
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