‘Are you saying that they’re telling you that it isn’t a murder?’ Paniatowski asked.
‘I’m telling you, Chief Inspector, that your thirst for newspaper headlines at any cost is pleasing no one,’ Chief Superintendent Snodgrass said. ‘I’m telling you that you’ve made an enemy of me, and I’m not the only one, because nobody likes an officer who can’t be a team player.’
And without waiting for a response, he turned sharply on his heel and marched away.
Meadows was already back at the CID suite.
‘What’s the matter, boss?’ she asked, when Paniatowski walked in. ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’
‘No, it feels more like I’ve been hit by a truck,’ Paniatowski said. ‘Are we any closer to establishing our suspect’s identity?’
‘Not really,’ Meadows said. ‘He had no documents on him, nor were there any in the car.’
‘What about the car itself?’ Paniatowski wondered. ‘That must have told us something.’
‘You’d think so, wouldn’t you,’ Meadows agreed. ‘But it was hired from a rental firm near Manchester airport.’
‘So he must have shown them some identification before they’d hand over the car.’
‘I’d assume so, but I don’t know that for a fact, because they’re not answering the phone.’
‘Then why don’t you ask the Manchester police to do us a favour and pop round there?’ Paniatowski suggested.
‘I did,’ Meadows said. ‘And when they got there, they found it was shut.’
‘But it’s a car hire business!’ Paniatowski exclaimed.
‘I know.’
‘If they’re shut, then not only can they not rent out any cars, they can’t process the returns, either.’
‘I agree with you,’ Meadows said, ‘but the fact is that they’d closed.’
‘Do the Manchester police know when this was?’
‘According to the tobacconist next door, they were already open when he got there at six …’
‘Isn’t that very early to be opening up?’
‘No, because they do a lot of their business with people who’ve flown into the airport, so they have to be there when the planes land.’
‘There’s no strike at the airport is there?’
‘No, it’s running normally.’
‘They were open when the tobacconist got there at six. Did he happen to notice what time they closed up?’
‘He thinks it was around half past seven.’
Or, to put it another way, about the time we had the suspect hemmed in at the roadworks, Paniatowski thought.
‘I’m going to question the American,’ she said.
‘On a scale of ten where one is a good idea and ten is a bad one, that’s about a thirteen,’ Meadows said.
‘And why’s that?’ Paniatowski asked.
‘Firstly, because you don’t know enough about him to start questioning him,’ Meadows told her. ‘And secondly, they’re never going to prosecute him for his attack on you if you have anything more to do with the investigation.’
It made sense, Paniatowski thought, but her gut told her he was never going to be charged with the attack anyway, and that if she didn’t talk to him now, there wouldn’t be another chance.
The door of the interview room opened, and the prisoner and escort entered.
‘Please take a seat,’ Paniatowski said, and the American sat down opposite her and Meadows.
‘You don’t object to being interviewed by two women, do you, Mr …?’ she asked.
The American said nothing. Instead, he looked at them, sitting across the table from him, with a sort of bland lack of interest.
He was around thirty-five, Paniatowski estimated, and if she’d had to guess, she’d have said he was college educated and had a middle management post in some large corporation.
So what the hell had he been doing in Barrow Village at six o’clock in the morning?
‘This is my colleague, Sergeant Meadows,’ she said aloud. ‘I’m DCI Paniatowski – the woman you crept up behind and struck on the back of the head with a spanner.’
No reaction. Not guilt – not even an acknowledgement that the attack had taken place.
Paniatowski switched on the tape recorder, and reeled off the prisoner’s rights and the rest of the required rubric.
‘I will ask you once more if you would like legal counsel,’ she said, just in case he claimed later that, confused by a foreign environment, he hadn’t known what was going on.
The prisoner said nothing.
‘For the purposes of the recording, I need you to state in words whether or not you need a lawyer,’ Paniatowski said.
The prisoner shrugged slightly, as if to indicate he didn’t give a shit about her needs.
‘I will take your silence as indicating that you have no objection to proceeding,’ she said.
Still nothing from her prisoner.
‘What’s the matter?’ she asked. ‘Don’t you trust English lawyers? Would you prefer one more like Perry Mason?’
This time, his face did register a little surprise.
Paniatowski laughed. ‘What’s the matter, Hank?’ she asked. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, you don’t mind me calling you Hank, do you?’
The mask had slipped back into place.
‘I think he’s wondering how we know he’s an American,’ Meadows said.
‘Oh, that’s easy to explain,’ Paniatowski said. ‘For a start, there are your clothes. I mean – honestly! – the kindest way to describe them is as a little brash for our English taste. But the real giveaway was that when you surrendered to us, you put your hands behind your back. We handcuffed you the way you were expecting, because we didn’t want you to know – at that particular moment – that we’d sussed you out. But if you’d been British, we’ve have handcuffed your hands in front of you.’
‘Would you like to talk to Hank about what the future holds for him?’ Meadows suggested.
‘I don’t see why not,’ Paniatowski agreed. ‘We may charge you with the murder of Arthur Wheatstone, Hank, but if we can’t get you for that, you will certainly be charged with an assault on – and perhaps attempted murder of – a senior police officer. You’ll be going to prison – there’s no way round that now, I’m afraid – but how long you serve will depend on the exact nature of the charges. I should also mention that you could serve all your time over here, away from your family, or it could be arranged that you serve most of your time in the USA. It’s up to you.’
With a brilliant lack of timing, a uniformed constable chose that moment to appear in the doorway.
‘Yes?’ Paniatowski snapped.
‘Sorry to disturb you, ma’am, but his lawyer’s here,’ the constable said awkwardly.
‘It can’t be his lawyer,’ Paniatowski said. ‘No one even knows he’s here.’
‘He gave me this,’ the constable told her.
He handed Paniatowski a card which said:
Oliver Staines
Solicitor
There was also a Manchester address, and a phone number.
‘I want to see my lawyer,’ said the American, in a voice which, to Meadows, suggested jambalaya and grits.
‘What lawyer?’ Paniatowski asked.
‘The one on that card.’
‘Do you even know his name?’
‘I don’t have to. You have to give me that card, and all I got to do is read it off.’
He was right, Paniatowski thought and suppressing a sigh (because she saw no reason why the prisoner should get the satisfaction of hearing it), she handed the card over.
‘I’d like to see my solicitor, Oliver Staines,’ the American said.
‘He’s not your solicitor,’ Meadows said. ‘You’d never even heard his name until you read it off that card.’
‘Maybe you’re right,’ the prisoner agreed, ‘but I’ve read the name now, and he is my solicitor – and nothing else is worth a plugged nickel.’
They
weren’t quite sure what to expect from a man who was happy to be known as ‘Staines’ but Oliver of that ilk was immaculately turned out in a herringbone suit, white shirt, Oxford university tie and shining black shoes. He was carrying an attaché case in one hand, and when Meadows and Paniatowski stood as he entered the room, he waved his free hand carelessly through the air and said, ‘Oh please, don’t get up for me. It makes me feel so awkward.’
‘You’re a funny man, Mr Staines,’ Paniatowski said.
‘Very funny,’ Meadows said, and her voice had a growling edge to it – the sort of noise a Scottish lynx might make while it was working out which bit of naked flesh it was about to dig its teeth into.
‘But you must realize that we’re not getting up because we hold you in such high esteem,’ Paniatowski continued. ‘Believe me, nothing could be further from the truth. We’re standing up so we can vacate the room, and so give you the privacy that you need to confer with your client.’
‘But I don’t need to confer with him,’ Staines said. ‘This is such a simple matter to resolve that I could have sent one of the clerks to do it.’
‘Really?’ Paniatowski said. ‘Maybe you’ll start to treat matters a little more seriously when I tell you …’
‘That Robert here bopped you on the head with a spanner? Oh I already know all about that.’
‘How do you know?’ Paniatowski demanded.
‘Oh, sources,’ Staines said, making that annoying gesture with his hand again.
‘You called him Robert,’ Meadows said jabbing her fingers though the air, in the general direction of the American’s heart.
‘That’s right, I did call him that, and by some happy coincidence, it happens to be his name,’ Staines said. ‘May I introduce you to Robert K Proudfoot III. Take a bow, Robert.’
And Proudfoot did indeed go through the motions of a flowery bow.
‘I feel I should point out that you were extremely foolish to conduct the investigation into, and the interrogation of, the man who attacked you,’ Staines said. ‘If it had ever got to court, the defence would have torn it to pieces in minutes.’
‘Have you misplaced the word “allegedly”?’ Meadows wondered.
‘I beg your pardon,’ Staines said.
‘Most of you shyster types are very careful what you say,’ Meadows pointed out. ‘You say, “My client allegedly did this.” “My client allegedly attended this meeting.” “I’ve put my umbrella up because it’s raining – allegedly.” But you’re right up front about it. You say, “My client took this spanner, and he belted DCI Paniatowski on the back of the head.”’
‘Well, so he did,’ Staines said expansively. ‘And he’s very sorry about it, aren’t you, Robert.’
‘Yes,’ Proudfoot said.
‘But it really doesn’t matter what Robert says or doesn’t say, because he’s never going to be charged with anything.’
‘Want a bet?’ Meadows asked.
‘Yes,’ Staines said, seriously, ‘but before I take your money, you’d better read this.’
He opened the attaché case, took out a single piece of paper, and laid it on the desk. The two women read it.
‘This says that it’s from the American Consulate,’ Paniatowski said. ‘Is it real?’
‘Most authentic,’ Staines confirmed.
‘And what it says is that Robert Proudfoot III is a member of the American diplomatic corps.’
‘Correct. He has diplomatic immunity, so he can steal, rape – even kill – and all you can do is deport him.’
‘How do we know the man mentioned in the document and the man sitting at this table are the same man?’ Meadows asked.
Staines reached into his attaché case again, produced a shiny new American passport, and handed it Meadows.
The detective sergeant flicked through it, then handed it back.
‘Good enough for me,’ she said, with obvious displeasure.
‘So how long has Proudfoot been a diplomat?’ Paniatowski asked.
‘I wouldn’t know,’ said Staines, with a grin. ‘But possibly not long.’
‘A couple of hours?’ Meadows guessed.
‘As I said, I wouldn’t know.’
So that was why Proudfoot had run, and why he had refused to say anything once he’d been caught, Paniatowski thought – because he’d been stalling while other people worked out a way to pull him out of the shit.
‘Can I take my client back to Manchester, now, Chief Inspector?’ Staines asked.
‘If I want to see him again—’ Paniatowski began.
‘You can’t,’ Staines interrupted.
No, Paniatowski thought, she didn’t suppose she could.
It was half an hour after Staines and his client had left police headquarters that the call came through.
‘Hello,’ said a cheery voice, ‘it’s your favourite solicitor on the line.’
‘Mr Staines,’ Paniatowski said wearily, ‘after this morning, I can think of several words I might use to describe you, and favourite isn’t one of them, so say something to grab my attention quickly, or I’m hanging up.’
‘I think we should meet, because you’ll hear something – as we solicitors love to say – to your advantage.’
‘I don’t think so,’ Paniatowski said.
‘Your loss, toots,’ Staines told her.
The comment made her laugh, and the laugh made her relent.
‘Where shall we meet?’ she asked.
‘I’m in a pub called the Grapes,’ he said.
‘I’ll be there in two minutes,’ she told him.
Staines was sitting at a table in the corner of the snug. On the table were a pink gin and a vodka.
‘I asked the barman if he had any idea what DCI Monika Paniatowski drank, and he said every self-respecting barman in Whitebridge knew that she drank vodka,’ he said.
Paniatowski sat down. ‘Where’s Robert Proudfoot Part Three?’ she asked.
‘I sent him off with my driver, to get some food,’ Staines said.
‘So we could have our little tête-a-tête?’
‘Exactly.’
‘And what is it that we need to get our heads together over?’
‘I think it would be a mistake to focus too heavily on the part the Americans played in the incident in Barrow Village,’ Staines said.
‘The murder in Barrow Village,’ Paniatowski corrected him.
‘The murder, then.’
‘Are you here to warn me off?’ Paniatowski asked, starting to get angry. ‘Are your American clients annoyed I’m not dancing to their tune?’
‘No, not at all,’ Staines protested, holding his hands up. ‘I’m not here for them – I’m here for you. I want to help you.’
‘Why?’ Paniatowski wondered.
‘Honestly? Because I fancy you and I’m trying to win your favourable opinion.’
‘Oh, that’s how you think it works, is it?’ Paniatowski asked. ‘You convince me you’re on my side, and then we head for the nearest hotel?’
‘No, no, of course not,’ Staines protested. ‘I want to bed you eventually, of course, but I’m perfectly content to play the long game.’
Paniatowski laughed again. It was nice being with a man who made her laugh.
‘All right, why do you think the Americans have nothing to do with what happened in Barrow Village?’ she asked.
‘I never said that they had nothing to do with it – merely that they did not play a major part.’
‘Go on.’
‘They knew about it before you did – that’s obvious, since Proudfoot got there before you. But I don’t think they knew much earlier.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘Because if there’d been time, they’d have sent someone from London up to Barrow Village, rather than rely on a man who’d just landed in Manchester after travelling all night on the red-eye.’
‘And is that what they did?’
‘Yes, assuming that Proudfoot was acting o
n behalf of his government in Barrow Village, rather than as an individual.’
‘So Proudfoot didn’t land until early morning?’
‘That’s right.’
‘I assume the reason the car hire company closed down was so we wouldn’t have any details ourselves before the consulate got its documentation completed.’
‘I think I’ve gone as far as I’m going,’ Staines said.
‘But you’re their agent, so you must know.’
‘I’m not their agent. I’m a freelance solicitor. Have mediocre law degree – will travel. I fix things for people, but I never do anything illegal, and I never knowingly do anything political.’
‘It was you who offered the car hire company a lot of money to close down for the day, wasn’t it?’ Paniatowski asked.
Staines stood up. ‘If I call you in a few weeks and ask you to go out to dinner with me, will you think about it?’ he asked.
‘Yes, I’ll think about it,’ Paniatowski said.
Staines’ eyes suddenly flooded with sadness. ‘And then you’ll say no,’ he said.
‘And then I’ll say no,’ she agreed.
‘But why?’ Staines asked. ‘Am I not charming? Am I not good looking?’
‘You’re both of those things,’ Paniatowski said.
‘So then why?’
‘I think the world you live in is a bit too complicated for me,’ she said.
He shrugged, philosophically. ‘There are times when I think it’s a bit too complicated for me, too,’ he admitted.
TEN
It was twelve-thirty when the call came through.
‘Hi,’ said the voice on the other end of the line, ‘this is Janet Goodman speaking.’
The wheels in Paniatowski’s brain whirled round.
Janet Goodman … Janet Goodman …
Ah, yes, nice woman. She was an usher at Lancaster Crown Court, and they’d lunched together a couple of times when Paniatowski had been appearing …
Shit, shit, shit!
She’d had an excellent excuse for arriving late – but once Proudfoot had been arrested, she’d had no excuse at all for not handing the investigation over to someone else.
She’d have to grovel to the judge. She knew that.
She’d probably get a heavy fine for contempt of court. Well, she’d just have to find the money from somewhere.
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