Stone Killer

by Sally Spencer

  ‘How about the two lads you’ve got with you in the back of the bank?’ Woodend wondered. ‘Did they have any choice?’

  ‘Yes, they did. I warned them of the risks – but they insisted on coming with me anyway.’

  ‘Aye, I’ve served under officers I’d gladly have gone through hell with,’ Woodend said. ‘Come to think of it, that’s usually where they took me. But you did wrong to bring them on this particular operation, Major. It’s not their fight. So why don’t you make amends while you still can?’

  ‘Make amends?’

  ‘You know exactly what I’m talkin’ about. Those two men of yours are in as much trouble as you are, but if you lift the siege right now, I’ll do my level best to see that they get off as lightly as they possibly can.’

  ‘They stay here,’ Maitland said firmly. ‘We all stay here until you’ve done what I want you to.’

  Woodend shrugged. ‘Well, at least the powers that be can’t say I didn’t try,’ he said, almost to himself.

  ‘How is my wife?’ Maitland asked.

  ‘She asked me to tell you to give up.’

  ‘Answer the question, you bastard! How is she?’

  ‘How do you expect her to be? She’s drained physically, but she’s still very angry an’ bitter inside. An’ she’s deeply worried about you.’ Woodend took another drag on his cigarette. ‘You’re deeply worried about each other,’ he continued. ‘You must be very much in love.’

  ‘We are.’

  ‘How long have you been married?’ Woodend asked.

  ‘Two years.’

  ‘An’ is it the first marriage for both of you?’

  ‘You could find that out from the records,’ Maitland said.

  ‘Yes, I could,’ Woodend agreed. ‘But records take time, an’ I thought you were in a hurry.’

  ‘I’ve been married once before,’ Maitland said, ‘but it’s Judith’s first marriage.’

  ‘Strange that a woman as attractive as her should have stayed unattached for so long,’ Woodend mused.

  ‘Just what exactly are you suggesting by that remark?’ Maitland demanded angrily.

  ‘I’m not suggestin’ anythin’,’ Woodend said. ‘I’m thinkin’. I’m tryin’ to build up a picture in my mind. It’s the way I work.’

  An’ that’s the truth, he thought.

  Because however much Monika told him they needed to cut corners on this one, he couldn’t. This was how he investigated, and he felt too old to start learning new tricks now.

  ‘Judith … Judith did talk about having one serious relationship before we met,’ Maitland said.

  ‘An’ why did it end?’

  ‘I don’t know, exactly. She didn’t say much about it. I don’t even know the man’s name, to tell you the truth. But I do get the impression that he let her down rather badly.’

  Posh-speak, Woodend thought. Working-class girls get ‘chucked’ – officers’ ladies get ‘let down rather badly’.

  ‘Tell me about your wife’s business partner, Stanley Keene,’ the Chief Inspector said.

  ‘You surely don’t think he’s the man she had the serious relationship with, do you?’ Maitland asked.

  ‘No, I don’t. As far as I can tell from just one meetin’, he’s as bent as Dickie’s Hatband.’

  ‘Then why are we wasting time even talking about him?’

  Woodend sighed. ‘If you want me on this case, you’re goin’ to have to learn to trust my judgement, Major Maitland,’ he said. ‘I’m interested in him because I’m interested in anybody who’s played a significant part in Judith’s life. An’ don’t worry about givin’ me the wrong impression – I’ll form my own opinion of him whatever you say. But I’d still like to hear what you think.’

  ‘We’d never have become close friends – I’m not at ease enough with homosexuals for that to have ever happened – but I like him well enough. And he does have a certain integrity about him. Many men would have distanced themselves from Judith after she was imprisoned, but Stanley’s stuck by her like a faithful hound.’

  ‘What’s he like as a businessman?’ Woodend asked.

  ‘It was Judith’s drive and energy which built the business up in the first place, but she was of the opinion that once it was set up, a trained monkey could have run it.’ Maitland paused. ‘She wasn’t referring to Stanley, of course. She’s always had the greatest respect for Stanley’s abilities.’

  ‘Which makes it all the stranger that she didn’t leave him to run the business once she got married,’ Woodend said.

  ‘Are you playing games with me, you bastard?’ Major Maitland demanded, angry again.

  ‘How do you mean?’ Woodend asked innocently.

  ‘I’m not a fool, you know,’ the Major said. ‘I’ve done some interrogating myself, so I know a thing or two about it. And it’s quite a common trick to ask a question about one thing when what you’re really after is the answer to quite another one.’

  ‘So you think I was askin’ questions about Keene because what I really wanted was answers about Judith?’

  ‘Well, weren’t you?’

  ‘Perhaps partly,’ Woodend admitted. ‘But it is rather interestin’, don’t you think, that when Judith had the opportunity to go an’ live in married quarters with you, her husband, she chose instead to continue runnin’ her caterin’ business in Whitebridge?’

  ‘She told me she didn’t want to leave her home town. We decided that when I left the Army, we’d settle here.’

  ‘Aye, Stanley Keene told me as much,’ Woodend agreed. ‘But at one point she was goin’ to move, wasn’t she?’

  ‘Well, yes, I suppose so.’

  ‘An’ then she suddenly changed her mind – an’ that was shortly after she’d met Clive Burroughs.’

  ‘Are you saying that you think the Dunethorpe Police were right – that Judith was Clive Burroughs’ lover?’ Maitland asked hotly. ‘Because if you are, then I’ve no further—’

  ‘No, I’m not sayin’ that at all,’ Woodend interrupted him. ‘I believe, as strongly as you obviously do, that they didn’t have any kind of sexual relationship at all. But the timin’ of her change of mind is too coincidental for me to completely rule out the possibility that Burroughs had some influence on it – that he had some kind of hold on her.’

  ‘I simply can’t accept that – and I’d rather that you didn’t either,’ Maitland said.

  ‘I won’t tell you how to fight battles if you don’t tell me how to conduct investigations,’ Woodend countered. ‘An’ now we’ve got all that out of the way, would you like to tell me why I’m here?’

  ‘To brief me, of course,’ Maitland said. ‘A good commander always ensures that he’s well briefed by his men who are out in the field.’

  Bollocks! Woodend thought. It wasn’t a briefing you wanted, it was reassurance. You’re like a doubting kid who constantly needs to be told that Father Christmas does actually exist.

  ‘You really don’t need to carry on with this siege any more, you know,’ he said aloud. ‘I’ve got my teeth well sunk into this case now, an’ I won’t give up until I’ve got a result. So why not let the hostages go? An’ while you’re at it, why not come out yourself?’

  Maitland laughed. ‘I was wondering when you’d start to show your true colours,’ he said. ‘I was wondering when the concerned policeman would recede from view, and the hardened negotiator would rear his ugly head.’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake, grow up!’ Woodend said impatiently. ‘Stop thinkin’ of yourself as some romantic storybook hero, and start seein’ yourself for what you really are.’

  ‘And what am I?’

  ‘You’re a desperate man who wants to get his wife freed, an’ doesn’t care who else gets hurts in the process. You’re a feller who’s either goin’ to get shot dead by a police marksman or will spend the next twenty-odd years in gaol. I want to help your wife – I honestly do – but after what you’ve put those people inside through, I don’t give a damn what happens to
you.’

  Maitland laughed again. ‘You certainly speak your mind, don’t you?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m well known for it around Whitebridge Police Headquarters,’ Woodend replied.

  ‘Or is this just another one of your games?’ the Major wondered. ‘Are you, perhaps, just playing the part of the bluff, honest policeman?’

  Woodend sighed. ‘I don’t care what you believe,’ he said. ‘An’ I don’t care what you think about me personally. But understand this. If just one of your hostages is hurt in any way, then I’m off the case.’

  ‘You shouldn’t bluff with such a weak hand,’ the Major said.

  ‘This is no bluff,’ Woodend told him. ‘The Chief Constable may order me to continue with the investigation, but I won’t do it. He may threaten me with the sack, but I still won’t do it.’

  ‘Then he’ll put another officer on the case.’

  ‘But you don’t want another officer on the case. You want me. I’ve told you my terms – an’ you take them or leave them.’

  ‘It was never my intention to hurt any of the hostages,’ the Major said. ‘You believe that, don’t you?’

  ‘I believe that you’ve put twenty innocent people in danger, an’ that they’ll probably have nightmares about it for the rest of their lives,’ Woodend told him. ‘So whatever else you do, don’t go lookin’ for a good conduct medal from me, Major Maitland.’

  Woodend turned round, and headed for the door.

  ‘I haven’t said you can go yet,’ Maitland called after him.

  ‘No, you haven’t, have you?’ Woodend agreed over his shoulder. ‘But then I don’t need to wait for orders from you, because I’m not one of your bloody soldiers, am I?’

  There were a number of armed officers on the High Street – some hiding behind police vehicles, some standing just beyond the line of fire – but Woodend did not notice any of them. He took in a deep gulp of air, and thought about what had gone on inside the bank.

  He had tried his level best to sound in control of the situation, but he wasn’t convinced he’d even been close. He had spoken with an air of confidence and assurance which had been far from his true feelings. He had told himself that he was handling the whole bloody mess as well as he could have handled it – as well as anyone could have handled it – but now he was far from sure that was the case.

  His whole body was trembling, as if he’d been suddenly struck down by the flu. His heart was galloping so fast it was threatening to burst.

  It had been a mistake to take quite so much air into his lungs all at one go, he thought.

  ‘Are you all right, sir?’ some disembodied voice called from the distance.

  Of course I’m not all right! he wanted to call back.

  But he never got the words out, because his body, acting with a will of its own at that moment, chose to double over, and his stomach – taking advantage of the position – decided to heave almost its entire contents out on to the street.

  Eleven

  The Philosophers’ Arms was a pretentious name to give to any pub, Monika Paniatowski thought. And the décor – powder-blue, over-stuffed sofas which hunkered beneath gilt-framed portraits of great historical thinkers – chimed with the name’s pretensions perfectly.

  Apart from the barman – who was standing behind the bar counter and half-heartedly polishing beer glasses – the place was empty.

  ‘Well, what do you expect?’ Paniatowski could imagine Woodend saying. ‘The Philosophers’ Arms! Sofas! Soft lightin’! No drinkin’ man worth his salt would be seen dead in a poncy dive like this.’

  Yes, that’s what he would have said if he’d been here.

  But he wasn’t here, was he?

  He was back in Whitebridge.

  Treating this case just as he’d treated all those he’d successfully solved in the past.

  Stubbornly sticking to his old well-tried ways, without even bothering to ask himself if those old ways still worked.

  The barman looked up at his one-and-only customer. He had thin, sandy hair, Paniatowski noted, and was probably somewhere in his mid-thirties. His eyes were pale blue and washed out, and his chin, which might once have tried to pass itself off as firm and determined, now seemed to have settled for being only slightly less than weak.

  ‘What can I get you, love?’ he asked, favouring her with the typical barman’s brief – energy-efficient – smile.

  ‘Are you Hal Greene?’ Paniatowski said.

  The barman grinned. ‘Now that depends, doesn’t it?’

  ‘On what?’

  ‘On who’s asking. If he owes you money, then I’m definitely not him. On the other hand, if you’re looking for Hal because you’ve been told he can give you a good time, then I’m definitely your man.’

  He’d obviously successfully completed the full course in the School of Clumsy Flirting, Paniatowski thought, but though he’d remembered the script perfectly, his heart wasn’t really in it.

  She reached into her handbag and produced her warrant card. ‘My name’s Monika,’ she said sweetly. ‘But if you like, Mr Greene, you can call me “Sergeant Paniatowski”.’

  The barman’s grin rapidly faded away, to be replaced by a look of some concern.

  ‘If it’s about what happened the other night, you have to understand it’s not my fault,’ Greene said.

  ‘Isn’t it?’ Paniatowski replied noncommittally.

  ‘These days, kids will do anything to pass themselves off as eighteen,’ Greene told her. ‘Even though they’ve more bum fluff than bristle, the lads put sticking plasters on their faces, to make it look as if they’ve cut themselves shaving. And as for the girls – well, the amount of rolled-up toilet paper they stuff down their bras doesn’t bear thinking about. And on a busy night, Sergeant Paniatowski, I simply don’t have the time to give all my customers a thorough inspection.’

  ‘I’m not here about under-age drinking,’ Paniatowski assured him.

  ‘Then why are you here?’

  ‘I’d like to ask you a few questions about Clive Burroughs.’

  ‘What for? Clive’s dead and buried. It’s all over and done with.’

  ‘Vodka,’ Paniatowski said.

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘When I walked in, you asked me what you could get me. Well, I’ll have a vodka.’

  Greene went over to the optics and measured out the drink. ‘Have this one on the house,’ he suggested.

  ‘Not a chance!’ Paniatowski replied, slipping her money across the counter. ‘So what can you tell me about Clive Burroughs?’

  ‘Not a great deal.’

  ‘Now that is surprising,’ Paniatowski mused. ‘Because according to the thick file that they have back at Dunethorpe Central, you were one of Burroughs’ best friends.’

  ‘Oh, I’m not saying I didn’t know him,’ Greene said.

  ‘Very wise.’

  ‘I did know him. But only not really well, if you see what I mean. Just well enough to say hello and ask him how he was getting on.’

  Paniatowski looked around her. ‘I really like this pub,’ she lied. ‘It’s very classy.’

  ‘Yes, it is, isn’t it?’ Greene agreed. ‘We like to think it’s a cut above the average.’

  ‘In fact, I’m getting so fond of it that I just might stay till closing time,’ Paniatowski said.

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Yes, I think I’ll stay. It might be interesting to find out if it really is as difficult to spot under-age drinkers as you seem to think it is.’

  Greene did not take the announcement well. For several moments he fell silent, then he said, ‘All right, Clive Burroughs was my friend. Or at least, I thought he was at the time.’

  ‘How often did you see him?’

  ‘He used to come here most nights. When he wasn’t out chasing skirt, that is.’

  ‘Yes, I heard he was a bit of a ladies’ man,’ Paniatowski said. ‘Now tell me something I don’t know.’

  ‘I’m not sure where to star
t.’

  ‘Did he have any enemies?’

  ‘I suppose you could say that the woman who battered his head in wasn’t exactly his friend.’

  ‘Apart from her?’

  ‘There’s a few men round here who wouldn’t have been too kindly disposed to him if they’d found out what he was getting up to with their wives. But they never did find out. He was far too careful for that.’

  ‘Who else?’

  ‘Other than them, nobody comes to mind. He could be a real charmer, could Clive – with men as well as women.’

  ‘Did it seem as if there was anything he was particularly worried about just before he died?’

  ‘Not just before he died, no.’

  ‘Earlier, then?’

  ‘For the last year or so of his life, he was a bit concerned about how his business was going.’

  ‘A bit concerned? What does that mean?’

  ‘You know.’

  ‘No, I don’t,’ Paniatowski said. ‘I’m a bit concerned I might get a ladder in my new stockings. I’m a bit concerned the cost of vodka may go up. Is that the sort of concerned he was?’

  ‘Well, no.’

  ‘So what kind of concerned was he?’

  ‘All right, he was a worried man,’ Greene conceded.

  ‘Worried about what?’

  ‘The business had been going through a very lean patch, and he was finding it difficult to meet all his commitments. One night, when he was feeling really low, he told me there was a real possibility he might even go bankrupt.’

  ‘But, by the time he died, that had all sorted itself out?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Because business picked up?’

  ‘Not exactly.’

  ‘Because he’d come into some money?’

  ‘Again, not exactly. He said that he’d found somebody – a woman from Whitebridge – who was prepared to give him a loan for as long as he needed one.’

  ‘That would have been Judith Maitland?’

  ‘I assume it was now, though he didn’t actually mention any names at the time.’

  ‘Did he give you any indication of why she was prepared to lend him the money?’

  ‘Not really. He just smirked, in that way he had, and said she just couldn’t resist him.’