Stone Killer

by Sally Spencer

  ‘In other words, she was putty in his hands because she was having an affair with him.’

  ‘That’s what I took it to mean at the time.’

  ‘But not now?’

  Greene shook his head. ‘No, not now.’

  ‘And what’s caused you to change your mind?’

  Greene picked up a pint glass from the counter, and, despite the fact it was already sparkling, began to polish it with vigour.

  ‘I’d much rather not say,’ he mumbled.

  ‘And I’d much rather you did,’ Paniatowski said firmly.

  Greene sighed. ‘I suppose it can’t do much harm to tell you now,’ he said, in a dull, defeated voice. ‘Most of the people around here already know all about it anyway.’

  ‘Know about what?’

  ‘I was quite upset when I heard that Clive got himself killed,’ Greene said. ‘I mean, don’t get me wrong, I always knew he was a bit of a bastard – he’d never pretended to be anything else, at least not to me – but I still couldn’t help liking the feller. And when I was standing over his grave, I just couldn’t stop myself from shedding a few tears.’

  ‘Very touching,’ Paniatowski said.

  ‘Of course, if I’d known then what I know now,’ Greene continued, a sudden violent anger entering his tone, ‘I’d have pissed on his coffin instead of weeping over it.’

  Though she suspected she’d already worked out just what he was about to tell her, Paniatowski said, ‘So what exactly is it that you know now that you didn’t know then?’

  ‘My wife, Doreen, left me a couple of months ago,’ Greene told Paniatowski, and now the anger transformed itself into self-pity. ‘Just packed her bags and went. Said she had no choice. Said she couldn’t stand being with me any more, because all the time she was, she was thinking of him.’

  ‘Him? Clive Burroughs?’

  ‘That’s right. Clive-bloody-Burroughs. Clive-stab-your-best-friend-in-the-back Burroughs. All those nights she said she was out with her mates, she was really out with him. So, you see, it wasn’t Judith Maitland he was having an affair with – it was my Doreen.’

  Twelve

  There was not a soul to be seen in the car park at Whitebridge Police Headquarters when Woodend drove on to it, but by the time he’d actually climbed out of his old Wolseley, the press was bearing down on him like a pack of hounds that had scented blood.

  ‘I have no comment to make personally concerning this situation,’ he told the dozen or so reporters who surrounded him and began baying for news. ‘Any statements which are to be issued will come directly from the Chief Constable’s office.’

  ‘Have you seen any of the hostages yourself?’ one of the reporters on his left called out.

  ‘How long do you expect the Cotton Credit Siege to last?’ another asked from his right.

  ‘As I’ve already said, I’ve no comment to make,’ Woodend repeated firmly. ‘So if you wouldn’t mind gettin’ out of my way, we can all avoid the need for me to book you for obstruction.’

  A reluctant gap opened in the tight circle of journalists, and Woodend stepped into it.

  ‘Have you spoken to Major Maitland yourself?’ asked a female voice he immediately recognized as belonging to an old enemy.

  Woodend, already clear of the circle, stopped in his tracks, and swivelled round.

  ‘What was that you just said, Miss Driver?’ he demanded.

  Elizabeth Driver smirked, clearly proud of the fact that she had brought him to a halt when all her colleagues had failed.

  ‘I asked you if you’d talked to Major Maitland, Chief Inspector.’

  ‘An’ who might he be, when he’s at home?’ Woodend asked.

  Elizabeth Driver’s smirk turned itself into a broad smile. ‘He’s the man who started all this,’ she said.

  ‘Somebody’s been feedin’ you a load of cock-an’-bull, Miss Driver,’ Woodend said. ‘I’ve never even heard of this Major Mainfleet—’

  ‘Maitland. His name’s Major Maitland.’

  ‘… an’ I can’t imagine where you’d get the idea that an army officer would want to try an’ rob a bank.’

  ‘But it’s not a robbery at all,’ Elizabeth Driver said.

  Sounding surprised.

  Pretending she really had believed him when he claimed to have no knowledge of Major Maitland.

  ‘Not a robbery?’ Woodend said, playing the deception game to the end, even though he knew he’d already lost it.

  ‘All Major Maitland wants is for his wife to be released from gaol,’ Elizabeth Driver told him. ‘And exactly when is that going to happen?’

  Woodend turned again, and strode angrily towards the station entrance. Elizabeth Driver had her own, carefully cultivated, sources in the Force – he suspected the Chief Constable to be among them – so she often learned things she had no right to know. But normally she would keep them to herself until she’d written her story. The fact she was bandying Maitland’s name around at this point had to mean that all other reporters also knew it, or soon would – that what he was dealing with was not so much a leak as a bloody flood.

  ‘Who the hell released Major Maitland’s name to the bloody press?’ Woodend demanded.

  The Three Wise Men – the Chief Constable, Colonel Danvers and Mr Slater-Burnes – looked at each other across the table, then Marlowe said, ‘That really is no concern of yours, Mr Woodend.’

  ‘Isn’t it just? Has nobody thought about what that kind of leak will do to my investigation? Now, when I ask questions, everybody’ll know why I’m askin’ them. It’s like releasin’ your entire plan of attack to the enemy before the battle’s even started,’ Woodend said, noting to himself just how much like Major Maitland he was starting to sound.

  ‘You always did have a colourful way of expressing yourself, Chief Inspector,’ Marlowe said disapprovingly. ‘But my immediate concern is a report I’ve just recently received.’

  ‘A report?’

  ‘Is it true that you actually vomited in the High Street?’

  ‘What?’ Woodend said, hardly able to believe he’d heard the Chief Constable’s words correctly.

  ‘I asked you if you’d been sick in the High Street.’

  ‘Yes, I was.’

  ‘But – good God, man – whatever can you have been thinking of to put on such a display?’

  ‘I wasn’t thinkin’ at all, sir. I was just lettin’ my body do what it needed to do.’

  ‘Are you ill?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then what do you think might have brought on this sudden and rather unseemly attack?’

  ‘It think it might have had somethin’ to do with the fact that I’d just been talkin’ to a man who has the lives of twenty civilians in his hands, an’ I was worried about whether what I’d said to him had made their situation better or worse,’ Woodend told him.

  ‘Who saw this unfortunate incident?’

  ‘Unfortunate incident?’ Woodend said. ‘What unfortunate incident?’

  ‘The one I’ve just been talking about, Chief Inspector – the one in which you threw up in the street.’

  This was bizarre, Woodend thought. ‘The only people who saw me were the officers on duty,’ he said.

  ‘You’re sure none of the press was present?’

  ‘Yes, I am,’ Woodend said, wearily. ‘The press were being kept well behind the barricade.’

  ‘Well, that’s something, at least,’ the Chief Constable said. ‘Though I have to tell you, that is not the kind of behaviour I expect any of my more senior officers to display.’

  ‘I’d like to hear what the Chief Inspector talked to Major Maitland about,’ Colonel Danvers said.

  ‘We talked about what Major Maitland wanted us to talk about, of course,’ Woodend said.

  ‘Which would have been …?’

  ‘Which was his wife.’

  ‘So you didn’t discuss his hostages at all?’

  ‘Yes, we discussed them.’

  ‘And what di
d you actually say?’

  ‘I asked him to let them go.’

  Slater-Burnes, the Home Office man, tut-tutted.

  ‘That is not the proper way to go about it at all,’ he said. ‘As I may have pointed out previously, we haven’t had a great deal of experience of negotiating with hostage-takers – thank the Lord, it is still a rare enough occurrence in England – but we’ve certainly had enough to know that it’s a mistake to ever make blanket demands on them.’

  ‘Is that right?’ Woodend asked.

  ‘It is, indeed. What you should have done was to appear concerned about Maitland’s own well-being, and in that way established a bond between the two of you. Next, you should have asked him if there was anything he needed. He would probably have requested chocolate or cigarettes. Once you had done something for him, you could have asked for something in return – a small concession, like releasing one or two of the hostages, for example.’

  ‘Take note of this, Chief Inspector,’ Marlowe said.

  ‘Oh, I am,’ Woodend promised.

  ‘Having made the first concession, it would have been very difficult for Maitland to refuse a second, and then a third,’ Slater-Burnes continued. ‘Wearing your man down, Chief Inspector – that’s always the key to success in this kind of operation.’

  ‘Do you have any idea of the kind of man we’re dealing with here?’ Woodend asked, keeping a lid on his fury – but only just.

  ‘I’m aware that he’s a soldier—’ Slater-Burnes began.

  ‘He’s more than just any old soldier – he’s a veteran soldier with considerable combat experience,’ Woodend interrupted. ‘Findin’ himself in a potentially life-threatenin’ situation isn’t anythin’ new to him, you know, Mr Slater-Burnes. This is a picnic compared to some of the things he’s been through.’

  ‘Nonetheless, the techniques I’m suggesting have been tried and tested by our American cousins,’ Slater-Burnes persisted.

  ‘You just don’t get it, do you?’ Woodend asked. ‘Offerin’ concessions an’ tryin’ to wear him down is just what Maitland expects and is ready for. They’re old tricks to him – an’ they simply won’t work.’

  ‘Then what will work?’ Slater-Burnes asked.

  ‘Provin’ that his wife was falsely imprisoned.’

  The Home Office man frowned. ‘I think we should consider replacing Chief Inspector Woodend with another negotiator with a more positive attitude,’ he said to Marlowe.

  ‘You can do what you like, but I’m tellin’ you now, he won’t talk to anyone but me,’ Woodend said.

  ‘Then we must consider the military option,’ Slater-Burnes said. ‘What’s your opinion on the matter, Colonel? Surely Maitland will see the pointlessness of continued resistance, when he’s faced with overwhelming force.’

  ‘Bollocks!’ Woodend said.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘If he can get what he wants – his wife’s conviction squashed – then he’ll surrender without any fuss, an’ serve his prison sentence with no complaints. If he can’t get what he wants, he’ll decide to make this his last stand, an’ go out in a blaze of glory. He won’t deliberately kill any of the hostages himself – though most of them will probably die anyway, in the cross-fire – but he’ll certainly be determined to take as many of his attackers with him as he can.’

  ‘Colonel Danvers?’ Slater-Burnes asked.

  ‘It’s possible that Major Maitland would react as the Chief Inspector has outlined,’ the Colonel admitted. ‘Men like him – men used to going into extremely sticky situations – sometimes convince themselves that defeat is not an option. They develop what I tend to think of as a samurai mentality.’

  ‘I’m sure this is all very interesting, in its way, but it doesn’t do anything to help solve our immediate problems,’ the Chief Constable said. ‘What I’m looking for from you gentlemen is some specific guidance as to what to do next. I’d like to hear from you first, Mr Slater-Burnes.’

  The man from the Ministry had first advocated removing Woodend from the case, then proposed storming the bank. Now, from the conciliatory expression which had suddenly appeared in his features, it looked as if he were ready to do a complete volte-face.

  ‘Mr Woodend has argued his case very persuasively – if a little too forcefully,’ he said, smiling to show there were no ill-feelings. ‘And he is, after all, the only one who has spoken directly to Major Maitland. Bearing all that in mind – and assuming that his assessment of the situation is correct – then the course of action he suggests would seem to be the only one open to us.’

  Smooth! Woodend thought. Very smooth indeed. If the siege was resolved successfully, Slater-Burnes could easily claim that he had given his full backing to the strategy behind it. If, on the other hand, it ended in a bloodbath, he could always say it was not his advice which was at fault, but the assessment on which the advice was based.

  ‘Colonel Danvers?’ Marlowe said.

  ‘I agree with Mr Slater-Burnes,’ the Colonel said.

  ‘And so do I,’ the Chief Constable said.

  So that was it, then. Snakes might proverbially be considered to be the slipperiest things around, Woodend thought, but they were rank amateurs when compared to these three.

  ‘I think that concludes our meeting,’ the Chief Constable said. ‘Thank you, gentlemen. We will reconvene whenever it is deemed appropriate.’

  Woodend stood up.

  ‘Not you, Mr Woodend,’ the Chief Constable continued. ‘I’d like an additional word with you, if you don’t mind.’

  If he wants to talk about vomit again, I’ll show him what it looks like from close to, Woodend thought.

  Marlowe waited until the soldier and the bureaucrat had closed the door behind them, then said, ‘You look like you could use a drink, Mr Woodend. What can I get you?’

  Now this really was bizarre, Woodend thought.

  ‘A drop of whisky would be nice,’ he heard himself say.

  ‘Of course.’

  Marlowe walked over to his impressively scholarly bookcase, and touched a hidden switch. Woodend had always suspected that most of the leather-backed books had never been read, but now he saw that they weren’t even real books at all, but merely a cladding to hide the drinks cupboard.

  ‘I’ve got a rather special twelve-year-old single malt here that I haven’t even got around to trying myself, yet,’ Marlowe continued, conversationally. ‘I think you’ll like it.’

  He returned with two drinks, and handed one of them to Woodend. The Chief Inspector took a sip. It was bloody good.

  ‘Sorry about going on and on about you being sick in the street, earlier,’ Marlowe said convivially. ‘I probably wouldn’t have even bothered to mention it if it happened to any other officer in my command. But there you are – old habits die hard, you know.’

  ‘Do they?’ Woodend asked, half-prepared to wake up in his own bed any second.

  ‘I suppose it’s a question of expectation,’ Marlowe continued. ‘If you expect an officer to behave badly, you will inevitably perceive whatever he does in just that light. It becomes, as it were, a self-fulfilling prophesy.’

  It becomes, as it were, an exercise in talking complete bloody bollocks, Woodend thought.

  But he was wise enough to hold his peace.

  ‘I think I may have held completely the wrong opinion of you for quite some time, if truth be told,’ Marlowe said. ‘I was, if I’m honest, rather put off by your blunt exterior, and it prevented me from fully appreciating what a fine detective you are. But that’s all in the past now. The veil has been lifted, and I would truly like to apologize for any injustices I might have done you.’

  He wasn’t asleep after all, Woodend told himself. He was on bloody Candid Camera!

  But just in case he wasn’t, he said, ‘That’s really very big of you to say so, sir.’

  Marlowe nodded. ‘Yes, I like to think I’m a big enough man to acknowledge my faults. My job’s not always the easiest in the world,
you know. You should try spending half your time dealing with idiots like Slater-Burnes and Danvers yourself. It’s a wonder I haven’t cracked up long ago.’

  Well, you’re certainly crackin’ up now, Woodend decided.

  ‘They just don’t understand the world we live in,’ Marlowe said. ‘Before you arrived, Danvers was all for storming the bank, and Slater-Burnes for filling it with an army of civil servant negotiators who would have tried to bore Maitland to death. You talked them both out of it, but even if you hadn’t, I would never have allowed either course of action to go ahead.’

  ‘You wouldn’t?’

  ‘Of course not. Why should I put my faith in their men, when I can put it squarely in my own? And that’s what I have – faith in you, Charlie.’

  He called me Charlie, Woodend thought. Bloody hell fire! Where’s the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse when you need them?

  ‘Would this be a good time to ask for a few extra bodies on the case, sir?’ he said.

  Marlowe’s bonhomie melted away as quickly as ice cream in a furnace. ‘Extra bodies?’ he repeated.

  ‘Inspector Rutter’s been out on sick leave ever since his wife’s murder, an’ Sergeant Paniatowski’s all tied up with the side of the investigation that’s based in Dunethorpe,’ Woodend explained.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘So, bearin’ all that in mind, I was wonderin’ if you could see your way clear to allowing me to draft in a few more detectives.’

  Marlowe’s frame had gone rigid.

  ‘As you know, I am not one of those chief constables who courts popularity in the eyes of the general public,’ he said. ‘And so, while it would be easy enough for me to devote most of my available resources to a case which will obviously catch the popular imagination, I feel obliged to resist the temptation to do so.’

  ‘Is that a “no”?’ Woodend asked, taking another sip of his whisky, only to discover that it seemed to have turned to ashes.

  ‘I am responsible for a whole county, Chief Inspector, and whilst I have the greatest possible concern for the hostages, I cannot allow myself to forget that little old ladies in sleepy villages also need my protection,’ Marlowe told him.