‘We will be relaunching the search tomorrow,’ said Barrington, who had made something of a recovery, ‘and we would appeal to all those volunteers who have already helped us – and those who wish to help now – to report to this building at eight o’clock tomorrow morning. That’s all. Thank you for coming.’
Barrington kept his eyes fixed on the door until all the reporters had gone, then turned to Paniatowski and said, ‘Thanks, Monika, you just saved my bacon.’
She hadn’t saved anyone’s bacon, she thought. All she’d succeeded in doing was muddying the waters, and shifting a little of the blame for the abandonment of the search over to the reporters. And if Barrington thought she’d done any more, then the man was an idiot.
It had been a mixed day, she told herself, as she walked back down the corridor towards her office. On the one hand, her best friend had come out of a dangerous situation in one piece – which was wonderful. But on the other hand, there’d been the meeting with the members of the police authority and the press conference – both of which had been disasters.
But disasters usually came in threes, she thought, as she reached the CID suite, so when would the next one arrive?
And then she saw the look on DS Meadows’ face – and realised it probably already had.
‘It’s bad news, isn’t it?’ she asked.
‘It’s very bad news,’ Meadows replied.
TEN
The bearer of bad tidings was waiting for Paniatowski and Meadows in Interview Room A. He was around thirty-five years old, and was wearing a smart blue blazer, grey slacks, a pale shirt and a yellow and black striped tie.
‘This is Mr Edward Boyle,’ Meadows said. ‘He’s the assistant manager of the Ribble Valley Hotel.’
He looked like an assistant hotel manager, Paniatowski thought. He had one of those regular, slightly android faces which is pleasant enough, but only really seems at home behind a hotel reception desk – the sort of face you would remember if you booked into the same hotel regularly, but probably wouldn’t recognise if you saw it on the street.
‘The hotel is just outside Whalley,’ Meadows supplied.
‘I know it,’ Paniatowski said.
Oh yes, she knew it, all right. Once, long ago, when she and Bob Rutter – Louisa’s father – had been in the throes of their passionate, all-consuming affair, the Ribble Valley Hotel had been a regular rendezvous. She’d been a lapsed Catholic back then, but every time she’d crossed the hotel lobby, heading for the room they’d booked, she’d felt weighed down with guilt. She wondered how she’d feel about doing the same thing again, now she was a lapsed atheist.
‘What the hell are you doing, Monika?’ she asked herself angrily. ‘Why are you thinking about the past now?’
But she already had the answer. The past, though painful, was behind her, while the interview with Mr Boyle still lay ahead – and though Meadows had already given her the gist of what he was about to say, she was dreading hearing it from his lips.
‘Tell the chief inspector what you told me,’ Meadows said to the assistant manager.
‘I was on duty, at half-past seven on Wednesday night, when this chap in a Jaguar turned up and asked for a room,’ Boyle said.
‘What was his name?’ Meadows asked.
‘He signed in as Mr Smith. In the old days, that just showed a lack of imagination, but now it’s more of a way of challenging us,’ Boyle said.
‘What do you mean?’ Paniatowski asked.
‘It’s a way of saying, “We’re not married, and what are you going to do about it?” to which the answer is, “It’s the nineteen seventies, we’re in the business of renting out rooms, and we couldn’t care less if the lady you’re with is your sister, as long as you pay the bill.”’
‘Did you know what the man’s real name was?’ Meadows asked.
‘Not at the time.’
‘But you know now, don’t you?’
‘Yes, I believe his name is William Danbury.’
‘And that belief is based on what?’
‘You showed me a photograph, and …’
‘But you knew his name even before I showed you the photograph, didn’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘How did you know it?’
‘One of the waitresses at the hotel recognised him.’
‘From where?’
‘The Freemasons. She’s been on the catering team for several of their social evenings.’
‘Go on,’ Meadows said.
‘Mr Smith …’ Boyle paused, ‘… or should I call him Mr Danbury …?’
‘It would be simpler if you called him Mr Danbury.’
‘Mr Danbury booked a double room for the night. He said that he was expecting his wife to arrive at some point in the evening. Once he’d checked in, he went to the bar.’
‘And what time would that be?’ Paniatowski asked.
‘Seven forty? Seven forty-five?’
‘And how long was he there?’
‘Until around nine forty-five. That was when he got the phone call.’
‘What phone call?’
‘A man rang up and asked to speak to Mr Smith.’
‘You’re sure it was a man?’
‘I’m not, no, because I didn’t take the call. But the barmaid swears it was a man.’
‘So what happened next?’
‘Mr Danbury left – straight away.’
‘Without paying his bill?’
‘He’d paid for the room in advance – in cash. That’s what a lot of customers of his ilk do.’
‘And what ilk might that be?’ Paniatowski wondered.
‘The ones who never bother to take any luggage upstairs, and who pay for the night, but are never in the room for more than a couple of hours.’
Ah yes, the Paniatowski-Rutter ilk, Monika thought.
‘You’re sure about this?’ she asked. ‘It was definitely William Danbury?’
‘Mr Boyle, his assistant and two barmaids have all picked him out from a selection of photographs of different men of roughly the same age and build,’ Meadows said.
‘And you’re also sure he checked in at seven forty and left at nine forty-five?’ Paniatowski asked.
‘Give or take a few minutes either way,’ Boyle said.
So Danbury had arrived at the Ribble Valley Hotel well before the murder, and had left just in time to reach his own home at ten minutes past ten.
‘Thank you, Mr Boyle, you’ve been very helpful,’ Paniatowski said.
But what she actually meant was, ‘Sod you, Mr Doyle, for smashing a hole a mile wide in the case I’ve been building up.’
Paniatowski had lit up two cigarettes, no more than a minute apart. Now, one of them was burning itself out in the ashtray, while the other was held tightly – almost crushingly – between her index and middle finger, as she strode continuously from one end of her office to the other.
Meadows, sitting in one of the visitors’ chairs, watched her and worried. Paniatowski had gone out on a limb in this case, she thought, and now, totally unexpectedly, that limb had been sawn off – and the only way to go was down.
Paniatowski came to a sudden halt.
‘How’s this for a theory?’ she asked. ‘Danbury employs a hit-man to kill his wife. He gives the man his key, so that access to the house will be no problem, then books into the Ribble Valley Hotel, where he knows he’d bound to be noticed by several of the staff.’
Meadows shook her head, perhaps a little sadly.
‘You’re clutching at straws, boss,’ she said. ‘If Danbury had wanted to set up an alibi for himself, he’d have arranged a drinking session with some of his pals on the police authority.’
‘Maybe he didn’t want to involve them, and …’
‘What he wouldn’t have done is book an extra night in the Ambassador Hotel in Newcastle upon Tyne, then change his mind, drive back down to Lancashire, and book a room in the Ribble Valley Hotel at the last minute.’
‘You’re
right,’ Paniatowski said despondently.
‘We simply have to accept the fact that most of the things that Danbury did on Wednesday were not based on any kind of calculation on his part, but were simply a reaction to circumstances,’ Meadows said.
‘What circumstances?’
‘You’ve got me there,’ Meadows admitted. ‘I have no idea what the circumstances might be.’ She paused, reluctant to add another brick to the pile which was already weighing Paniatowski down. But it was no good – it simply had to be said. ‘There’s something else we have to ask ourselves, boss – if Danbury had an alibi which he must have known would stand up to rigorous examination, why didn’t he come up with it right at the start of the investigation?’
‘Perhaps he kept quiet because was trying to protect Gretchen Müller,’ Paniatowski said.
‘Would that be the same Gretchen Müller who he suggested to us might have killed his wife?’ Meadows wondered.
Paniatowski groaned. ‘There are so many things that we don’t have an answer to,’ she said.
‘That’s true,’ Meadows agreed. ‘In fact, the only thing we do know for certain is that William Danbury didn’t kill his wife.’
Gretchen Müller was sitting at the table in Interview Room A, next to the solicitor called Fairfax, who she had felt no need of until the question of Danbury hitting her had arisen. The evidence of that blow – the bruise on her jaw – was starting to fade, but the defiance in her eyes blazed as strongly as it ever had.
‘I have done absolutely nothing wrong,’ she said to Paniatowski and Meadows, ‘and I demand that you release me immediately.’
‘Your darling Billy is far from sure you’ve done nothing wrong,’ Meadows taunted.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Billy went so far as to suggest that you might be the person who actually killed Jane.’
‘You are a liar!’ Gretchen screamed. ‘He would never have said that to you. He … he …’
‘Loves you?’ Meadows suggested.
‘He is a nice man, who likes me very much,’ Gretchen said, making an obvious effort to calm down. ‘He would never believe that I could murder anyone – not even her.’
‘You certainly hated her, though, didn’t you?’ Meadows said.
‘You don’t have to answer that,’ the solicitor cautioned.
‘She was not good enough for him,’ Gretchen said. ‘He is a handsome man in his prime. And what was she? Nothing but a fat little hausfrau!’
The late Jane Danbury hadn’t been fat, Meadows thought, though she had certainly had more curves than the boyish Gretchen.
‘Where did you go on Wednesday?’ she asked the au pair.
‘I got on my motorbike, and I drove until I saw signs for Dundee. Then I turned around and …’
‘You went to Newcastle upon Tyne to see William,’ Meadows interrupted her. ‘Your plan was to go up to his room in the Ambassador Hotel, and once you were there, to make the beast with two backs.’
‘What does that mean?’ Gretchen asked. She turned to her solicitor. ‘I do not know what that means.’
‘Really, sergeant, you have to make some allowance for the fact that English is not my client’s native tongue,’ Fairfax said.
‘I’m sorry,’ Meadows said – and genuinely did sound contrite. ‘I’ll make a real effort, from now on, to only use words I’m sure Gretchen will understand.’ She leant forward, so her own face was slightly closer to the German girl’s. ‘What I should have said, so that you would understand me, Gretchen, was that once you were in his hotel room, you planned to let him screw the arse off you.’
Fairfax grimaced, and Gretchen said, ‘No, that is not true.’
‘Listen, Gretchen, we have more than enough evidence to charge you with Jane Danbury’s murder,’ Paniatowski said. ‘For a start, you were William Danbury’s mistress …’
‘I was not.’
‘Then why did he buy you an expensive motorbike?’
‘It was a reward, for all the hard work I had done.’
‘If that’s the reward for being an au pair, he must have bought his gardener a bloody Rolls-Royce,’ Meadows said.
‘Is that a question?’ the solicitor asked sternly.
‘You say that when you arrived back at the Danbury house, Jane was already dead,’ Paniatowski said.
‘It is true.’
‘Why should we believe you? The way we see it, you arrived at the house an hour earlier than you now claim you did. You murdered Jane Danbury in cold blood, because you wanted to have her husband all to yourself. Then you went upstairs and killed the baby …’
‘Why … why would I kill Melanie?’ Gretchen asked, and now – for the first time – she was starting to look scared.
‘We don’t know why you killed her, Gretchen,’ Paniatowski said dismissively, ‘but I’ve no doubt you’ll give us your reasons in your own good time. Now where was I?’
‘Gretchen kills the baby,’ Meadows prompted.
‘That’s right. You kill the baby, stuff her into a rucksack, get on your bike again, and drive off. You head for somewhere you think she won’t be found – probably the moors – and dump her poor little body, and then return to the house. And only then – only then, Gretchen – do you call the police!’
‘My client is obviously becoming distressed, and I would like to request a break,’ the solicitor said.
‘Is that what you want, Gretchen?’ Paniatowski asked. ‘Would you like a break? Or are you finally willing to tell us the truth?’
‘It would have been impossible for me to reach the house any earlier than I did,’ Gretchen gabbled. ‘Even if I had driven very fast, I could not have got back from … from …’
‘From where?’ Paniatowski asked.
‘I don’t know. From anywhere.’
‘From Newcastle,’ Paniatowski said firmly. ‘Given the time you left Newcastle – the time you left William Danbury, your lover – it would have been impossible for you to get to Milliners’ Row any earlier than you did. Is that what you’re saying?’
‘Yes,’ Gretchen admitted, defeated.
‘Then tell us what actually happened.’
‘Billy had booked the hotel room in Newcastle for an extra night,’ Gretchen said, looking down at the table. ‘We planned to stay there until about eight o’clock. Then we would come back to Whitebridge. Billy would tell Jane he had been working late, and I would say I had been out with my friends.’
‘So what went wrong?’
‘I had forgotten to take my contraceptive device … is it called a Dutch cap in English?’
‘Yes, that’s what we call it.’
‘I had forgotten to take my Dutch cap with me to Newcastle. Billy was very angry with me.’
‘Is that when he hit you?’ Meadows asked.
Gretchen continued to stare at the table. ‘Yes, that is when he hit me,’ she admitted.
‘What happened next?’
‘He said that I had spoiled everything for him, and we would have to come back to Whitebridge.’
‘Why didn’t he simply go to the chemist’s shop, and buy some contraceptive sheaths?’
‘Billy will not wear rubbers. He says it is just like washing your feet when you are wearing wellington boots, and no real man would ever do that.’
‘What was the plan for when you got back to Whitebridge?’
‘He would book a room at the Ribble Valley Hotel, and wait for me there. I would go back to the house to pick up my Dutch cap. But when I got to the house, I … I found Mrs Jane. She was dead.’
‘We simply have to accept the fact that most of the things that Danbury did on Wednesday were not based on any kind of calculation on his part, but were simply a reaction to circumstances,’ Meadows had said, in Paniatowski’s office.
And much as she didn’t want to accept it, it seemed to Paniatowski that Meadows had been spot on.
Interview Room B was on a different corridor from Interview Room A – a deliberate pos
itioning to ensure that no one who was being interrogated in one of them would ever accidentally come face-to-face with anyone being questioned in the other – and by the time Paniatowski and Meadows had walked from A to B, William Danbury and his solicitor, George Fullbright, had already been ushered into the latter.
Danbury was sitting at the table with his head in his hands, but he looked up when the two detectives entered the room.
He was a real mess. His eyes were red, his skin was blotchy and his chin trembled.
‘Why can’t you leave me alone?’ he said, in a voice which was half a whine and half a mumble. ‘Don’t you know I’m in mourning?’
‘In mourning?’ Paniatowski repeated. ‘Who are you in mourning for? Could it be your wife? No, you said you were far too strong to allow yourself to be devastated over her death. Your daughter, then – who is most likely dead, too? No, you’re perfectly capable of controlling your grief for her. So it must be your father, mustn’t it?’
‘He was a great man,’ Danbury said. ‘I wanted him to be proud of me, but I could never quite … I could never quite …’
‘He wasn’t a great man,’ Paniatowski told him. ‘He was a bully – and a coward.’
‘You have no right to judge him,’ Danbury said, with a hint of his old spirit. ‘You would never have understood him, because you’re just a woman.’
‘Yes, I suppose that pretty much does rule me out of understanding anything at all,’ Paniatowski agreed.
‘Who put her up to it?’ Danbury demanded, his voice firmer now, as if he had somehow managed to find some reserves of strength within himself.
‘Who put who up to what?’ Paniatowski replied.
‘Who put that bitch – my so-called mother – up to killing my dad?’
‘Nobody put her up to it.’
‘But of course they did. She would never have done it on her own. She loved and respected him.’
‘She feared him.’
‘Yes, she feared him, too, and that’s just as it should be.’ Danbury raised his hand off the table, and pointed his index finger directly at Paniatowski’s forehead. ‘You women know that you were put on this earth to serve us men. And you want to serve us – you really do. But sometimes you’re weak – and sometimes you’re treacherous – and you need to be kept in line. Don’t pretend that you don’t welcome the discipline – don’t pretend that you don’t see that we only do what we have to do for your own good.’
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