Walter Hargreaves sat at the opposite side of his desk from Woodend, nervously twisting another paper clip in his hands.
‘I don’t quite understand why you’re here, Chief Inspector,’ the deputy head said. ‘As I understood it, you’re now working on the kidnapping rather than the murder.’
‘So I am,’ Woodend replied, ‘but since there’s not much I can do in that direction at the moment, I thought I might as well give my sergeant a bit of a helping hand on the Verity Beale case.’
Besides, he added mentally, if I’d just sat there at my desk, waitin’ for Reginald Dunn to make his move, I’d have stood a very good chance of losin’ what’s left of my sanity.
‘I don’t really see what I can tell you now that I haven’t already said before,’ Hargreaves told him.
‘You probably don’t,’ Woodend agreed. ‘But that’s because you think you can still get away with feedin’ me the same load of old bollocks you’ve been dishin’ out since this investigation started. Well, you can’t. I’m sick of bein’ buggered about an’ chasin’ my own shadow.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
Woodend sighed. ‘Don’t make it any more difficult than you have to, Mr Hargreaves.’
‘I’m still not sure what you want me––’
‘Last night, Sergeant Paniatowski was down in Woolwich, which, since it’s where the Arsenal is, makes it a very sensitive place in some ways. She went to the local pub, an’ got talkin’ to some of the people who drink there regularly. An’ it turns out that until last summer, one of them regulars was a redheaded woman called Vanessa Barker. Tell me, does anythin’ strike you as particularly significant about that name, Mr Hargreaves?’
‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘You’re an educated man with a quick brain, Mr Hargreaves. You can do better than that.’
‘I suppose you mean that she has the same initials as Verity Beale,’ the deputy head said resignedly.
‘Aye, that’s exactly what I mean,’ Woodend agreed. ‘I’ve come across that kind of thing quite a lot durin’ my time on the force.’
‘What kind of thing?’
‘Criminals changin’ their names but keepin’ their proper initials. Not that I’m sayin’ Miss Beale, or Miss Barker – or whatever else her bloody name really happened to be – was a criminal. But it doesn’t surprise you to learn that she was involved in somethin’ which was not – how shall I put it? – exactly on the level. Now does it?’
‘No,’ Hargreaves said. ‘It doesn’t.’
‘So why don’t you tell me about it?’
‘I knew something was not quite right from the start. When the headmaster interviews potential new staff, he always does it here at the school. That’s a common enough practice in all schools. It gives the interviewees the opportunity to see the place they’ll be working in if they take the job, so they can decide for themselves if they’re going to be happy there.’
‘But that didn’t happen in this case?’
‘No. The headmaster went down to London for a couple of days, and when he came back he simply announced that he’d hired a new history teacher. We hadn’t even advertised the post.’
‘An’ there’s more, isn’t there?’
‘Yes, there’s more. Shortly before Miss Beale started working in the school, the headmaster called me down to his study and said that there were special conditions attached to her employment. If she didn’t appear at school in the morning, I was not to ring her up to find out what had happened, as I would do with other staff. And however many days she had off work, I was not to ask her for a doctor’s note when she eventually appeared again. If her head of department complained to me about her teaching, I was told to assuage him as best I could. If parents complained, I was to deal with them, too.’
‘An’ what conclusions did you draw from that?’
‘Isn’t that obvious?’
‘Maybe. But I’d still prefer you to spell it out for me.’
‘All right,’ Hargreaves agreed. ‘Given the headmaster’s wartime background in intelligence work, and given the sensitive nature of some of the installations in the area – the base and the aircraft factory – I was reluctantly forced to come to the conclusion that she was a government agent.’
‘You mean, you think she was a spy?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘Then say it!’
‘I think she was a spy.’
‘Which is why you weren’t entirely surprised when you were told that she’d ended up murdered?’
‘I don’t think I’d actively thought she’d be killed – we never really imagine there’s ever going to be such drama in our own lives – but when I was informed, it certainly didn’t come as the shock it would have been if any other member of staff had been murdered.’
The phone rang on the desk. Hargreaves picked it up, listened for a second, then handed the receiver over to Woodend.
‘Is that you, sir?’ Bob Rutter asked.
‘It’s me. Has somethin’ started to happen?’
‘We think so. Dunn’s just left his house.’
‘Maybe he’s goin’ to the base.’
‘That’s not the direction he’s heading in.’
Woodend felt his grip on the receiver tightening. ‘Where are you now?’
‘I’m just leaving the town centre. I can be outside the school in three minutes.’
‘Make that two minutes,’ Woodend ordered him.
Thirty-One
The worrying and self-doubt began to assail Woodend again the moment he climbed into the passenger seat next to Bob Rutter.
Had he been right when he’d said there was no point in pulling Dunn in for questioning? he asked himself. Wasn’t it just possible that even a hard bastard like the squadron leader could have been made to feel remorse under the pressure of a skilful interrogation team?
If Helen had already been dead when he had made his decision, then the decision itself made no difference one way or the other. But what if she hadn’t been? What if Dunn had decided to kill her, but had botched the job, so that while the team had been doing nothing more than watch Dunn, she had been lying alone and terrified, while her life slowly slipped away? And even if Dunn had done nothing yet, wouldn’t the strain of an extra night’s captivity, which this waiting approach had imposed on her, end up scarring her for life?
I should have pulled the bastard in, Woodend told himself. I should have taken the chance and pulled him in.
The chief inspector reached into his pocket for his Capstan Full Strengths, and realised that his hands were shaking so much he would never be able to extract a cigarette from the packet.
‘How many vehicles have you got on this job, Bob?’ he asked, wishing he’d organised it himself even as he acknowledged the fact that Rutter would have done it at least as well as he could.
‘We’re using four vehicles in all,’ Rutter replied, slipping into gear and pulling away from the curb. ‘Two cars and two vans.’
‘What sort of vans?’ Woodend said, knowing, even as he spoke, that there was absolutely no need for him to get bogged down in such operational details.
‘One of them’s a painter-and-decorator’s van which belongs to Sergeant Cowgill’s brother-in-law,’ Rutter said. ‘I borrowed the other from the Post Office. It took a little arm-twisting, but it was worth it. Nobody notices postmen driving around town.’
‘Where’s Dunn now?’ Woodend asked.
‘Out on the ring road.’
‘Headin’ in which direction?’
‘Heading in no direction at all. For the last few minutes, he’s simply been going back and forth between the roundabout at Green Gates and the one where you turn off for Feltwick. I think he might be doing it just to make sure that he isn’t being followed.’
‘Then let’s hope to Christ that he doesn’t decide that he is.’
‘He won’t,’ Rutter said confidently. ‘Only an expert would spot a tailing operation which is using four veh
icles.’
‘There could be another reason why he’s not goin’ straight to his destination,’ Woodend said sombrely.
‘I know there could,’ Rutter replied. ‘The same thoughts have been going through my mind.’
‘One of us should put that thought into words,’ Woodend said. ‘Do you want to do it?’
Rutter nodded. ‘Helen isn’t dead. Yet! But he knows he’s got to kill her now, and he’s just getting up the nerve.’
‘Your lads have been told not to lose sight of him, haven’t they?’ Woodend asked, the panic evident in his voice. ‘They do know that the moment he enters a buildin’, they’re to go in after him?’
‘They know.’
‘An’ I mean the very moment,’ Woodend said urgently. ‘Not a minute later. Not even half a minute. Because it doesn’t take very long to choke the life out of a little kid.’
‘They know that as well,’ Rutter said.
The radio crackled into life. ‘This is Unit Three. Target has left the ring road, and is heading back into town, in the direction of the Caxton area. Over!’
Woodend picked up the microphone. ‘This is Unit One,’ he said. ‘Don’t lose him. Whatever happens, for God’s sake don’t lose him.’
Martin Dove looked even worse than his partner in crime, Horrocks thought, gazing down at the man sitting on the chair in front of him. And given what a state Cray was in, that really was no mean feat.
‘I’ve been just talking to your mate, Roger,’ he told the bearded Latin teacher. ‘He’s very sensibly decided to come clean and confess that you’ve been dealing with the Russians.’
‘But that’s just not true!’ Martin Dove protested weakly. ‘I’m not a communist. I’m nothing more than a liberal with a social conscience. That’s why I joined CND in the first place.’
‘How did you feel when you saw Verity Beale in the Spinner, the other night?’ Horrocks asked, abruptly changing the subject.
‘We were a little concerned,’ Dove admitted.
‘A little concerned! We’ve got a stack of witnesses to say you were shitting yourselves,’ Horrocks lied. ‘But even if you’re telling the truth, and you were only a “little concerned”, why be concerned at all?’
‘Because we knew she wasn’t what she seemed.’
‘So you were suspicious of her?’
‘I should have thought that was obvious.’
‘Why?’
‘I wondered why she was interested in Roger Cray in the first place,’ Dove said. ‘She was a very attractive young woman, and he’s just an ordinary, run-of-the-mill middle-aged man. I couldn’t see the appeal.’
‘And could he?’
‘Not really, but like most men who find themselves in that position, he thanked his lucky stars that it had happened – and tried not to think too much about why.’
‘But eventually he did start to get suspicious, didn’t he?’
‘Yes. Because she started asking him questions about himself and his activities – questions which simply wouldn’t have come up in any normal conversation. And a couple of times she let slip that she knew things about him she couldn’t possibly have known if she’d been who she really said she was.’
‘So he told her the game was up?’
‘Of course not. That would have been the same as admitting that he really did have something to hide.’
‘So what did he do instead?’
‘He just started seeing a lot less of her. And when he did see her, he dropped oblique hints that he’d given up any interest in politics or protest movements.’
‘Let’s go back to that night in the Spinner,’ Horrocks suggested. ‘You saw her there, and you panicked.’
‘I told you, we didn’t panic. We were just––’
‘Mildly concerned. Yes, I know. So mildly concerned that you waited for her in the car park, and then killed her.’
‘No! It’s not true! Why should we have done that?’
‘Because you were afraid she’d ruin your plans if you didn’t.’
‘The difficult part was already over,’ Dove babbled. ‘Roger had collected most of the information together. The only thing left to do was to hand it over. And she wasn’t following us. We could see that.’
‘Could you really?’
‘Yes. For God’s sake, she was out on a date! It was just coincidence that she and the Yank chose the same pub as we did. You have to believe that!’
‘There’s one thing I still haven’t been quite been able to work out,’ Horrocks mused.
‘What is it?’
‘Who actually strangled her. Was it you? Or was it Cray?’
‘Unit Four, Constable Duckworth speakin’,’ said the voice from the radio. ‘Suspect has turned on to Jepson Avenue, an’ appears to be slowin’ down. He’s just goin’ past my house now, an’––’
‘Your house!’ Woodend said. ‘You mean you live on Jepson Avenue yourself?’
‘Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. What I meant to say was that he’s just passin’ Number Fifty-Six. An’ he’s indicatin’ he’s about to pull in.’
‘All units proceed towards Jepson Avenue with all possible speed,’ Woodend said. ‘But slow down when you’re gettin’ close, and don’t enter the avenue yourselves until I give the word.’
‘He’s stopped in front of Number Twenty-Eight,’ Duckworth said.
‘Who lives there?’ Woodend asked.
‘Nobody at the moment, sir. The last people moved out over a year ago. I did hear that it was bought by a property company in London soon afterwards, but they haven’t put it up for sale yet.’
Why would a property company in London want to buy a modest house in Whitebridge? Woodend wondered. And even if they did, why would they keep it empty?
‘Where are you now, Unit Four?’ he asked.
‘We’ve pulled up a few doors beyond the target’s vehicle, sir. We’re in the decorator’s van, an’ my partner’s just about to open the back doors an’ take out some cans of paint so Dunn doesn’t get suspicious.’
‘Good thinkin’,’ Woodend said. ‘What’s he doin’ now?’
‘He’s got out of his vehicle, an’ he’s got his hand in his pocket. I think he’s lookin’ for keys. Yes, that’s what he was doin’. He’s pulled a set of keys out, an’ he’s selectin’ one.’
‘Get ready to move, Duckworth!’ Woodend said. ‘I don’t want you more than four or five seconds behind him.’
‘We won’t be, sir,’ the constable promised. ‘The target’s at the front door now. He’s reachin’ up to the lock . . . an’ . . . an’ somebody’s openin’ the door from inside.’
‘A man or a woman?’ Woodend demanded.
‘It’s a man, sir. He’s about five eleven, an’ he’s got a bald head an’ a droopy moustache.’
‘Bloody hell fire!’ Woodend said.
‘They’re both goin’ inside, sir!’ Duckworth said, almost shouting with the tension. ‘They’re closin’ the door. We’re about to move.’
‘Stay where you are!’ Woodend ordered him.
‘Sorry, sir? I don’t think I heard you right.’
‘Stay exactly where you are,’ Woodend repeated slowly. ‘Don’t do anythin’ until we get there. Over an’ out.’
‘Have you lost your mind, sir?’ Rutter demanded, as Woodend replaced the microphone in its holder.
‘No, I haven’t,’ Woodend replied, sounding much calmer than he had earlier – but very, very much angrier. ‘I just don’t want Duckworth an’ his partner rushin’ in there – because there’s no hurry any more.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Rutter confessed. ‘A couple of minutes ago, you were saying that every second was vital.’
‘That was before I knew the bald man with the droopy moustache was involved,’ Woodend told him.
‘I don’t see what difference that makes to anything,’ Rutter said frantically. ‘Even if Dunn has got help – even if there are two of them involved in the kidnapping––’
‘Ki
dnappin’?’ Woodend said. ‘What kidnappin’?’
Thirty-Two
The decorator’s van was parked a few yards up the street from Dunn’s car, and the two DCs dressed in painters’ overalls were doing their best to try and look as if they were busy getting ready to start work.
Woodend climbed out of Rutter’s vehicle and strode across the road towards Number 28 Jepson Avenue. Despite the fact that the house was supposed to be empty, there were still curtains up at the windows, and it was possible that someone was watching him from behind one of them. But at this stage in the investigation, he didn’t really give a damn whether they could see him coming or not.
He had almost reached the front door when Bob Rutter caught up with him. ‘Don’t do anything hasty, sir,’ the inspector cautioned.
‘Hasty?’ Woodend replied. ‘Me? I never do anythin’ hasty. I think you must be confusin’ me with some other DCI Woodend, Bob.’
‘Look, sir, if you’re so sure that there’s no immediate danger to Helen Dunn––’
‘There isn’t.’
‘––then shouldn’t we go back to the station and get a search warrant before we go in there?’
‘Sod that for a game of soldiers!’ Woodend said angrily. ‘I’m tired of bein’ given the run-around on this case. I just want to get this whole bloody business over with as soon as possible.’
‘I know you do,’ Rutter agreed. ‘But without a warrant, any charges we might bring later will be thrown out of court.’
‘You don’t seriously believe we’re ever goin’ to be allowed to charge somebody for any of this, do you?’ Woodend asked.
Rutter shrugged, said, ‘No, we probably won’t be,’ then reached up to press the doorbell.
‘An’ sod that for a game of soldiers as well,’ Woodend told him. ‘Kick the bloody door in.’
‘Are you sure that’s wise, sir?’
‘Of course it’s not wise! It’s probably very bloody stupid. But it’s the way I feel like doin’ it.’
Rutter hesitated for a second, then stepped back, raised his right leg, and hit the door just below the lock with the heel of his shoe. The door creaked in protest, but swung shakily open.
The Red Herring Page 21