‘Nice job,’ Woodend said approvingly. ‘I always knew you had the makings of a good bobby in you.’
The kitchen door was flung open, and the bald man with the drooping moustache appeared in the passage. When he saw Woodend standing in the doorway, he came to an abrupt halt and bunched his fists.
‘Well, well, if it isn’t Bulldog Drummond himself,’ Woodend said mockingly. ‘Fancy you lettin’ us catch you on the hop. I thought your mob were supposed to be professionals.’
The bald man’s face flushed bright red with rage. ‘I’ll have your balls for this!’ he said.
‘No, you won’t,’ Woodend told him. ‘These were your rules we’ve been playin’ by – an’ your rules that have made you lose. It’s not my fault that you seem to be as bad at this particular game as you are at everythin’ else, now is it?’
‘You’ve no business being here,’ the bald man said. ‘I want you to leave right now.’
‘I’m sure you do,’ Woodend agreed. ‘But that’s not goin’ to happen.’ He stepped into the hallway. ‘Where are they? Upstairs?’
The bald man took two steps forward, blocking off Woodend’s access to the stairs.
‘I’m trained to look after myself – and you’re not,’ he warned. ‘Don’t make me hurt you.’
‘Oh, piss off!’ Woodend said contemptuously.
He took another step forward. The bald man transferred his weight to the balls of his feet. His arm cut through the air, the open palm at an angle to the floor, the heel aimed at the chief inspector’s throat. Woodend swung his left arm, deflecting the blow, while at the same time his fist made contact with his opponent’s jaw. The bald man’s head snapped back, and he would probably have toppled over if Woodend hadn’t followed through the punch with another one to his stomach. The bald man made a whooshing sound and bent forward, his nose connecting with Woodend’s knee as he did so. The bald man’s body swayed, as if undecided which of the blows to react to. Then his knees buckled and he crumpled to the floor.
Woodend rubbed his bruised knuckles, and turned to Rutter. ‘I’m not generally in favour of settlin’ a dispute with physical violence,’ he said, ‘but I have to admit I really did enjoy that.’
Squadron Leader Dunn was already standing on the upstairs landing by the time Woodend reached the top of the stairs. His normally decisive air had deserted him, and he seemed like a man with no idea what to do next.
‘Is Helen in there?’ Woodend asked, pointing to the bedroom behind Dunn’s shoulder.
‘Yes, she is,’ the squadron leader admitted.
‘Then you bugger off, so that I can have a quiet little chat with her,’ Woodend said.
Reginald Dunn shook his head. ‘I’m staying. I want to be there when you talk to her.’
‘No chance,’ Woodend said.
‘I’m her father. I have the right––’
‘You forfeited any rights you might have had when you agreed to let her be used as a pawn in somebody else’s game,’ Woodend cut in.
‘Possibly you’re right,’ Dunn agreed. ‘Yes, perhaps you are. But I only did it for the good of––’
‘I know! You only did it for the good of your country,’ Woodend said contemptuously.
‘I realise that might not mean much to you––’
‘It means a lot to me, you bastard!’ Woodend said hotly. ‘But unlike you, I don’t believe in abstractions. My country’s made up of individuals – people like your daughter – an’ the problem with sacrificin’ a few of them for the greater good of the rest is that once you get started, it’s difficult to know where to draw the line. Now bugger off before I do somethin’ we both might regret.’
Dunn nodded, then, head bowed, edged past Woodend and made his way down the stairs.
The chief inspector knocked on the bedroom door, turned the handle, and stepped inside. Helen Dunn, still dressed in her school uniform, was sitting on the bed, her head buried in her hands.
‘It’s all right, love,’ Woodend said softly. ‘There’s absolutely nothin’ to be afraid of.’
Helen dropped her arms, and looked at him with deep, worried eyes. ‘Are you a policeman?’ she asked.
‘That’s right, I am. But I wouldn’t let the fact bother me at all, if I was in your shoes.’
‘Will I . . . will I get into trouble?’
‘Of course you won’t, lass,’ Woodend said, sitting down on the bed next to her.
‘Will my dad get into trouble?’
‘No,’ Woodend said. ‘I believe he should, but I don’t think he’s goin’ to. Do you want to tell me what happened?’
‘I don’t . . . I’m not quite sure.’
‘Then let’s talk about somethin’ else,’ Woodend suggested.
‘Like what?’
‘Anythin’ you like. Why don’t you play at bein’ the bobby for a while, an’ ask me the questions.’
A slight, uncertain smile came to Helen’s lips. ‘Where do you live?’ she asked, testing the waters.
‘Me an’ the missus have got this little stone cottage out on the edge of the moors.’
‘So you live in the countryside?’
‘Yes.’
‘That must be wonderful. Do you have any children?’
‘Aye. I’ve got a daughter. Annie, her name is. She’s trainin’ to be a nurse in Manchester.’
‘And does that make you proud of her? That she’s going to be a nurse?’
‘Yes, it does,’ Woodend said. ‘But I’ve have been proud of her whatever she’d chosen to do.’
‘Really?’
‘Really! She’s a lovin’ sweet girl, an’ that’s more than any parent has the right to expect.’
‘But you didn’t have any more children?’
Woodend shrugged awkwardly. ‘No . . . I . . . After Annie was born, my wife had to have this operation. I don’t really think it’s somethin’ that we need to go into now.’
‘I had a sister,’ Helen said.
‘I know you did.’
‘She died.’
‘I know that, too. Do you want to talk about it?’
‘We both tried so hard to please Dad – Janice even more than me – but somehow we never came up to his standards,’ Helen said sadly. ‘Janice got into trouble with the police when we were in Germany. It wasn’t really her fault, but Dad was furious. He said she’d ruined her life – and his as well. She . . . she wanted to make it up to him. There was this swimming championship coming up, and she thought that if she could just win it . . .’
‘So what did she do?’ Woodend asked. ‘Steal a key to the swimmin’ pool, an’ have a copy made?’
Helen nodded. ‘She thought that if she could get in more practice than the others, she’d have more chance. She went there one night on her own and . . .’
‘An’ she drowned.’
‘Yes.’
‘Why did you start shop-liftin’?’ Woodend asked.
‘I’m not sure,’ Helen confessed. ‘I suppose it might have been because at least I was doing something wrong that I knew was wrong.’
‘Rather than all the things you’d done that your dad told you were wrong after you’d done them?’
‘That’s right.’
‘You wanted him to find out about it, didn’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘You wanted him to know you were guilty of one big thing, so all the little things wouldn’t matter?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘But when it came to the crunch, you panicked.’
‘I thought I could face him, but then I realised that I couldn’t.’
‘An’ so you asked Miss Beale to help you?’
‘She was the only one I could think of who I could turn to. She said she’d talk to the headmaster about it.’
And the headmaster, knowing who Miss Beale really was, would have done anything she’d asked him to, Woodend thought.
‘She wanted you to do somethin’ in return for her help, didn’t she?’ he guessed.<
br />
Helen nodded again. ‘She asked if I’d do her a favour.’
‘An’ what favour was that?’
‘She wanted me to write down the names of all the people who came to our house.’
The bitch! Woodend thought angrily. The bloody, scheming, insensitive bitch!
‘Do you want to tell me what happened to you the day before yesterday?’ he asked.
‘I was in the playground. I noticed that someone was watching me from across the road. I went to see who it was.’ Her mouth turned down at the edges. ‘I was a bit disappointed when I found out it was only my dad.’
‘What did he say to you?’
‘He said that something serious had happened, and my country needed my help.’
‘Your country!’ Woodend repeated. ‘Not him? Your country!’
‘That’s right. He said that the people he was working for needed a red . . . a red something-or-other.’
‘A red herrin’?’
‘That’s right. And he said that I was the best they could come up with at short notice. He wanted me to pretend that I’d been kidnapped.’
‘And what did you say?’
‘I asked if Mum knew about it, and he said, no, she didn’t, because she couldn’t be trusted. I said if he didn’t tell her, then I wasn’t going to do it, and he said I had to, because it was my duty.’
He had allowed his wife to go through the hell of thinking their daughter really had been kidnapped, Woodend reminded himself. He had even hit her for arriving late at the school, because that would help allay any suspicion that he had been involved in the kidnapping.
‘When did you lose Janice’s pencil case?’ he asked.
The girl’s eyes widened. ‘You seem to know everything,’ she said.
Woodend grinned. ‘Not everythin’. Far from it. But I do know that you lost the pencil case. How did it happen?’
‘Dad said his car was at the other side of the park. He said we had to get to it quickly, before anybody spotted us together. I wasn’t looking where I was going – I think I was upset about Mum not knowing what was going on – and I tripped over. I must have lost the pencil case then, but I didn’t notice I hadn’t got it any more until we arrived here. Dad was very angry. He said the pencil case had been part of the plan.’
So he had gone back and taken the spare one from her bedroom, without really understanding that that would create the trail which would lead the police to this house.
‘Was it you on the phone the other night?’ he asked. ‘The girl who said she was Helen Dunn, an’ asked me to help her?’
Helen nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘An’ the other voice was your dad’s?’
The girl shook her head. ‘It was this other man. Dad said I was to trust him and do what he told me to do.’
‘And what he told you to do was act scared?’
‘That’s right. He said we had to keep up the pressure on you. He said we had to make sure that you were so busy looking for me, you wouldn’t have time to do anything else.’ Her voice cracked slightly. ‘I didn’t want to lie, but . . .’
‘It’s all right, lass. Don’t upset yourself,’ Woodend said soothingly. ‘I’ll tell you what. When all this fuss has died down, you must come out to visit me in my cottage.’
‘Do you really mean that?’
‘Aye, I do. My missus will make us some afternoon tea, then we’ll go out for a walk. There’s a little wood near our house, an’ if you sit in the middle of it, hardly breathin’, you can watch the rabbits play.’
‘I’d like that,’ Helen said, and sounded as if she meant it.
‘How very cosy you make it all sound!’ said a sneering voice from the doorway.
Woodend looked up, and saw Horrocks standing there.
‘Is this the man you made the phone call with, Helen?’ Woodend asked.
The girl nodded.
‘I can’t honestly say I wasn’t expectin’ you to turn up,’ the chief inspector told the man from London. ‘Even so, it still feels a bit like bein’ told by the doctor that the rash you’ve developed is the pox.’
Jack Horrocks scowled. ‘We need to have a long serious talk!’ he said. ‘Now!’
‘No, you need to have a long serious talk now,’ Woodend contradicted him. ‘Me an’ Helen, on the other hand, need to finish our little chat while we’re waitin’ for a WPC to arrive to take care of her.’
‘Maybe I didn’t make myself plain,’ Horrocks said. ‘I’ve just given you an order.’
‘An’ maybe I didn’t make myself plain, either,’ Woodend countered, a smile playing on his lips. ‘I’ve already laid out one of your lot this mornin’, an’ nothin’ would give me greater satisfaction than to go for my double.’
Thirty-Three
The WPC had a matronly figure and a kind face, and as she led Helen Dunn to the front door, she draped her arm over the girl’s thin shoulder.
On the threshold, Helen stopped and turned around. ‘It’s been nice talking to you,’ she said to Woodend.
‘It’s been nice talkin’ to you, an’ all, lass,’ the chief inspector replied. ‘An’ I meant what I said earlier. You’re welcome at my house any time you feel like droppin’ in. The rabbits’ll be waitin’.’
The girl smiled, and allowed the WPC to lead her to the waiting car. Woodend watched her until she’d climbed inside, then turned towards the living room where, he suspected, the man who called himself Horrocks was waiting to have their long, serious discussion.
He was not wrong. Horrocks was indeed in the living room, sitting on a perfectly normal sofa, which made up one third of a perfectly normal three-piece suite. Looking around the room, Woodend saw that it also contained a sideboard, a cocktail cabinet and a television, just as any ordinary living room might. But appearances could be very deceptive.
‘I suppose this is what you call a “safe house”, is it?’ the chief inspector asked.
‘It’s a house, and we have the use of it when we need it,’ Horrocks said cautiously.
‘An’ how many more of them have you got scattered around the Whitebridge area?’
‘That’s none of your business.’
‘No,’ Woodend admitted. ‘I suppose it isn’t. But your Miss Beale is. She was your Miss Beale, wasn’t she?’
‘Let’s just say that both Miss Beale and I were working for the same side,’ Horrocks replied.
‘Meanin’ that you’re Special Branch, an’ she was MI5?’
‘I’m not prepared to go into the details.’
‘Maybe you’re not. An’ maybe I can even understand why you’re not,’ Woodend said. He sat down in one of the armchairs, and lit up a Capstan Full Strength. ‘But if you want me to co-operate with you – an’ you must do, or you wouldn’t still be here – I’m goin’ to expect you to answer at least a few of my questions in return.’
‘I don’t think you quite appreciate the position you’re in,’ Horrocks told him. ‘You injured one of my men.’
‘He’ll live,’ Woodend said indifferently. ‘Besides, he started it.’
‘He was only doing his duty – a duty which you tried to obstruct.’
Woodend smiled. ‘Tried to obstruct?’
‘Which you did obstruct, then,’ Horrocks corrected himself. He glowered. ‘You think you’re very clever, don’t you, Mr Woodend?’
‘For a simple, provincial bobby, I’m not half bad,’ Woodend said. ‘So do we have a deal or not?’
‘If that’s what you want to call it, then, yes, we have a deal,’ Horrocks said grudgingly.
Woodend took a deep drag on his Capstan Full Strength. ‘I’ve always pictured the spyin’ trade as bein’ both glamorous and professional. But there was nothin’ glamorous about what Verity Beale was doin’ here in Whitebridge, and from what I’ve seen of the way your organisation works, it’s my opinion that the Boy Scouts could run the secret service a damn sight better.’
‘VB was a highly effective operative,’ Horrocks said, stung.
‘An’ what was her job, exactly?’
‘I don’t have to tell you.’
‘Then I’ll tell you,’ Woodend said. ‘Her job was to mix with people who had the potential to be security risks, an’ try an’ sniff out the ones who actually were risks. I imagine she was only one of a series of “operatives” you’ve got in the district. Am I right about that?’
‘No comment,’ Horrocks said.
‘That’s a comment in itself,’ Woodend said. ‘This wasn’t VB’s first job of that nature, was it? Before she came to Lancashire, she was based in Woolwich, tryin’ to make friends with some of the fellers who had a connection with the Arsenal.’
‘How the hell did you know that?’ Horrocks demanded.
‘It was a careless move on your part to put a Woolwich address on her fake drivin’ licence,’ Woodend told him.
Horrocks gave him a slight, superior smile, as if he was glad to snatch a small victory from wherever he could.
‘The driving licence was genuine,’ he said. ‘It was only the information on it which was false. We don’t need to forge official government documents – we work for the government.’
‘Anyway, after she was rumbled in Woolwich, she moved up here, so she could see what dirt she could dig up on the airmen an’ the fellers who work at the plane factory,’ Woodend continued. ‘She needed a cover, so you got her a job in the grammar school. An’ she needed an excuse to come in contact with the people she was meant to be investigatin’, so she jumped the teachers’ waitin’ list, and was given plum classes at the base. Tell me, was she under orders to sleep with the people she was investigatin’?’
‘Of course not!’ Horrocks said, outraged. ‘This isn’t Russia! We don’t order our people to do things like that.’
‘But she wasn’t exactly discouraged from doin’ it, either, was she?’
‘Our operatives are all engaged in a war to protect this country from the enemy within, and they have the discretion to do whatever they think is necessary to get results. We’re not ashamed of their activities.’
‘Maybe not, but you certainly wouldn’t want some of those activities to become more widely known. An’ you were quick to appreciate that that’s exactly what would have happened if you’d allowed the local police to investigate Verity Beale’s murder,’ Woodend said. ‘The problem was, you couldn’t really stop us without tellin’ us the truth – an’ tellin’ the truth is somethin’ you’re not very partial to in your game. So you needed an excuse to take us off the Beale murder, an’ some bright spark who works for you came up with the idea of fakin’ a kidnappin’.’
The Red Herring Page 22