‘You seem very confident that you’ll be able to get them to talk,’ Beresford said.
‘I am,’ Meadows replied.
The first thing that Paniatowski noticed as she crossed the pub car park was the big blue Jaguar – and the second thing was the big ginger man, who was towering over her little MGA.
‘I thought you were investigating that prison suicide in Yorkshire, sir,’ she said.
‘I was,’ Baxter replied. ‘Or, to be more accurate, I am. But I felt the need to talk to you about your investigation.’
‘I don’t like having people looking over my shoulder when I’m working on a case,’ Paniatowski told him. ‘And with respect, sir, you should know that better than anyone.’
‘The question is, after what happened to Louisa, should you be on the case at all?’ Baxter said.
‘I can handle it,’ Paniatowski said.
‘Are you seriously trying to tell me that you’re not finding it a tremendous strain?’
‘Well, of course I find it a bloody strain. I find all my cases a strain. Murder’s a straining business.’
‘But this one is particularly hard on you – and you know it.’
Paniatowski sighed. ‘Yes, I do know it,’ she admitted.
‘So why not hand it on to someone else?’
‘I couldn’t do that, even if I wanted to.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because of Louisa.’
‘Ah, now I see it,’ Baxter said. ‘So you’re looking for someone to vent your anger on for what happened to your daughter, are you? You can’t punish the man who took Louisa, and this killer is standing in as a sort of substitute.’
‘It’s not that at all,’ Paniatowski said, shaking her head.
‘Then what is it?’
‘Louisa was very shaken just after the abduction, but she’s got to the point now where she can tell herself that the whole incident was just one of the things – like falling off a swing or getting lost in the woods – that can happen when you’re growing up, and that while it might have been very frightening at the time, it’s of no real importance in the general scheme of things.’
‘That’s a very sensible attitude, and I’m glad she’s been able to adopt it,’ Baxter said.
‘But if I walk away from this case, that will be a signal to her that I couldn’t handle it. And it won’t take her long to realize why I couldn’t handle it. And suddenly, because it’s still so important to me, the abduction will start to be important to her again.’
‘She’d have to make the connection first,’ Baxter pointed out. ‘And how likely do you think that is?’
‘It’s very likely,’ Paniatowski said firmly. ‘She’s got Bob Rutter’s genes – and that means she’s a very smart girl. She might not see the link immediately, but she will see it – and when she does, her whole world will collapse around her.’
‘You could lie to her about your reasons for withdrawing from the case,’ Baxter suggested.
‘I could,’ Paniatowski agreed, ‘but she wouldn’t believe me.’
‘I see your problem and, believe me, I really do sympathize with you,’ Baxter said, ‘but I’m the chief constable, and I have to look beyond Louisa’s needs to those of the wider community.’
‘And what exactly does that mean?’
‘It means you’re so emotionally involved that I’m not sure you can lead this investigation effectively. It means that a killer may get away because you’re not up to the job. It means that you could damage the reputation of the Mid Lancs Constabulary and your own reputation. And I’m not sure I can run the risk of any of those things happening.’
‘It’s because I’m emotionally involved that I’m the best person for the job,’ Paniatowski argued desperately. ‘There’s nobody in the force who wants to catch this killer more than I do. There’s nobody who’ll be prepared to pull out as many stops as I will.’
‘It’s not your commitment that I’m casting doubts on . . .’ Baxter began.
‘Give me four days to get a result, George,’ Paniatowski pleaded. ‘That’s all I’m asking – just four days!’
Baxter hesitated for perhaps half a minute, then he looked down at his watch.
‘You have exactly seventy-two hours to make an arrest, Detective Chief Inspector Paniatowski – and your time starts right now,’ he said.
She could have hugged him – hugged so hard that she’d have half squeezed the life out of even his massive frame – but instead, she just said, ‘Thank you, sir. I really appreciate it.’
‘Don’t thank me until we both know I’ve made the right decision,’ Baxter told her.
Then he turned, and walked quickly back to his Jaguar.
As he drove away, he didn’t wave goodbye. In fact, he didn’t even glance in her direction.
And that was perhaps a good thing, because after all the effort she’d put into persuading him to keep her on the case, she was exhausted, and anyone looking at her at that moment would have seen a lone and uncertain figure.
Jo Baxter stepped out of the jewellery shop in the centre of Whitebridge clutching a small box in her hand. The box contained a pair of rather expensive cufflinks that she had just bought for her husband to welcome him home after he had completed his investigation in Yorkshire.
As she walked along the street, she wondered just how long George was likely to be away.
‘I’m planning on it being a week,’ he’d told her, ‘but if I hit resistance, it could be much longer than that.’
‘But if it is any longer, you will come home at the weekends, won’t you?’ she’d asked.
‘Prisons don’t close down at the weekends – and it was over a weekend that Jeremy Templar hanged himself.’
‘Which means that you won’t be coming home?’
‘The more time I put into the investigation, the sooner it will be over.’
And she knew that was true, she told herself now, but even though her husband had been gone for less than two days, she already missed him.
Before she met George, it had always been a mystery to her why no one had ever wanted to marry her. She was a good-looking woman – not stunning, but certainly pretty enough. She was competent, she was loyal, and she’d known that she could be very loving if only she were given the chance.
George had given her that chance. She had grabbed it with both hands, and been deliriously happy at first. Then they had moved to Lancashire, and she had met Monika Paniatowski at some police function or other – and it had been like looking into a very unflattering and disturbing mirror.
She pushed the thought of Paniatowski to one side, in order to concentrate her mind on what kind of feast she would prepare for George’s homecoming – and that was when she saw the big blue Jag stopped at the traffic lights.
She increased her pace, hoping to catch up to her husband before the lights changed, but she didn’t quite make it.
A warm glow filled her as she watched the car go up the street and disappear round the corner. George must have had a breakthrough in the inquiry, and wrapped it up in record time. And when she got home, he would be waiting for her. There would be no victory dinner, because she wouldn’t have had time to prepare it. But at least she had the cufflinks.
And then it occurred to her that if George was going home, he was heading in the wrong direction.
NINE
Mrs Pierce’s pastoral-care office was decorated in soothing pastel shades. There was a large cork notice board running the whole length of one wall, and on it Mrs Pierce had placed examples of painting and writing.
‘Whenever I have to deal with a girl with problems, I always make sure that I put some of her work on display,’ she explained to Meadows. ‘It makes her feel that she’s at least achieved something. It’s only a small step towards building her confidence up, of course, but it is a step.’
‘I can see how it would be,’ Meadows agreed.
‘Before we start the interviews, we need to talk about how th
ey’ll be structured. Growing girls – growing minds – need to feel enveloped in a structure. It’s like a tightrope walker’s safety harness to them – it encourages them to take steps they’d otherwise feel quite nervous about.’ Mrs Pierce walked over to her desk. ‘My first thought was you should sit at the desk, and I should stand some distance from it, but now I think it would be better if I was sitting beside you, so that I can offer the girls face-to-face guidance, should they need it. Would that be all right?’
‘Certainly,’ said Meadows, who had already worked out that she would be playing the game by Mrs Pierce’s rules or not at all.
‘You will ask the questions, but it must be clear to the girls that I am inviting you to ask them. And you must not tell them either to stand up or sit down. That’s my job – part of the structure again.’
‘Understood,’ Meadows said. ‘Could I ask a question now?’
‘Of course.’
‘There are two chairs on “our” side of the desk, but only one on the other side. Does that mean there won’t be any parents present at the interviews?’
‘Yes, that’s what it means,’ Mrs Pierce agreed. ‘But you mustn’t think their absence is an indication that they don’t care about their children.’
‘Then what does it indicate?’
‘That they think I’ll make a much better job of defending their little angels than they could possibly do themselves.’
‘And are they right?’
Mrs Pierce smiled. ‘Undoubtedly,’ she said. ‘As I see it, we have a duty to seek justice for the dead – poor little Jill Harris – but that shouldn’t make us overlook our duty to protect the living.’
‘Is that another way of saying that if I start to push too hard – or you don’t like the direction the questions are going in – you’ll cut me off cold?’ Meadows guessed.
‘Absolutely,’ Mrs Pierce said. ‘I’m so glad you understand.’ She paused for a moment. ‘By the way – and on an entirely different subject – did I ever mention the fact that, in my time, I’ve taught the daughters of some of the highest-ranking policemen in Whitebridge?’ She smiled. ‘And that, for some reason, they all seem to think that I’m wonderful.’
‘I’m sure they do,’ Meadows said, smiling back. ‘And I’m also sure that if you made any complaints to them about my conduct during the interviews, they’d take them very seriously indeed.’
‘I’d like to think so,’ Mrs Pierce said. ‘Not that it will be necessary to make any complaints, will it, Kate?’
‘Of course not,’ Meadows agreed. ‘You do know, don’t you,’ she continued, ‘that you’d make a much better job of running this school than Mrs Garner does?’
‘I don’t want to run Fairfield High,’ Mrs Pierce said. ‘I like the job that I’ve got.’
‘I can see that. But it’s still not an answer to my question.’
‘I’m not interested in having Mrs Garner’s job,’ Mrs Pierce said firmly.
‘I’m sure you’re not,’ Meadows replied. ‘But if you ever do decide you want it, then God help her. Shall we see the first girl now?’
‘Yes, I think that would probably be a good idea,’ Mrs Pierce agreed.
Baxter had only just arrived back at Dunston Prison when the phone call came through from Whitebridge.
‘You were in town at lunchtime,’ said the accusing voice on the other end of the line.
‘Yes, I was,’ Baxter admitted.
‘But you didn’t bother to come and see me.’
‘There simply wasn’t time for that, sweetheart.’
‘So what was there time for?’
‘I was there on police business, Jo.’
‘Business that couldn’t have been done over the phone?’
‘Yes.’
‘So it was important?’
Baxter sighed. ‘Yes.’
‘There’s only one important bit of police business going on Whitebridge at the moment, and that’s the murder of that young girl.’
‘There’s a lot of important police business going on – it’s just that you don’t know about it,’ Baxter said. He paused. ‘But you’re right, in a way. The visit was connected to Jill Harris’ death.’
‘And your very good friend Monika is in charge of that investigation, isn’t she, George?’
‘DCI Paniatowski’s in charge of it, yes.’
‘So you could find the time to go and see her, but you couldn’t find the time to come and see me?’
‘She’s been through a great deal, recently,’ Baxter said. ‘Her own daughter went missing, and I was not sure she’d be able to handle . . .’
He stopped talking – because there was really no point in going on after Jo had hung up.
The first girl that Meadows and Mrs Pierce interviewed was large for her age, overweight, and wore crumpled stockings and a sulky expression.
Meadows knew the sort. There’d been a similar bully at her own school, and after enduring her taunts for more than a term, she’d decided to take matters – and clumps of the other girl’s hair – into her own hands. The bullying had stopped after that.
But the problem with most bullies, she thought, was that they were not just physical cowards but also moral ones – and they’d rather set their own grandmothers alight than admit that they’d done anything wrong.
‘Please take a seat, Antonia,’ Mrs Pierce said, indicating the chair in front of the desk.
The girl sat down.
‘Antonia was the first girl – though by no means the last – to get into a fight with Jill,’ the head of pastoral care said to Meadows. ‘Would you like to ask her about it?’
‘Yes, please,’ Meadows said. She turned the girl, hiding her dislike with the widest smile she could muster. ‘What was the fight about, Antonia?’
‘It wasn’t my fault,’ the girl muttered.
‘Now we’ve discussed this before, haven’t we, Antonia?’ Mrs Pierce said sternly. ‘And if you remember, we reached the conclusion that, to a certain extent, a fight is the fault of everybody who takes part in it. Isn’t that right?’
‘Yes, Miss,’ Antonia agreed sullenly.
‘So what was it about?’ Meadows asked.
‘I don’t want to talk about it.’
‘You didn’t want to talk about it with me, either, and I let you get away with it,’ Mrs Pierce said. ‘But Miss Meadows is from the police, and not only should you want to talk about it – because it might help her to catch whoever killed Jill – but you have to talk about it.’
‘She said my mum was a cow,’ Antonia volunteered, reluctantly.
‘Why did she say it?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You hadn’t had a disagreement earlier?’
‘No.’
‘So she just walked up to you in the playground, and said your mum was a cow?’
‘Yes.’
‘I don’t believe you,’ Meadows said.
‘I don’t care,’ Antonia told her. ‘And I don’t care that Jill Harris got killed, either. She deserved to be killed, because she was a . . . a . . .’
‘A what?’ Meadows asked.
‘Nothing,’ Antonia said. She turned hopefully to Mrs Pierce. ‘Can I go now, Miss?’
‘Yes, you can go for the present,’ Mrs Pierce said, ‘but don’t imagine, Antonia, that after your terrible outburst about Jill, we won’t be having another little talk later.’
The girl climbed to her feet and stomped out of the door.
‘I try to find the good in all my charges, but sometimes it’s an uphill struggle,’ Mrs Pierce said philosophically.
‘Jill was a what?’ Meadows asked.
Mrs Pierce shrugged. ‘A bitch? A tart? Who knows? But whatever Fat Antonia thought about her, it certainly wasn’t something she was prepared to say in front of me.’
Mrs Pierce had described Tilly Roberts as a pretty little thing, and that was exactly what she was, Meadows thought. She had an oval face and delicate features, and with them w
ent an air of appealing vulnerability that would ensure that, when she got older, men would be fighting each other for the right to protect her.
‘You made friends with Jill Harris almost as soon as you got to this school, didn’t you, Tilly?’ Meadows asked.
‘Yes.’
‘But then – suddenly – you stopped being friends?’
‘Yes.’
Strictly speaking, she was telling the truth, Meadows decided – but it was a half truth at best.
‘Did you stop being friends altogether – or just in school?’ she asked, taking a stab in the dark.
‘Just in school,’ Tilly admitted.
‘And why was that?’
‘We just did.’
‘We’d like the truth, please, Tilly,’ Mrs Pierce said firmly.
Tilly’s lower lip began to tremble.
‘It was easier,’ she said.
‘Easier?’
‘I thought if we weren’t friends in school, then Jill wouldn’t have to get into fights any more.’
‘Why did she get into fights?’ Meadows asked. ‘Did she do it to protect you? Were you being bullied?’
‘Yes . . . no . . . not exactly,’ Tilly said. She bit her lip. ‘Some of the other girls didn’t like us being friends.’
‘Was that because they wanted you to be their friend, instead of hers?’
‘No.’
‘Then why?’
Meadows had been expecting tears for some time, and now they came in a flood.
‘I was too late,’ the girl sobbed. ‘I . . . I was t-too late, and it’s all my f-fault.’
‘What was it that you were too late for?’ Meadows asked urgently. ‘And why was it all your fault?’
‘I think that’s quite enough for the moment,’ Mrs Pierce said decisively. ‘Go to the nurse’s office, Tilly. Tell her that I said she should let you lie down until you’re feeling better. Have you got that?’
The girl nodded.
‘Y-y-yes, Miss.’
‘Off you go then.’
Another couple of minutes, Meadows thought. Just two more minutes and I’d have found out all I needed to know.
But she was starting to suspect that she knew most of it already.
Jane White was quite a pretty girl, who had kind eyes but looked as if she could be easily led – and as she walked into the room, she was clearly upset.
A Walk With the Dead Page 9