‘He used to, but then Linda said that since she was always working so hard on those trips, there wasn’t much point in taking him along.’
‘Or, since it was a bakery conference, I thought she might have taken her head baker with her.’
‘That kind of conference isn’t about baking the bread,’ Jenny said. ‘It’s much more to do with reviewing the baking industry as a whole, and finding ways to . . .’ She suddenly stopped talking, and her face turned as white as flour. ‘What are you suggesting?’ she demanded. ‘Do you think that Tom and Linda . . . that Linda and Tom could have . . .?’
‘You must surely already have considered the possibility that they were having an affair,’ Paniatowski said.
‘Never!’ Jenny said, in a voice which was now almost a scream. ‘The idea never even occurred to me! And it still doesn’t! Linda wouldn’t do that to Stan! She wouldn’t dare do it!’
‘So on the Wednesday that Linda was in Leeds, Tom was in the bakery all day, was he?’ Paniatowski asked.
Jenny looked away. ‘I have work to do,’ she said.
‘Was Tom here all day?’ Paniatowski persisted.
‘No, as a matter of fact, he wasn’t here at all that Wednesday.’
‘You said that without even consulting your records,’ Paniatowski pointed out.
‘There’s no need to consult them. I know it was the same day.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
‘Because of the way things happened that day.’
‘Go on,’ Paniatowski said.
‘Linda was just about to set off for Leeds when Tom phoned in sick. She nearly didn’t go at all, because, with Tom out, she thought she’d better work in the bakery herself. But I said we should be able to cope for just one day, and she said that in that case . . .’ A look of horrified realization suddenly filled Jenny’s face. ‘Oh, my God,’ she moaned.
‘Was Tom often off sick?’ Paniatowski asked.
‘No, he was almost never . . . I can’t remember the last time he . . .’
‘So doesn’t it strike you as awfully convenient that he should be sick on the same day as Linda was going to Leeds?’ Paniatowski said softly.
‘Tom was sick that day,’ Jenny said desperately. ‘I know he was sick. He had to be sick.’
EIGHTEEN
Sergeant Walker took a sip from the pint of best bitter, and smacked his lips with satisfaction.
They always said the first pint of the day was the best, he thought, and they were quite right. Not that this was his first pint of the day – strictly speaking, it was his fifth – but it was his first in the Drum and Monkey, and that had to count for something.
The night before, alone in his shithole of a flat, he had sunk to a bit of a low point, he realized, but now, after a few pints, the world was starting to look a much better place, and even his problems seemed more manageable.
‘We’re waiting, Sergeant,’ said one of his bigger problems, who was sitting across the table from him.
‘Sorry, ma’am, I was just getting all the details of my report straight in my head,’ Walker replied. ‘This is the area we’ve covered this morning,’ he continued, pointing to shaded-in parts of the map which he’d spread out on the table. ‘As you can see, I’ve concentrated my men on areas where there were abandoned buildings, because it seemed to me that the killer would have chosen somewhere he was unlikely to be interrupted.’
‘Makes sense,’ Paniatowski agreed.
‘So we gave it our best shot, and I’m afraid we still didn’t find anything,’ Walker concluded.
‘But at least you’ve narrowed down the area that’s still left to be searched,’ Beresford said encouragingly. ‘And it will be narrowed down even further this afternoon, which means that by tomorrow—’
‘Tomorrow?’ Walker interrupted, wondering if his last two pints in the Green Man should have been accompanied by whisky chasers. ‘Are you saying we’ll still be searching tomorrow?’
‘Yes,’ Beresford replied, with a note of surprise in his voice. ‘We’ll certainly continue the search tomorrow, unless, of course, you strike lucky sometime this afternoon.’
‘Tomorrow,’ Walker repeated, as if he still couldn’t get his mind round the idea. ‘We’ll still be searching tomorrow?’
‘Is there a problem with that, Sergeant?’ Beresford asked.
‘No, sir, not exactly a problem, as such.’
‘Well, then?’
‘But I can’t quite see why you’d think it might be necessary to continue the search.’
‘It could be that I’d still like you to find the stiffs,’ Beresford said.
‘Fair point,’ Walker agreed, nodding his head. ‘Very fair point. But surely, once you’ve got Stan What’s-’is-name safely under lock and key, he’ll tell you exactly where you need to . . .’
‘What makes you think that we’re going to arrest Stan Szymborska?’ Paniatowski wondered.
‘Well, for a start, I did hear it on the grapevine that you were planning to hold a press conference in a couple of hours’ time, ma’am.’
‘I am.’
‘And naturally, I assumed that you’d have Stan banged up by then, so you could have something to brag to the hacks about.’
‘You think I should arrest Stan Szymborska just to make myself look good for the press?’ Paniatowski asked incredulously.
‘No, not just to make yourself look good, ma’am,’ Walker said. ‘That would be quite wrong. But since you’re going to have to arrest him sooner or later, why not make it sooner?’
‘Because we simply don’t have enough evidence to make an arrest yet,’ Paniatowski said.
‘Don’t we?’ Walker asked. ‘Look, ma’am, we know that he doesn’t have any kind of alibi for the night of the murder. Right?’
‘Yes, we do know that.’
‘And we also know that his wife was having an affair with Tom Whittington – the second victim.’
‘Agreed.’
‘And, most damning of all – we know he’s a bloody foreigner.’ Walker paused, and grinned at Paniatowski. ‘That last part was a joke, ma’am.’
‘Of sorts,’ Paniatowski agreed. ‘Listen, Sergeant, I know you have a gut feeling that he’s guilty . . .’
‘It’s a feeling that I’ve had from the very first moment I clapped my eyes on him, ma’am.’
‘. . . and it’s one that Inspector Beresford and I both share with you. Isn’t that right, Colin?’
‘Definitely,’ Beresford agreed.
‘But the fact is that without proof, we’ve no chance of making a case against him.’
‘Unless he confesses,’ Walker pointed out.
‘He isn’t going to confess,’ Paniatowski said.
‘Now, you see, that’s just where you and I fundamentally disagree, ma’am.’
‘It’s in his military record that when he was shot down over Germany, he was interrogated by the SS,’ Paniatowski said exasperatedly. ‘Have you got that, Ted? The bloody SS! And if he didn’t tell them anything, then he’s certainly not going to tell you.’
‘Maybe he did tell them something,’ Walker said stubbornly.
‘He’d never have been awarded all those medals if he had, now would he?’ Paniatowski asked.
‘Possibly not,’ Walker agreed reluctantly.
‘But you still think you can do it, don’t you?’ Paniatowski challenged. ‘You still think that even though the SS – who were world champions when it came to extracting information from people – got absolutely nowhere with him, you can succeed.’
‘Well, I’m certainly willing to give it a go,’ Walker said gamely.
‘It isn’t going to happen,’ Paniatowski told him. ‘Do you understand that, Sergeant?’
For a moment it looked as if Walker was going to continue to argue, then he nodded his head.
‘Whatever you say, ma’am,’ he agreed. ‘You’re the boss, and we have to be guided by your judgement in these matters.’ He glanced down at his
wristwatch. ‘Would you mind if I stepped outside for a couple of minutes? I want to contact my lads, just to see how they’re getting on – and the radio reception’s much better in the car park.’
‘Go right ahead,’ Paniatowski said.
Walker stood up, and walked to the door.
‘If Stan Szymborska is the killer, how are we ever going to prove it?’ Paniatowski asked Beresford.
‘We need to break his non-alibi,’ Beresford replied. ‘We need witnesses who can testify that he wasn’t at home at all – but was riding around Whitebridge behind the wheel of his wife’s Jag.’
‘You think that is what he was doing?’
‘I don’t know how he could have managed it otherwise. Let’s say, to give us a workable example, that the bodies are currently residing in an abandoned warehouse on the south side of town.’
‘All right.’
‘He could either have killed his victims first and driven them there, or he could have driven them there – probably drugged or tied up – and then killed them. I suppose there’s a third possibility, that he somehow persuaded Tom and Linda to meet him there, but I don’t think that’s very likely.’
‘It’s highly unlikely,’ Paniatowski agreed. ‘If I was having an affair, the last thing I’d be willing to do would be to go with my lover to an out-of-the-way place where I knew my husband was waiting for us.’
‘So, whether he killed them before he took them to the theoretical warehouse, or killed them once they were there, he’d have needed a car.’
‘Couldn’t he have used his own car, rather than Linda’s Jag?’
‘He doesn’t own a car. He has a motorbike,’ Beresford said. ‘And I can hardly see him driving his Honda 750 through the centre of Whitebridge with a corpse draped over his shoulder,’ he added with a grin.
‘He could have hired a car,’ Paniatowski pointed out.
‘He didn’t. I’ve already had my lads check that out. Besides, if he didn’t use the Jag, where is it? You can’t leave a car like that on the streets of Whitebridge without it being noticed, and if it had been picked up by joy-riders, we’d have heard about it by now.’
‘So you think he decided to hide the car in the same place as he hid the bodies?’
‘Not necessarily. He could have left it somewhere else entirely. But whichever it was, I’m convinced he did hide it.’
‘If you could find witnesses who could put him in the Jag, that would be a big breakthrough,’ Paniatowski admitted. ‘But I’m not prepared to pin all my hopes on that.’
‘So what other lines of inquiry do you want us to follow?’
‘I want a comprehensive background check on Stan Szymborska, going right back to the time he first settled in Britain. I want to know if he is actually the spotless hero he appears to be, or if he’s ever been in trouble before. And if he has been in trouble, what kind of trouble? Was any of it violent – and if it was, was that violence directed against women?’
‘We should probably talk to his old girlfriends – if he has any,’ Beresford said.
‘Oh, he’ll have had them all right,’ Paniatowski said confidently. ‘A man like Stan won’t have gone long without some kind of female companionship. We also need to talk to people who knew him when he was running his delivery service – and the people who’ve been working with him at the bakery.’
‘Got it,’ Beresford said.
‘And since we’re devoting most of our resources to Szymborska, we’d better pray that he really is our man,’ Paniatowski said.
‘He is,’ Beresford said. ‘It’s gone beyond a gut feeling. We both know he did it, don’t we?’
‘Yes,’ Paniatowski agreed. ‘We both know he did it.’
Once out in the car park, Sergeant Walker made no attempt to establish radio contact with any of the constables he was supposed to be supervising, but instead walked quickly towards the nearest public telephone box.
It wasn’t his fault that he was going to have to make this call, he told himself. Not in any way, shape or form. The blame rested entirely on Monika Paniatowski’s shoulders.
She should have listened to him. She should have been guided by him. Because despite having a good mind – and he was forced to admit that her mind was quick and analytical – she clearly didn’t know villains like he did.
And because she didn’t know villains, she was making one big mistake on top of another.
It was as he was fumbling with the change from his pocket that he realized he was drunk.
But not that drunk, he told himself.
Not so drunk that he was doing something now that he might live to regret later.
He managed to insert the coins in the slot at the second attempt, and to dial the Evening Chronicle’s number largely without incident.
When he’d been connected, he said, ‘I’d like to speak to Mike Traynor, ace reporter,’ and then he giggled.
‘Who shall I say is calling?’ asked the woman on the switchboard, somewhat frostily.
‘Never mind who it is,’ Walker growled, his good humour deserting him as quickly as it had arrived. ‘You just tell Traynor I’ve got a very big story for him, and he’ll never forgive himself if he misses it.’
Traynor came on the line almost immediately.
‘Who is this?’ he asked.
‘No names,’ Walker said.
‘Is it Sergeant—’
‘I said no names, you bastard! Just shut up and listen to what I’ve got to tell you.’
‘All right,’ Traynor agreed.
‘Chief Inspector Polack’s holding a press conference in about an hour and a half’s time. You’ll be there, won’t you?’
‘Yes, I will, but—’
‘Then before the conference starts, I think there’s a couple of things that you should know.’
Walker spoke for two minutes, then slammed down the phone and stepped out of the box.
Once on the street again, he was surprised to discover that he was looking around, almost guiltily.
Well, he had nothing to feel guilty about, he told himself angrily.
His conscience was clear. What he’d done had been for the good of the Police Force and in the interests of justice.
And if it also served to bring DCI Paniatowski down, that was no more than a bonus.
NINETEEN
The press room in Whitebridge Police Headquarters had seating for twenty reporters, which, at any normal briefing, would have been more than adequate. But this was not a normal briefing – this was a national story which was being covered, and the room was full to overflowing.
Monika Paniatowski, on the verge of delivering her first-ever press conference, looked straight ahead – and tried to ignore the bright lights which the presence of two television camera crews had made necessary.
She cleared her throat.
‘Thank you for coming, ladies and gentlemen,’ she said. ‘I would like to begin this press conference by releasing the names of the two victims of this shocking crime. They are Linda Szymborska, aged thirty-eight, who was the managing director of Brunskill’s Bakery, and Thomas Whittington, also aged thirty-eight, who was the head baker in the same company.’
All the reporters were jotting down these details as she spoke, she noted. All, that was, apart from Mike Traynor. He had his arms ostentatiously folded across his chest, and a smirk on his face that was so wide the rest of his features seemed in imminent danger of being swallowed by it.
Paniatowski had already decided what details she would reveal to the press – and the order she would reveal them in – before she’d walked into the room, and once she started speaking again, she pretty much stuck to that plan.
Not bad, she thought, when she’d finished.
True, the briefing had lacked Charlie Woodend’s flair, but it had been both clear and succinct enough to be more than satisfactory.
She took a sip of water from the glass on the table in front of her, and steeled herself for the next stage in the proc
ess.
‘I am now open to questions from the floor,’ she said. ‘I will answer them as frankly as I can, but you must accept that I will inevitably be holding back some information in order not to prejudice the investigation.’
Mike Traynor’s hand had shot into the air before she’d finished speaking.
For a moment, she considered ignoring the man who had damaged her investigation by leaking the story of a second hand to the nationals. But only for a moment, because to ignore him would be seen as a sign of weakness – and being seen as weak was the last thing she needed at that particular juncture.
‘Yes, Mr Traynor?’ she said.
‘What’s the connection between the two victims, Chief Inspector?’ Traynor asked, almost innocently.
‘I thought I’d already spelled that out more than clearly enough, Mr Traynor,’ Paniatowski said. ‘They were colleagues.’
‘And that’s all there is to it?’ Traynor asked, in a tone which he was clearly hoping would sound surprised, but instead gave the impression of a man pretending to be surprised. ‘There’s no closer link between them than the fact that they happened to work in the same bakery?’
‘None that we’ve yet established,’ Paniatowski lied.
‘Really?’ Traynor asked.
‘Really,’ Paniatowski confirmed stonily.
‘Well, I must admit I’m astonished to hear you say that, Chief Inspector,’ Traynor told her.
‘Are you?’ Paniatowski countered. ‘And why might that be?’
She should never have said it, she realized, the moment the words were out of her mouth. She should never – ever – have given him the opportunity to come back at her.
‘Why might that be?’ Traynor asked, obviously enjoying himself. ‘Well, it might be because one of the officers closely involved in your investigation, a Detective Constable –’ Traynor glanced down at his notes – ‘Detective Constable Blake, spent over half an hour this morning talking to the receptionist in a hotel which is well known for facilitating illicit nocturnal activities.’ Traynor grinned. ‘In other words, it’s a place that people go to for dirty weekends. And it might be that while he was there, he established that certain persons connected with this case – I’ll say no more than that – had spent the night at the inn, posing as man and wife.’
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