‘If she was as free of him as you say, then why didn’t she take the portrait down?’
‘She tried to, once, and her sister wouldn’t have it. Even the thought of removing it made Jenny hysterical. She said this was the managing director’s office, and he was the managing director. She often talked about him like that – as if he was still alive.’
‘When Jenny accused Tompkins of being responsible for the murders, I really did think she was doing it in a desperate attempt to save you,’ Paniatowski said. ‘But saving you was the last thing in the world she wanted.’
‘Then why did she make the accusations?’
‘Partly it was designed to make me think she actually was the loving sister-in-law she pretended to be. Partly, I believe, she was hoping that I’d take her accusations just seriously enough to close down Tompkins’ for a few damaging days, while I conducted an investigation.’
‘She would have to have been crazy to think that,’ Stan said.
‘Yes, she would, wouldn’t she?’ Paniatowski agreed. ‘And maybe, by that point, she’d convinced herself that Tompkins really was responsible for Linda’s death – because if he hadn’t wanted to buy Brunskill’s Bakery, none of this would have happened.’
‘Do you think she’ll ever be tried for the murders?’
‘I don’t know,’ Paniatowski admitted. ‘It all depends on what the head-shrinkers say – on whether they think she’s competent to stand trial.’
‘And do you think she is?’
‘No,’ Paniatowski said. ‘To be held responsible for your actions, you have to be able to distinguish between right and wrong in their widest possible sense – and all Jenny ever really knew was what was right for Seth Brunskill.’
Szymborska sighed. ‘We had a plan, my Linda and I,’ he said. ‘We were going to sell the bakery to Warren Tompkins and use the money to buy a boat. We’d sail around the world, and keep on sailing, until the money ran out. And only then would we worry about what we’d do next.’
‘It sounds wonderful,’ Paniatowski said wistfully.
‘It would have been wonderful,’ Stan Szymborska agreed. ‘But there’ll be no boat now. Now, when I sell the bakery, I’m going to give most of the money away to charity.’
‘I’m afraid you can’t sell the bakery at all,’ Paniatowski told him.
‘Why not?’
‘Because, under the law as it stands, you’re not allowed to profit from your own crimes.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Stan Szymborska said. ‘Jenny murdered Linda. You know that!’
‘Indeed I do,’ Paniatowski agreed. ‘But that’s not the crime that I’m talking about.’
It was a beautiful summer’s day, and the English Channel was as calm as the proverbial mill pond.
Charlie and Joan Woodend stood on the upper deck of the ferry which would take them to France. Charlie was reading the Daily Globe, and Joan – perhaps just a little regretfully – was taking a last look at the White Cliffs of Dover.
‘I’ve just been readin’ this article by Mike Traynor,’ Woodend said. ‘You remember him, don’t you?’
‘Isn’t he a reporter on the Lancashire Evening Chronicle?’
‘That’s the man, right enough – reporter on the Chronicle, an’ a world-class dickhead.’
‘Language, Charlie!’ Joan said.
‘Sorry,’ Woodend replied. ‘Anyway, yesterday Traynor had a go at Monika, an’ today he’s been forced to eat his own words. An’ I mean forced. Readin’ the article, you can almost see the editor standin’ over him, with a whip in his hands. Listen to this. “I was wrong about DCI Paniatowski, and I’ll be the first to admit it. Her handling of the Linda Szymborska murder has been little less than brilliant.” Little less than brilliant! The bastard never said anythin’ that complimentary about me.’ He paused. ‘Sorry! Again! I promise that now I’ll be spendin’ more time with you, I’ll try to get out of the habit of usin’ bad language.’
‘You’d better do more than just try,’ Joan warned him, though they both knew – after all the years they had been married – that she was not being serious.
The hooter on the funnel blew loudly, and the ferry began to slowly pull away from the dock.
A small, almost secretive, smile came to Joan’s face. ‘She never did ring you, did she?’ she asked.
‘Who?’ Woodend asked innocently.
‘Don’t start playin’ that kind of game with me, Charlie Woodend,’ Joan said sharply.
‘Oh, you mean Monika?’ Woodend asked. ‘No, she didn’t.’
‘An’ how do you feel about that?’ Joan wondered. ‘Are you pleased? Or are you disappointed?’
‘A bit of both,’ Woodend admitted. ‘But mostly, I feel very proud of her.’
They faced each other across the interview table in Whitebridge Police Headquarters – two Poles who had each, in their own way, known both triumph and despair.
‘It was Len Monkton, the bakery nightwatchman, who first put the idea in my head,’ Paniatowski explained. ‘Now what was it he said, exactly? Seth Brunskill was “hardly ever out of the bakery. Didn’t believe in holidays. Never took a day off. And in the end, I suppose, that’s what killed him.” And he was right, in a way, wasn’t he?’
‘In a way, he was,’ Stan Szymborska agreed.
‘Because if he had been able to stay away from the bakery – if he had been able to give his daughters a little of the freedom that any woman has the right to expect – he might still be alive today.’
‘Yes, he might.’
‘As I said, it was Len who first put the idea in my head, but it was my own desperation with the way the case was going which really pushed me to ask for the exhumation of Seth’s body,’ Paniatowski continued. ‘I was hoping to find evidence of foul play, so that I could use it to put pressure on Linda’s murderer – who, at the time, I thought was you. But, if I’m honest with myself about it, I never really expected to find that evidence.’
‘But you did?’
‘Yes – or rather, the estimable Dr Shastri did. Seth died of heart failure, right enough, but it wasn’t a natural heart attack. It was induced by a high concentration of potassium chloride. How did you get him to take it?’
‘He was destroying my Linda,’ Szymborska said, ignoring the question. ‘Every day that passed, there was less of her, and I knew that if he lived much longer, she would never be able to find her real self.’
Paniatowski reached across to the tape recorder. ‘Interview suspended at eleven-oh-three,’ she said, pressing the off-switch.
‘Why have you done that?’ Stan Szymborska asked.
‘You still haven’t explicitly admitted killing Seth Brunskill,’ Paniatowski said.
‘I know.’
‘And without a confession, it’s going to be very hard – after all this time – for us to actually prove you did it.’
Stan Szymborska smiled. ‘But you will try to prove it, won’t you, Chief Inspector?’ he asked.
‘Oh, I will try,’ Paniatowski assured. ‘I’ll give the investigation all I’ve got, because that’s my job. But I’ll tell you honestly, Stanislaw, I don’t hold out much hope of success.’
‘Turn the machine on again, please,’ Szymborska said.
Paniatowski pressed the record button. ‘Interview resumed at eleven-oh-four.’
‘Seth Brunskill died of potassium-chloride poisoning, which I administered to him, knowing exactly what its effect would be,’ Szymborska said.
Paniatowski glanced at the tape recorder, and then back at Stan Szymborska.
‘Why admit it?’ she mouthed silently. ‘Why?’
‘In my mind, the only possible justification for the murder was that it would give my Linda a new life,’ Stan Szymborska said. ‘But now she has no life at all – and neither have I.’
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The Dead Hand of History Page 26