‘Would you, indeed?!’ Ainsworth demanded. ‘Well, let me make one thing clear, Chief Inspector. I’m the one who decides who works with who in this county – and you’re stuck with Paniatowski. Is that clear?’
‘Yes, sir,’ Woodend said, bowing his head.
And then he turned quickly to the door, before Ainsworth had a chance to see the grin which was starting to spread across his face.
Epilogue
His mother had forgotten to lock the box room again, and Peter Davies took the opportunity to sneak in. He closed the door quietly behind him and ran his eyes over all the toys – especially the dolls. They were as new and fresh as when they had first come out of their wrappers. They had never been played with – and never would be played with. Except by him.
He remembered the old days, the days when there had been just him, Mummy and Daddy. How he had snuggled up in bed with them. How he had been the centre of their world. And then Susan had come along, and spoiled it all.
He stood on tiptoe and took one of the dolls from the shelf – a bright pink one with a bald head and puckered lips. It had been one of Susan’s favourites, back when she’d been a toddler. Back when she’d shown some interest in the world around her.
Holding the doll by its legs, he turned it upside down and told himself he was going to count slowly to ten.
’One,’ he began. ‘Two . . . three . . . four . . .’
There’d been a time when he had thought his daddy hadn’t loved him as much as he loved Susan. But he’d been wrong. His daddy had loved him more – much more. And he’d proved it.
‘Five . . . six . . . seven . . .’
He felt a tightening across his chest, and his small breaths were now coming quickly and irregularly. It was no good – he simply could not hold out any more.
He loosened his grip, and felt the doll slowly slip from his hands. He waited until he heard the sound of the impact before he opened his eyes again. The doll was lying on the floor, in just the position he’d expected it to be.
He experienced the moment of panic which always hit him at this point. What if he’d damaged it? What if there was even a thin, hairline crack on its skull? However would he explain that to his mother?
He picked up the doll and saw there was no evidence at all of its fall to the ground. He breathed a sigh of relief. He was safe – at least this time. But he knew there would be other times, because there always were.
He replaced the doll on the shelf, making sure it was in exactly the same position as he had found it. Then he opened the door again, listened carefully for his mother and stepped quickly into the corridor.
He sighed. Dropping dolls on their heads was a lot of fun, he thought – but it was nowhere near as good as doing the real thing.
Golden Mile to Murder Page 26