Lambs to the Slaughter

by Sally Spencer

  ‘Yes.’

  Beresford produced a bus timetable from his pocket, and studied it for a few moments.

  ‘And if I’ve read this properly, once you’d got to Whitebridge, you’d have had to wait half an hour at Whitebridge bus station for the Accrington bus,’ he said.

  ‘There was a wait,’ Susan admitted.

  ‘Indeed there was – a half an hour wait, in the middle of winter, when, being Sunday, the station café wasn’t even open.’

  ‘It wasn’t so bad,’ Susan said weakly. ‘I walked up and down, and that kept me warm.’

  ‘It still seems like a long and arduous journey for a woman who, just a few hours earlier, hadn’t felt well enough to even travel in a luxury coach,’ Beresford reflected. ‘Still, I expect you thought it was worth it, because once you were there, you could be with Len.’ He paused. ‘You did join Len, once you’d got to the competition, didn’t you?’

  ‘No.’

  Beresford raised his eyebrows in surprise. ‘You didn’t? Why not?’

  ‘He . . . he was with some other people by the time I arrived. I didn’t want to disturb him.’

  ‘You didn’t go to Accrington with Len because he didn’t want to take you,’ Beresford said harshly. ‘He was getting rid of you, wasn’t he?’

  ‘No, he—’

  ‘We’ve spoken to the minister at the evangelical church. We know he was going to dump you.’

  Tears began to trickle down Susan Danvers’ cheeks. ‘It wasn’t Len’s fault,’ she said.

  ‘Then whose fault was it?’

  ‘It was the new minister’s fault. The old minister said that what was past was past, and as long as we didn’t touch each other in that way, there was no harm in me looking after Len now. But this new one has no love or compassion in him at all – he’s an evil man.’

  ‘So how did you feel when, after twenty years of caring for him – of giving up your life for him – Len was about to dump you?’

  ‘How do you think I felt?’ Susan sobbed. ‘I was heartbroken!’

  ‘But there wasn’t just the heartbreak, was there? You were also very angry,’ Beresford said.

  ‘No, I wasn’t. I . . .’

  ‘For a while, you kept hoping he’d come back to you.’

  Susan nodded. ‘Yes, I did.’

  ‘And on Sunday, when he ignored you at the brass band competition, something finally snapped. You arrived back in the village before him, went up to his house, and got in using the key he’d given you.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘I don’t know why you decided to kill him while he was on the lavatory. Maybe it was because you wanted to rob him of his dignity, just as he’d robbed you of yours. Maybe it was just that he’d be easier to kill when he was sitting down with his pants around his ankles. But whatever the reason, you made sure he’d need to go to the lavatory in the night by spiking his cocoa powder – which you knew he always drank before going to bed – with laxative.’

  Susan said nothing, but from the look on her face, it was plain that at least one of the inspector’s comments had really hit home.

  ‘And then we come back to this,’ Beresford continued relentlessly, holding up the sketch that the police artist had drawn. ‘You wanted to make sure that suspicion didn’t fall on you, so you invented this mysterious stranger who had an argument with Len, and who just possibly might have killed him.’

  ‘You’re right, he did rob me of my dignity,’ Susan said. ‘He didn’t mean to, but he did. Even so, I could never have robbed him of his, because I loved him too much.’

  ‘Did you hear what I said about inventing the mysterious stranger?’ Beresford asked.

  But it was plain that she hadn’t – or that if she had, she didn’t care.

  ‘Because I loved him too much,’ she repeated. ‘Even when he was dead, I tried to rescue his dignity by pulling his trousers up again, but it was too awkward, and I was too weak and upset. I . . . I got them as far as his knees, and then I just had to stop.’

  ‘So you tried to pull up his trousers again after you’d killed him?’ Beresford said.

  ‘I tried to do it after I found him in the morning,’ Susan replied.

  ‘Listen, Susan, we’ve got more than enough evidence to convict you, so why don’t you make it easier on yourself and just admit you did it?’ Crane said persuasively. ‘If you tell the truth now – to the two of us – your barrister will be able to argue in court that your mind was unbalanced by the horrible way you’d been treated. He’ll say that you just lost control, and that you’re very sorry for what you’ve done.’

  ‘Then he’d be telling lies,’ Susan said.

  ‘You’d have both the judge and the jury on your side. You could be released after no more than a couple of years.’ He paused to let his words sink in. ‘But if you say nothing, you’ll start to look like a cold-blooded killer, and they’ll lock you up for life.’

  ‘Do you really think I might only get two years?’ Susan asked.

  ‘Well, I’m not giving you any guarantees, but with a bit of luck, it could well be only two years,’ Crane said awkwardly.

  ‘And what would I do when they released me?’ Susan asked.

  The question seemed to knock Crane off balance.

  ‘Well, I suppose you could come back here,’ he said finally.

  ‘To what?’ Susan demanded. ‘What is there here for me, now that Len’s dead?’

  ‘You’d still have time to build a new life,’ Crane said weakly.

  ‘You’re a fool,’ Susan told him. She turned to Beresford. ‘I might as well go to prison for life, because my life is over,’ she said. ‘But I still have a little pride left – and I won’t confess to a murder I didn’t do. I just won’t!’

  TWENTY

  Paniatowski parked her red MGA in front of the church hall. It had been less than thirty-six hours since she had first arrived in this village, she thought, but so much had happened in that time.

  Thirty-six hours ago, she had thought herself as happy as any woman who had lost the love of her life could be.

  Thirty-six hours ago, she had believed she was making a reasonable job of being a mother.

  And now?

  And now, the only thing she was sure of was that she needed to know what had happened to her daughter, and why it had happened.

  She knew there’d been a breakthrough in the case the moment she entered the church hall.

  She could feel it in the air. She could see it in the expression on the faces of the four or five detective constables who were sitting around the horseshoe – expressions which said that the investigation was all but over, and now all that was necessary was to tie up the loose ends.

  Beresford, who had been talking to the sergeant, noticed her arrival, and walked over to her with a broad grin on his face. Then, perhaps remembering that the whole world was not made up exclusively of his personal triumphs, he grew more sombre.

  ‘How’s Louisa?’ he asked.

  ‘The doctor found no evidence of assault . . .’

  ‘Thank God for that!’

  ‘. . . but she’s still pretty shaken up. As a matter of fact, I’m still pretty shaken up myself.’

  ‘It’ll be rough at first, but it will get better,’ Beresford promised her. ‘And if there’s anything I can do, Monika – and I do mean anything – then you only need to ask.’

  He was a good friend, she thought. He was her best friend.

  She smiled. ‘Thank you for your concern, Colin – and now you can tell me your news.’

  The grin was back on Beresford’s face.

  ‘We got her, boss,’ he said.

  ‘Her?’ Paniatowski repeated.

  ‘Susan Danvers.’

  Paniatowski’s stomach turned an instant somersault.

  Susan Danvers!

  That just didn’t feel right.

  ‘They say that Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned – and in this case they’re spot on,’ Beresford continued.

>   ‘Has she confessed?’

  ‘Not yet. But I’ve sent her back to Whitebridge, and after a couple of hours in the holding cells, she should be more than willing to come clean. Anyway, it’s time for a celebratory piss-up in the Green Dragon, don’t you think?’

  ‘That sounds like a good idea,’ Paniatowski said, hoping she sounded more enthusiastic than she felt.

  Crane joined them in the Green Dragon, but not Meadows.

  ‘Where’s Kate?’ Paniatowski asked.

  ‘She’s still not got back from Accrington,’ Beresford said, ‘and, as a matter of fact, I’m rather glad she’s not here.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘She was really rather rude to me in here last night, wasn’t she Jack?’ Beresford said.

  Crane looked embarrassed. ‘I think we were all a little tense last night,’ he said.

  ‘Anyway, she’s done a splendid job in Accrington – I’d never have been able to put the case together without her contribution – and as soon as she’s apologized for her behaviour, I’ll be more than willing to welcome her back into the fold,’ Beresford said.

  Wrong attitude! Paniatowski thought sadly. It was completely the wrong attitude.

  ‘Why don’t you tell me about the case that you’ve built up against Susan Danvers?’ she suggested.

  ‘I’d be delighted to,’ Beresford told her.

  He outlined the whole thing – Len Hopkins’ rejection of Susan, her trip to Accrington, the spiking of the cocoa – which had now been confirmed by the lab – with laxative, and the fact that Susan had a key to Len’s house.

  ‘We should have thought of her from the start,’ he said, as he drew to a close. ‘After all, she found Len’s body, didn’t she, and how often has it happened that the person who “found” the body turns out to be the killer?’

  ‘That is quite common,’ Paniatowski admitted, cautiously.

  ‘There’s a few “i”s to dot and “t”s to cross, so we’ll probably be here in the village for a couple more days, but essentially, it’s in the bag,’ Beresford said confidently.

  He was so pleased with himself that it was pity to burst his bubble, Paniatowski thought – but it had to be done.

  ‘You are aware that all the evidence is circumstantial, aren’t you, Colin?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, as it happens, I am,’ Beresford said, bristling slightly. ‘But you have to admit, it’s a classic case of means, motive and opportunity.’

  ‘Yes, it certainly is,’ Paniatowski agreed.

  But she was still thinking, It doesn’t feel quite right, it just doesn’t feel quite right.

  ‘So is there a problem?’ Beresford asked.

  ‘Probably not,’ Paniatowski said. ‘But it does seem to me that the prosecution might be a little bit happier if he had something more concrete to take into court with him.’

  ‘And by the time we finish up here, we’ll probably be able to give him something more concrete,’ Beresford said confidently. ‘But even if we haven’t, we’ll have Susan’s confession – and that’s all we really need.’

  ‘And you’re sure she’ll confess?’

  ‘No doubt about it.’

  Paniatowski turned to Crane. ‘What do you think, Jack?’

  Jack Crane looked distinctly uncomfortable again. ‘Inspector Beresford’s got a lot more experience in these matters than I have,’ he said, ‘and he certainly thinks she’ll confess.’

  Which, on one level, wasn’t answering the question at all, Paniatowski noted – although, on another, it most certainly was.

  ‘She didn’t even want to admit that she’d been to the brass band competition at first,’ Beresford said, ‘but I soon got that out of her. Of course, I started the interview rather cleverly, I think, by tricking her into a false sense of security.’ He reached into his briefcase, took out a sheet of thick paper, and laid it on the table. ‘And this is what I used.’

  ‘What is it?’ Paniatowski asked.

  ‘It’s the man who never was – Len Hopkins’ mysterious visitor. I got the police artist to draw it from Susan Danvers’ description, and she was so intent on creating her fake that she had no idea what was coming next. That’s right, isn’t it, Jack?’

  ‘It certainly is, sir,’ Crane agreed, and this time there were no reservations in his tone at all.

  Paniatowski took a glance at the sketch of the young man, and felt an unexpected shiver run through her entire body. There was something familiar about him, she thought – something unpleasantly familiar – but she couldn’t quite pin down what it was.

  ‘It’s a very detailed sketch for somebody who Susan simply made up,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, she probably didn’t make him up entirely,’ Beresford said airily. ‘Chances are, it looks very like someone she knows.’

  But it didn’t look remotely like anybody she’d seen in the village, Paniatowski thought – and they were the only people who Susan really knew.

  ‘And you’re sure he’s nothing more than a figment of Susan’s imagination?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m absolutely convinced of it. She needed to blame someone else for the murder, you see, and who better than a man we’d never find because he never actually existed?’

  Paniatowski cast her mind back to the conversation she’d had with Susan about the man.

  ‘What did Mr Hopkins tell you about him?’

  ‘Not a thing. He refused to discuss it. But while I was making his tea, he kept muttering the same thing over and over to himself.’

  ‘And what was it?’

  ‘He kept saying, “It’s all true. You read about it, and you think it’s an exaggeration – but it’s all true.”’

  ‘And you have no idea what he meant by that?’

  ‘Not a clue.’

  Why would she have complicated her story – if a story was what it was – by adding to it something she couldn’t explain herself?

  Wouldn’t it have been far simpler to invent something that would strengthen her case, rather than distract from it?

  She could have said something like, ‘He told me the man wanted him to do something – he wouldn’t tell me what it was, only that he’d refused – and then the man had said that if he didn’t do it, he’d kill him.’

  But she hadn’t said anything like that. In fact, she’d gone out of her way to suggest that the man wasn’t the murderer.

  ‘Do you think the young man might have been responsible for Len’s death?’

  ‘Good heavens, no.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because if he’d killed Len – and I’m not saying he ever would have, but if he had – he’d have shot him, or maybe strangled him. I didn’t see much of him, but I saw enough to know that he’d have thought it far too messy to smash his head in with a short-handled pickaxe.’

  Of course, if the man did really exist – and Paniatowski was convinced that he did – it was still perfectly possible that he had had nothing at all to do with the murder, and that Susan was, in fact, the killer.

  So perhaps Colin had got everything right. Perhaps, when they got back to Whitebridge, Susan Danvers would be ready to confess that she had killed Len Hopkins in a jealous rage.

  Paniatowski’s gut told her that wasn’t going to happen, but it was Colin’s investigation now, and she had no right to interfere.

  Besides, she had another concern at that moment – the concern that had brought her to the village in the first place.

  ‘The chief constable’s willing to launch an investigation into what happened to Louisa, but, naturally enough, he doesn’t want me involved personally,’ she told Beresford.

  ‘That’s sensible.’

  ‘He suggested that when you could spare her, the job could be given to DS Meadows.’

  ‘I can spare her now,’ Beresford said airily.

  ‘Are you sure about that?’ Paniatowski asked – hating herself for saying it, but feeling obliged to anyway. ‘Susan Danvers hasn’t been charged yet, so the invest
igation’s still—’

  ‘I can spare her,’ Beresford interrupted, ‘and, to tell you the truth, I’d rather not have her around until she’s prepared to apologize.’

  If you’re waiting for Kate Meadows to apologize, you’ll be waiting a long time, Paniatowski thought.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Kate Meadows thought she knew something about the penchants of middle-aged academics, so even though it was a cold night, she was wearing a short skirt under her coat – and as she walked up the path to the front door of Dr Sutton’s detached house, she began unbuttoning the coat to reveal the treasures beneath.

  It was Dr Sutton himself who answered the bell.

  ‘Well, well, what have we here?’ he asked, running his eyes appreciatively up and down her body. ‘A door-to-door salesperson, perhaps? Or a young lady with a survey which she’d like me to complete?’

  ‘I’m afraid I’m neither of those, Dr Sutton,’ Meadows said, producing her warrant card.

  Sutton groaned.

  ‘I thought I’d made it quite plain to your DCI Paniatowski that if she wanted my daughter to talk to the police, it would have to be by appointment, and only in my solicitor’s presence,’ he said.

  ‘You might have made it plain to her, but she certainly didn’t make it plain to me,’ Meadows said. ‘So I’ve wasted a journey, have I?’

  ‘It would appear so.’

  Meadows stamped her foot angrily on the path. ‘She doesn’t listen, does she?’ she demanded, of no one in particular. ‘The bloody woman never listens to anybody. So not only am I sent out to investigate something that should never have been investigated in the first place, but I’m going to have to do the whole thing again tomorrow.’

  ‘You don’t think that it should be investigated?’ Sutton asked interestedly.

  ‘Of course not. The bloody kid runs off – and if I was Paniatowski’s kid, I’d run off, too – and when she’s caught, she spouts out the first crappy little excuse which comes into her head, and her stupid mother swallows it wholesale.’

  ‘Yes, that is probably what happened,’ Dr Sutton agreed.

  ‘And as a result of that, I end up on a cold street in the middle of winter, when I could be snugly tucked up at home with a nice glass of wine,’ Meadows ranted. She stopped suddenly, as if she’d realized she’d said too much. ‘I’m sorry, Dr Sutton, I should never have let my feelings show like that. But when you’re working for Ma’am, it can sometimes be a bloody hard life.’