A lie! Beresford was sure it was a lie, and glancing at Crane, he could see that Jack thought so, too.
She hadn’t gone straight home at all. Of course she hadn’t. Because before she could go home, she’d needed to spike Len’s cocoa with laxative.
‘What time did you get home?’ he asked.
‘At about half past five.’
‘And when did you leave your house again?’
‘When I set out the next morning to make Len’s breakfast for him.’
‘You didn’t go out again that night, say between ten o’clock and two o’clock in the morning?’
‘No.’
‘Why did you go to make Len’s breakfast?’
‘I was his housekeeper.’
‘But he’d sacked you.’
‘I was going to work out my notice.’
‘You were going to work out your notice,’ Beresford repeated sceptically. ‘And you were going to do it even though he didn’t want you to – even though you knew that what he wanted was a clean break?’
It was as Susan folded her arms across her chest that he realized he’d made a mistake by pushing too hard – and Susan’s next words were only a confirmation of what he already knew.
‘I’m not going to say any more,’ she said. ‘You can question me as much as you like – you can go on for days and weeks, if you want to – but you’ll get nothing more from me.’
She meant it, Beresford thought, as he felt his stomach knot up into a tight ball.
There was no bravado to her words, just a rock-solid certainty. She would never confess.
By ten o’clock, Beresford was standing at the apex of the horseshoe in the church hall, looking down at all the detective constables who had thought their job was almost done, and were now being told that it wasn’t.
‘We need something concrete,’ Beresford was saying, bitterly aware that he was echoing the words that Monika Paniatowski had used – the words he had airily dismissed – only the day before. ‘It would help, for example, if we had a witness who saw Susan Danvers go into Len Hopkins’ house shortly after she got off the bus from Accrington.’
One of the constables raised a tentative hand.
‘Yes,’ Beresford said.
‘The problem with that, sir, is that nearly everybody from the village was still in Accrington when she arrived back. It was a big thing to them, that brass band competition.’
‘Do you think you’re telling me something I don’t already know?’ Beresford snapped. ‘Yes, it was a big thing for them, and yes, most of the village will have been there, but there must have been some people who didn’t go.’
There must have been some people who didn’t go, he repeated in his head.
He had meant the words to sound like a supposition, but they had emerged from his mouth more like a prayer.
‘We also need witnesses who saw Susan later that night, either on her way to kill Len or returning home after the deed was done,’ he continued. ‘I know they won’t be easy to find, given that all the power had been cut off by then, but I’ve been watching the way you lads have been working over the last couple of days, and I know,’ he forced himself to smile, ‘that you just love a good challenge.’
The detective constables should, by rights, have smiled back at him – or perhaps nodded their heads in agreement – but instead of that, they merely looked embarrassed.
They know just how desperate I am, he thought miserably. They can almost smell it.
OK, lads,’ he said aloud, ‘get out there and bring me back what I need.’
The detective constables had been gone for less than five minutes when Paniatowski arrived at the church hall, carrying a large folder.
‘Have you still got the sketch of the man who visited Len Hopkins last week?’ she asked.
‘The imaginary visitor?’ Beresford replied. ‘Yes. I saw no reason to keep it myself, but I thought there was just a chance that either the prosecution or the defence might want a look at it.’
‘Could I see it?’ Paniatowski said.
Beresford pulled it out of his briefcase, and laid it on the desk.
‘Now look at this,’ Paniatowski said, laying her sketch next to it. ‘This is the boy who abducted Louisa.’
Beresford felt the knot in his stomach tighten even more.
‘They’re similar,’ he admitted.
‘Apart from a few minor details, they’re exactly the same!’ Paniatowski exclaimed.
‘Except that Louisa’s was drawn from memory, and Susan’s was made up,’ Beresford said.
Paniatowski shook her head, almost pityingly.
‘Didn’t Charlie Woodend always tell us that when the facts didn’t fit the theory, it was time to jettison the theory?’ she asked.
‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’ Beresford demanded.
‘It means that while it might be convenient for you to believe that Susan made up Len’s caller, it’s now perfectly clear that she didn’t.’
‘So let’s assume for a moment that the man Susan described does actually exist,’ Beresford said, with an edge entering his voice. ‘Is the next step to assume that he killed Len Hopkins?’
‘It’s a possibility. Not the only one, by any means, but it’s certainly a possibility.’
‘Is it, now?’ Beresford asked. ‘Then let’s follow that line of thought through to its natural conclusion, shall we? He kills Len on Sunday – we don’t know why yet, but we’ll say, for the sake of argument, that he did it because Len was against the strike. Are you still with me?’
‘I’m still with you.’
‘He’s achieved his objective, hasn’t he? So what does he do next? The logical thing would be for him to put as many miles between himself and Bellingsworth as he possibly can. But he doesn’t do that at all, does he? Instead, he hangs around until Monday night – nearly twenty-four hours after the murder – and then abducts your daughter. Now why would he do that?’
‘I don’t know,’ Paniatowski admitted.
‘You don’t know,’ Beresford repeated scornfully. ‘Does kidnapping Louisa do anything to make the strike – which we’ve agreed is his main interest – any more likely to happen?’
‘No.’
‘No! It doesn’t have any effect at all. So does the man abduct her because he thinks that will lengthen the odds of him getting caught?’
‘This is pointless, Colin,’ Paniatowski said weakly.
‘No, it doesn’t lengthen the odds,’ Beresford ploughed on. ‘In fact, he must know that what he’s done will have quite the reverse effect! By sticking his head above the parapet again, he’s actually increasing the chances of getting caught.’ He paused. ‘Well?’
‘I can’t explain why he acted as he did,’ Paniatowski admitted.
‘It seems to me that the one who should be jettisoning the theory because it doesn’t fit the facts is you,’ Beresford said. ‘I’m disappointed in you, Monika. I’ve supported you all these years, and now that I need your support for once, I simply don’t get it.’
‘I want to support you, Colin, I really do,’ Paniatowski said. ‘It’s just that the more I think about it, the more I’m convinced that in arresting Susan Danvers, you’ve arrested the wrong person.’
‘And you’ve reached that conclusion simply because you now think that Susan didn’t invent the caller?’
‘That’s certainly part of it,’ Paniatowski said. ‘If she didn’t lie about that, it’s equally possible she didn’t lie about other things, either. But there’s more to it than that.’
‘Like what?’
‘She’s not a calculating woman – you can see that for yourself. She might have possibly killed Len Hopkins in a rage, but she’d never have been capable of planning it in the cold-blooded way that the killer did.’
‘And that’s it?’ Beresford asked.
No, Paniatowski thought, there was also the gut feeling that however little sense it made, Louisa’s abduction and Len’s murder were conne
cted – and Louisa’s abduction was something Susan could have had no control over.
‘Susan wouldn’t have wanted him to be found in such a humiliating position,’ she said. ‘Didn’t you tell me that when she found him in the morning, she tried to pull his trousers up?’
‘I certainly told you that that was what she said she’d done.’
‘And doesn’t that have the ring of truth about it? Doesn’t it sound like something she would have been incapable of making up?’
‘Not to me,’ Beresford said hotly. ‘What this all boils down to, Monika, is that I look at her and see a guilty woman, and you look at her and see an innocent one. And you have to be the one who’s right, don’t you – because you’re the great Detective Chief Inspector Monika Paniatowski?’
‘If you want my support, you’ve got it – my unqualified support,’ Paniatowski said. ‘If you believe that Susan Danvers is the murderer, I’ll do everything I can to prove that you’re right.’
‘Don’t patronize me,’ Beresford said harshly.
‘What do you want me to say?’ Paniatowski pleaded.
‘There’s nothing you can say – not now,’ Beresford told her.
And then he saw that though she was fighting hard against it, Paniatowski was almost in tears.
He took a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry, Monika, this has all got a bit out of control,’ he said, ‘and that’s probably my fault.’
‘We could both have handled it better,’ Paniatowski said.
‘I don’t want to lose your friendship.’
‘And, God knows, I don’t want to lose yours. There’ve been times when it was the only thing that kept me sane.’
Beresford smiled. ‘We won’t lose it. We’ll be fine. As soon as I’ve put this case to bed, we’ll be fine.’
‘I meant what I said,’ Paniatowski told him. ‘If you want me to, I’ll work like a horse to make the case against Susan.’
Beresford shook his head. ‘You go home to Louisa. She needs your strength even more than I do.’
They hugged each other for a few moments, then Paniatowski said, ‘I’d better go.’
It was as she was walking to the door that she remembered why she had come to Bellingsworth in the first place, and turned around.
‘I’m having the picture of the man who abducted Louisa plastered all over Whitebridge,’ she said.
‘That’s a good idea,’ Beresford replied, but there was a note of caution in his voice, as if he suspected she might say more – and it would be a more that he didn’t like.
‘Don’t you think it might be a good idea to do the same in Bellingsworth – on the off chance that Len’s visitor wasn’t imaginary after all?’ Paniatowski asked tentatively.
Beresford glared at her, then the glare slowly turned into a smile.
She was trying to help him, he thought. She was wrong – but at least she was trying. And the least he could do, as a friend, would be to accept that help.
‘It’s worth a try,’ he said. ‘I’ll send one of the lads over to Whitebridge to pick them up.’
Paniatowski grinned sheepishly. ‘There’s no need to do that,’ she said. ‘I’ve got them in the car.’
TWENTY-THREE
When Dr Robert Sutton was shown into Interview Room A of Whitebridge Police HQ at ten fifteen that morning, his solicitor – an unsmiling man called Mr Coppersedge – was by his side.
‘My client wishes it to be clearly understood that he is here of his own free will, and that he is willing to cooperate with the police in every way possible,’ Coppersedge said, when he and Sutton had sat down, and Meadows had switched the tape recorder on.
Meadows looked across the table at them, an expression of amused contempt on her face.
‘Beautifully put, Mr Coppersedge,’ she said. ‘Why, it was almost poetry. Now, shall we get down to business?’
‘Before he answers your questions, my client would like to read out a prepared statement,’ Coppersedge said.
Meadows yawned and stretched. ‘Must he?’ she asked.
‘He must,’ Coppersedge said firmly.
‘Then let’s get it over with.’
Sutton took a folded piece of A4 paper from his pocket, and smoothed it out on the table.
‘I wish to apologize for the way in which I have behaved throughout this whole unfortunate incident,’ he read. ‘I accept that it was my responsibility to take care of Louisa Paniatowski, since I knew her to be a minor, and that I should not have delegated that responsibility to my daughter, who is herself still legally a child. I deeply regret the distress my carelessness has caused, and I am more than willing to offer DCI Paniatowski and her daughter compensation, either financially or in any other way that is deemed appropriate.’
‘Interview interrupted at ten seventeen,’ Meadows said, switching off the tape recorder. ‘Off the record,’ she told Sutton, ‘I think my boss would be willing to settle for compensation, if it was the right compensation.’
‘My client is willing to accede to any reasonable demands,’ Coppersedge said. ‘What exactly are we talking about?’
‘I think she rather fancies the idea of having Robert’s balls delivered to her on a platter,’ Meadows said.
Coppersedge scowled. ‘That is a most inappropriate comment, Detective Sergeant Meadows,’ he said.
‘Of course it is,’ Meadows agreed, ‘that’s why it’s off the record.’ She clicked on the recorder again. ‘Interview resumed at ten eighteen. Last night, Dr Sutton, you admitted to me that that you had known in advance that the victim, Louisa Paniatowski, would be abducted.’
‘My client strongly denies ever having made such a statement,’ Coppersedge said.
‘You must have known you were building up a lot of trouble for yourself by pulling a stunt like that on the daughter of a chief inspector, yet you went ahead with it anyway,’ Meadows mused. ‘And that leads me to believe that whoever’s jerking your strings must have a great deal of dirt on you.’
‘To reiterate, my client denies knowing, before the event, that Miss Paniatowski would be abducted,’ Coppersedge said.
‘Your client is sweating like a pig on a slaughterhouse conveyor belt,’ Meadows replied. She turned her attention to Sutton. ‘Whoever it is who’s got this hold on you, he won’t save you, you know. Your only chance, Robert, old chap, is to make a deal with me.’
‘We’ve heard enough,’ Coppersedge said. ‘Either charge my client or allow him to leave.’
‘All right,’ Meadows agreed easily. ‘If that’s the way you want to play it, then I’ll charge him.’
Coppersedge and Sutton exchanged anxious glances, but said nothing.
‘Well?’ Meadows asked. ‘Is that the way you want to play it?’
‘What would you be charging my client with?’ Mr Coppersedge said cautiously.
‘I’ve been thinking about that, and I’ve decided that facilitating paedophilia has a nice ring to it,’ Meadows told him.
Coppersedge relaxed. ‘You’ll never make that charge stick,’ he scoffed. ‘The girl was not sexually assaulted in any way.’
‘How do you know that?’ Meadows wondered.
‘Well, was she?’ Coppersedge asked, avoiding the question.
‘No, she wasn’t.’
‘Then there you have it,’ the solicitor said complacently.
‘Ah, but you see, Dr Sutton didn’t know that she wouldn’t be molested when he set the whole thing up,’ Meadows pointed out. ‘And you don’t get off a charge of bank robbery just because you find out when you open the safe that there’s no money in it.’
‘It’s not the same thing at all,’ the solicitor protested.
‘Isn’t it?’ Meadows asked. ‘Maybe you’re right. I wouldn’t know, because I’m not as clever as you. But the one thing I am sure of is that if Robert here doesn’t take a deal, his daughter will – because if there’s only one seat in the lifeboat, Ellie will make damn sure she’s got her pert little bottom on it.’
‘Ellie?’ Sutton gasped.
‘Oh, I’ll be arresting her, too. Didn’t I mention that?’
‘But you can’t!’
‘Of course I can. She was the one who invited Louisa to the party – she’s as guilty as you are, Robert.’
‘This is blackmail!’ the solicitor said.
‘It’s a statement of intent,’ Meadows countered.
Sutton really was sweating now.
‘If . . . if I tell you what I know, will I go to gaol?’ he asked.
‘I couldn’t even begin to guess at that until I know what it is that you know,’ Meadows said. ‘But whatever punishment you receive, it will be considerably reduced if you cooperate.’
Sutton glanced at his solicitor, and Coppersedge nodded to confirm that was true.
‘And what will happen to Ellie?’ Sutton asked.
‘If I’m happy with what you tell me, I’m willing to give Ellie a free pass,’ Meadows said.
Sutton took a deep breath. ‘I got a phone call at four o’clock on Monday morning,’ he said. ‘The man who called told me to organize a party and to make sure that Louisa was there.’
‘What’s the man’s name?’
‘I don’t know. I didn’t ask, and he didn’t tell me. It wouldn’t have been his real name, anyway.’
‘Well, that sounds perfectly reasonable, doesn’t it?’ Meadows asked Coppersedge. ‘A man you don’t know asks you to do something thoroughly reprehensible, and you agree immediately.’ She turned back to Sutton. ‘Did he offer you money?’
‘No – he reminded me that I had once known a girl called Brenda. And that was all he needed to say.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Meadows demanded.
‘It’s a long story.’
‘I like stories,’ Meadows said, ‘and as far as I’m concerned, the longer they are, the better. So let’s hear it, Robert.’
The note from Tommy Sanders had arrived a few minutes after Paniatowski had left. In it, Sanders said that he wished to talk to Beresford as soon as possible, on a matter of some urgency, and that Beresford should not go to the back door, because the old man would be waiting for him in his front parlour.
The words ‘front parlour’ had been underlined.
Lambs to the Slaughter Page 20