A Long Time Dead (10 page)

Woodend, for his part, stared into the corner of the room, and wished he were somewhere else entirely. But all the time Coutes continued with his patter, Woodend could feel the girl's eyes on him.

Finally, when the captain took a pause for breath, Mary said, ‘And what about you, Charlie? Have you got a girlfriend?'

It would have been easy to say ‘no' to this girl who made his heart beat faster just by saying his name, Woodend thought. But he had already made his choice – made his commitment – and wandering off the path he had chosen was not something he could bring himself do.

‘Yes, I have got a girlfriend,' he heard himself say. ‘Her name's Joan. We're hopin ‘to be married when the war's over.'

‘Well, that is nice,' Mary said, though she sounded just a little disappointed. She stood up. ‘Excuse me for a minute,' she continued, and headed for the women's toilets.

‘So what do you think, Sergeant?' Coutes asked, in a tone of leering confidentiality.

‘I think you're wastin' your time,' Woodend said frankly. ‘If you want to get your end away so badly, why don't you cosy up to one of them girls at the other end of the bar. Buy them a few drinks, an' they'll probably let you do what you like with them.'

‘You're forgetting what I said earlier about the paper bag and the clothes peg,' Coutes told him.

‘Mary's not goin' to give in to you,' Woodend said.

‘I know she isn't,' Coutes agreed.

‘Well, then?'

‘At least, she's not going to give in to me
tonight.
Maybe not even this week. But eventually – who knows?'

‘Why not just leave her alone?' Woodend asked.

‘Because, before the war, I used to ride to hounds, and I got rather a taste for the thrill of the chase,' Coutes said.

Woodend did not know what to do or say even at that moment, and as the weeks went by – as Coutes's plan seemed to be coming closer and closer to fruition – he began to feel even more helpless.

He supposed he could have told Mary just what kind of man Coutes really was, but after the snow job the captain had given her, he doubted she'd believe him. It was, he thought, like watching an impending train crash – knowing exactly what was going to happen, yet being powerless to prevent it.

What he did not know – what neither of them knew – was that an obstacle would suddenly appear on the track to derail Coutes's train just short of what seemed its inevitable destination.

And that that obstacle would come in the form of Captain Robert Kineally.

‘If push comes to shove, you can always claim that you killed Robert Kineally in self-defence,' Woodend suggested. ‘Yes, I think you could make out a reasonable case for that.'

‘I didn't kill him at all,' Coutes said coldly.

‘Maybe not,' Woodend agreed, ‘but if I could see I was goin' to be convicted of killin' somebody, whatever happened, I think I'd rather plead to a lesser charge than a greater one.'

‘You're enjoying all this, aren't you, you bloody bastard!' Douglas Coutes demanded.

‘“Enjoyin' it” isn't exactly the right phrase,' Woodend replied. ‘But I have to admit I'm gettin' some satisfaction out of seein' you suffer, after what you did to Mary Parkinson.'

‘I didn't
do
anything to her at all,' Coutes said. ‘At least, nothing
illegal
. If I had, don't you think Kineally would have seen to it that I was brought up on a charge? Nothing would have made him happier than to see me spend the next fifteen years in gaol. But he took no such action. And why? Because he knew he'd never make anything stick!'

‘Even so, he might still have the last laugh on you,' Woodend pointed out. ‘The dead hand of Robert Kineally could yet see you where he'd have liked you to be back in 1944.'

‘I wish we were both still in the army,' Coutes said. ‘If we were, I'd make you suffer for this insolence. By God, I would!'

‘You don't have to tolerate my insolence if you don't want to,' Woodend reminded him. ‘The only reason I'm involved in this investigation at all is because you wanted me to be involved. So you've only to drop a word in the right ear, an' I'll be out of here before you can say “court martial”.'

‘It's tempting,' Coutes admitted.

‘Then follow your instincts,' Woodend urged him. ‘Tell whoever it is who set the wheels in motion to bring me to Haverton Camp that you don't want me here any more.'

‘No, I don't think I
will
do that,' Coutes said. ‘You've had your satisfaction in seeing me suffer. Now I'd like to get my revenge by completely turning the tables on you.'

‘I've absolutely no idea what you're talkin' about,' Woodend told the Minister.

‘Then I'll explain in such a way that even a simpleton like you can understand. You didn't like me from the very moment we met, did you?'

‘No, it was dislike at first sight.'

‘But, as time passed, it went beyond dislike. You grew to truly despise me, didn't you?'

‘Very true. But I can't take all the credit for that – you made it really easy for me.'

‘So when you prove me innocent of this murder – and you
will
prove it – it will be like thrusting a dagger in your own gut. And when you see me walk away – more powerful than I've ever been – it will be twisting that dagger round in the wound. And I'll enjoy watching that,
Sergeant
Woodend. Believe me, I'll
really
enjoy it.'

‘You seem to be a lot more confident about the outcome than you were,' Woodend said.

‘What's that supposed to mean?'

‘That when you rang me up in Whitebridge, you were pretty near to shittin' yourself with worry. Now, you're takin' everythin' very calmly – almost
unnaturally
calmly.'

‘I did go into something of a panic when I heard about all the evidence which seemed to implicate me in the murder,' Coutes admitted. ‘But when I'd had time to think about it, I began to take a much more sanguine view of the whole affair. You see, since I'm innocent, I really have no need to worry.'

‘The evidence hasn't gone away,' Woodend reminded him. ‘It's still as strong as it ever was – an' it's still pointin' the finger at you.'

‘But not for much longer. You'll soon find a way to discredit it,' Coutes said confidently.

The bastard was still so arrogant, Woodend thought. Still so bloody,
bloody
arrogant!

‘I've been followin' your career through the reports in the newspapers for years,' he said to Coutes.

‘I'm flattered at your interest,' the Minister replied.

‘No, you're not,' Woodend corrected him. ‘And you shouldn't be. As far as I'm concerned, you're nothin' but a carbuncle on the arse of humanity. I'd have wiped you from my memory years ago, if it hadn't been for the fact that there's one question about you that I've always wanted to find an answer to.'

‘And have you finally found the answer you were seeking?'

‘No, I haven't. To tell you the truth, I think I'm about as far away from finding it now as I've ever been.'

‘Then why not ask me your question?' Coutes suggest. ‘Why not see if you can get your answer straight from the horse's mouth?'

‘All right, I will,' Woodend agreed. ‘The old Douglas Coutes – the one I knew – was not particularly principled, not particularly likeable, an' not particularly talented.'

‘That's a rather harsh judgement to make, don't you think?' Douglas Coutes asked, and it was plain from the expression on his face that he was starting to enjoy himself.

‘Harsh?' Woodend repeated. ‘No, I don't think so. If anythin', I'm givin' you the benefit of the doubt. Anyway, that's not the point.'

‘Then what is?'

‘I've been in this room with you for less than ten minutes – an' already I can tell that you haven't changed at all.'

Coutes smiled. ‘Then at least you have to give me full marks for consistency,' he said.

‘So my question is this,' Woodend continued, ignoring the interruption. ‘What's the secret of your success? How is it that you've managed to climb so far up the political ladder that some people are startin' to talk about you as a potential prime minister?'

‘Perhaps you're wrong about me,' Coutes said, with the amused smile still in place. ‘Perhaps I
have
changed over the years. Age may have mellowed me, and experience could well have taught me valuable lessons. Isn't it just possible that, in spite of what you seem to think of me, I have become a much better man than the one you knew all those years ago?'

‘Aye, an' it's also possible that pigs might fly, an' the leopard might trade in its spots for stripes,' Woodend said. ‘Come on, Mr Coutes, you know you're not goin' to fool me whatever you say, so why not break the habit of a lifetime, an' be honest for once?'

‘Do you really want to know how I succeeded?' Coutes asked, growing more serious.

‘I really want to know,' Woodend confirmed.

‘I think I'm going to tell you,' Coutes said reflectively. ‘But I won't do it to satisfy your childish curiosity – I'll do it because I know you won't like the answer, and that my answer will make it even harder for you, when you have to do the right thing and prove my innocence.'

‘Even for a politician, you're takin' one hell of a time to say what you've got to say,' Woodend told him. ‘So why don't you just forget all the neat phraseology an' cut straight to the chase.'

‘Very well, I will,' Douglas Coutes agreed. ‘Some people advance by playing to their own strengths. Most of my esteemed cabinet colleagues owe their current positions to doing just that. I, on the other hand, put much greater store in playing to
other people's
weaknesses.' He paused for a moment. ‘I told you that you wouldn't like the answer.'

‘Get on with it for God's sake,' Woodend told him.

‘Everyone makes mistakes,' Coutes continued. ‘Some people manage to get away with them, and others have their mistakes exposed to the full glare of public scrutiny. Now I've never exposed anybody else's failings in my entire life. But I haven't forgotten them, either – not a single one of them.'

‘I'll bet you haven't,' Woodend said dourly.

‘So now you have your answer.'

‘Do I?'

‘Of course. People help me to climb the ladder because they know that if they don't, I could damage them. In other words,' Coutes's smile returned, even more broadly now he was about to deliver his punch-line, ‘in other words – and only
figuratively
speaking – I know where all the bodies are buried.'

‘W
elcome to the operational command module!' Special Agent Grant said cheerily, as Woodend opened the door of the trailer into which all the cardboard boxes had been unloaded.

Operational Command Module! Woodend thought. Sweet Jesus!

Grant might be nearly thirty years younger than Henry Marlowe – and come from the other side of the Atlantic as well – but he was fluent enough in gobbledegook to make even the Chief Constable jealous.

‘So what do you think?' Grant asked eagerly.

‘I like it,' Woodend said, ‘but then I always have been partial to big caravans with a lot of table space.'

‘Say what?' Grant asked.

‘It's grand, lad,' Woodend replied, feeling slightly ashamed of himself for attempting to prick the bubble of Grant's enthusiasm. ‘It's just what we need to get the job done.'

And he didn't need to be a detective to see that the job was obviously already underway. The table was covered with documents, most of them turned yellow with age, and Paniatowski and Grant, positioned at opposite ends of it, had begun the tedious process of sifting through the stacks.

‘Well, Douglas Coutes was certainly here at Haverton Camp on the day that Kineally vanished,' Paniatowski said, looking up at her boss.

‘In all fairness to the man, he's never actually denied that,' Woodend pointed out.

‘And according to the documents I've examined so far, the last time Kineally was seen alive was on the seventh of May, 1944.'

‘Which was just a couple of days after I'd left,' Woodend said, almost to himself.

A couple of days after I met Mary Parkinson – in tears – on that railway station, he added mentally.

‘Well, if you weren't here at the time, sir – and you can
prove
you weren't – then I suppose that pretty much lets you off the hook as a possible suspect,' Paniatowski said.

Grant looked up from the table. ‘I didn't realize Mr Woodend
ever
was a suspect,' he said.

So earnest, Woodend thought. So literal, and so bloody earnest.

‘It was a joke,' Paniatowski explained.

Grant absorbed this new information carefully, and then laughed.

‘Oh, sure, I knew that all along,' he said, unconvincingly. He reached for a pile of shiny photographs, which were balanced precariously on the edge of the table, and handed them to Woodend. ‘Got some pictures here that just might be of interest to you.'

Woodend took the photographs from him, and found himself staring at the image of a knife which he had last seen, twenty-one years earlier, in the hands of Douglas Coutes.

The incident with the knife occurred on what might have been called Coutes's and Mary's third ‘date' in the Dun Cow.

The two of them were sitting at a table. Woodend – who Coutes had banished from their company in order that he might pursue his relentless campaign of seduction – had fallen into conversation with a young man in civvies.