A Walk With the Dead (3 page)

‘So, as it turns out, we could both have gone to Vanessa Clough's wedding after all,' Jo said.

‘You're not listening, love – I'm not running late because I've wasted time, I'm running late because I had paperwork that needed doing,' Baxter replied. ‘Anyway, you hardly know either the Freemans or Cloughs, so you wouldn't have enjoyed the thing at all, and, speaking for myself, I would have been bored out of my socks.'

‘Will there be somebody else at the wedding to represent the police?' Jo asked.

‘Yes, there'll be someone there,' Baxter said.

‘Who?' asked Jo, sensing he didn't want to tell her who that ‘someone' would be.

‘A suitably high-ranking officer,' Baxter said, stalling.

‘Who?' Jo repeated.

Baxter sighed. ‘DCI Paniatowski,' he admitted.

Jo shivered.

‘So why were you being so evasive about it?' she asked, with a slight tremble to her voice.

‘I'm sorry, love, I should have told you right off that it was DCI Paniatowski, but every time I mention her name, you go weird on me,' Baxter said.

That was true enough, Jo agreed silently. For though she knew her husband's relationship with Monika Paniatowski had been over for some time before she had met him herself, even the mention of Paniatowski's name was sometimes enough to start her feeling insecure.

‘Were you the one who wangled her the invitation?' she heard herself ask accusingly.

Baxter sighed. ‘No, it wasn't me. I had nothing to do with it.'

‘Then why was she invited? Why didn't they invite someone of a higher rank – like Chief Superintendent Potter?'

‘Monika knows both families. Maybe that was the reason.'

‘
How
well does she know them?'

‘I don't know,' Baxter admitted wearily.

‘Does she know them better than Tom Potter knows them?'

‘Probably not – but Monika's a celebrity, and Tom isn't.'

‘A celebrity,' Jo repeated, with disgust.

‘That's what she is, whether you like it or not,' Baxter said. ‘Since she's taken over from Charlie Woodend, she's solved several murders which were such big news that they were splashed all over the front pages of the papers.'

‘
She's
solved them,' Jo said bitterly. ‘You don't mention the rest of her team, I notice – it's all down to clever little Monika.'

‘Of course it's not, but that's how it's perceived by the general public, and that's why there's a certain cachet to having her at your function. She doesn't like it – I know that for a fact – but she's stuck with it.'

‘I'll just
bet
she doesn't like it,' Jo said.

‘Perhaps you can see now why I was reluctant to mention her name,' Baxter said. ‘The way you react to it, it almost seems as if you think we're having an affair.'

‘Having a
second
affair,' Jo corrected him.

‘All right, having a second affair,' Baxter conceded. ‘Well, we're not.'

‘I know you're not.'

And so she did. George was too decent and honourable a man to attempt to reignite the relationship, even if Monika were to prove willing.

‘I love you,' Baxter said.

She was sure of that, too. Yet there were times, when they had made love and lay side by side in bed, that she couldn't help feeling that he would rather it was Paniatowski who was beside him.

‘Will you be able to slip back home for a few hours, sometime in the week?' she asked.

‘I doubt it,' Baxter replied. ‘The thing is, love, I never wanted to be given this inquiry in the first place, and the sooner it's over and done with, the sooner I can get back here.'

‘Back to running your precious police force,' Jo said – and instantly wished she hadn't.

Baxter looked hurt. ‘Back to
you
,' he said.

‘I knew that's what you meant, really,' Jo said, smiling in an effort to take the sting out of her previous words.

Baxter closed his case and clicked the fasteners shut.

‘Right, I'll be off, then,' he said.

He crossed the bedroom, bent down, and gave Jo a kiss.

It had been a nice kiss, she thought, as she listened to him walk down the stairs – a warm kiss, a loving kiss. But she wondered if there would have been more passion behind it if the person he'd kissed had been Monika Paniatowski.

Jill Harris walked around the far side of the top table and came to a halt next to Robert Freeman's chair. Robert, engaged in conversation with one of the other guests, did not notice her at first, but when he did become of aware of her, he turned and said, ‘Is there something I can do for you, Jill?'

He sounded a bit worried, she thought. Maybe he was afraid she would make a scene. Well, it wouldn't be the first time that had happened.

‘Would you like to dance with me?' she asked.

Though her new uncle heard the words, he seemed unable to register the meaning.

‘What did you say?' he asked.

‘A dance. Would you like to dance with me?'

A smile slowly spread across Robert's face. It was a smile of relief, but also of pleasure.

‘I'd be more than honoured to dance with you,' he said, standing up and taking her hand.

She might quite get to like this man if he wasn't married to her auntie, Jill thought. But he
was
married to her auntie – and that was unforgivable.

Mac Williams, the leader and saxophone player of the Mac Williams Quartet, stepped up to the microphone.

‘It's been both a great pleasure and a great honour for us to play at Vanessa and Robert's wedding,' he said, ‘and in anticipation of a rebooking – for their silver wedding celebration – we'd like to give you our own special version of the “Anniversary Waltz”.'

Oh God! Paniatowski thought. Haven't I endured enough saccharine for one day?

She looked around for the parents of either the bride or groom, and could see neither pair.

It didn't really matter, she told herself – she would write them both a note apologizing for having to leave without saying goodbye, and thanking them for inviting her to this wonderful wedding.

Sticking close to the walls – to make her exit as discreet as possible – she was already out of the door when the first few chords of the ‘Anniversary Waltz' fought their way clear of Mac Williams' golden saxophone.

‘Do you know how to waltz?' Robert asked Jill, as he led her over to the centre of the dance floor.

‘I'm not sure,' the girl admitted.

‘It's not so difficult,' Robert assured her. ‘Take my right hand in your left, and put your left hand on my shoulder. Then look down at what I'm doing with my feet, and just do the same yourself, and by the time the song's over, you'll be dancing like a real expert.'

It was all going wrong, Jill thought. He was being much too nice.

They started to dance. Jill was clumsy, but not as clumsy as she might have been, and was beginning to quite enjoy it. Then, as Robert twirled her around, she saw her Auntie Vanessa watching them – an indulgent smile on her face – and something snapped inside.

Jill pressed up tighter against Robert. She was not sure why she was doing it. Perhaps it was to embarrass him. Perhaps it was to hurt the aunt who had betrayed her. Maybe, even, she hoped to stir up trouble between the bride and groom. But whatever her reasons, she moved in on him, her legs touching his, her thin bosom pressed heavily against his lower chest.

‘Steady on, little girl,' Robert said jocularly. ‘If you're as close to me as that, you'll not be able to see my feet.'

‘I'm not a little girl,' Jill said fiercely.

‘Of course you're not,' Robert agreed hastily. ‘You're a young lady. But I still think you're dancing far too close for both our comfort.'

She was suddenly feeling both hot and ashamed. When she pulled her hand out of his and stepped backwards, she encountered no resistance.

‘I'm not feeling very well at all,' she mumbled. ‘I need to sit down.'

‘Yes, I think that would be a good idea,' said Robert, who was still not entirely clear about what had just happened.

Paniatowski paused to light a cigarette on the steps of the Royal Victoria Hotel, and was surprised to discover that she was feeling guilty about the fact that she had not gone over and talked to the unhappy girl in the pink flounced dress.

‘You're an idiot,' she told herself.

Why should she have gone and talked to the girl? She wasn't family. She didn't even know the kid. There must have been at least twenty or thirty people in that banqueting room who were better qualified to deal with the child's misery. And anyway, kids weren't like adults – what looked to them like the end of the world one moment could seem of little consequence a few minutes later.

So she was in the clear, she decided – she absolved herself of all failings, and would banish the sad girl completely from her mind.

And so she did.

But later – when she saw Jill Harris for a second time – all these thoughts would come flooding back to her.

T
he village of Dunston was a medium-sized hamlet of stone-built cottages, on the main road from Pickering to Whitby. It had one pub, a post office, a couple of shops, and boasted that it was in the heart of the North Yorkshire Moors. What it did
not
boast about was its penal institution, and the side road which led to HM Prison Dunston was so badly signposted that the first time Baxter had driven through the village, he had missed the turning completely.

He was more successful on his second attempt, and was soon travelling along a narrow asphalt road, with the wild moors on either side of him.

Had any modern government contemplated building a prison in such a beauty spot, he thought as he drove along, there would have been a roar of anger from local conservationists which would have rattled the windows of the Houses of Parliament, two hundred miles away. But the prison had been built in the 1860s, when people had known their God-given place in society – ‘the rich man in his castle, the poor man at his gate' – and if the Queen wanted to put a prison in the middle of unspoiled nature, well, they probably supposed that it was
her
unspoiled nature, and nothing to do with them at all.

There was a slight rise in the road, and once he was over it, he had a view of the prison in all its stark majesty.

He could see now that the road did not go beyond the jail, but stopped at its imposing large gates.

‘The end of the road,' he mused – and wondered whimsically how many prisoners, about to begin long sentences, had seen the bitter irony of that.

He pulled up at the gatehouse, held his warrant card out of the window, and smiled.

‘Chief Constable George Baxter,' he said to the guard. ‘I have an appointment to see the governor.'

‘He's expecting you,' the guard replied, stony faced.

‘Nobody loves an inspector,' Baxter mused, as the gates began to open, and he slowly edged his car forward.

Louisa, who had been building up her cash reserves for some time, had finally decided to build on both Mayfair and Park Lane.

‘Are you sure you want to do that, darling?' Paniatowski asked sweetly. ‘It is rather putting all your eggs in one basket, and if you should happen to land on either Whitechapel or the Old Kent Road . . .'

‘I'll have plenty of cash to pay the rent,' interrupted her daughter, waving a handful of Monopoly money at her, ‘whereas if you land on either of my properties, you'll be wiped out. However, since you
are
my dear old mum, I'm willing to offer you a deal.'

Dear old mum! Paniatowski thought. Good God!

But she was edging towards forty, and she supposed that – in Louisa's terms – that
did
make her old.

‘What kind of deal are you offering?' she asked, suspiciously.

‘Pay me five hundred pounds now, and if you land on Park Lane, I'll let you off the rent,' Louisa told her.

‘And what if I land on Mayfair?'

‘Insuring against that will cost you a thousand.'

Paniatowski shook her head slowly, in mock disgust. ‘I don't know how I ever came to raise such an avaricious girl,' she said. ‘Have you absolutely
no
shame, Louisa?'

‘What's your answer – yes or no?' her shameless daughter demanded.

Could she ever be happier than this? Paniatowski wondered.

Was anything better than playing a viciously cut-throat game on Saturday night, with the daughter she loved?

‘I'm still waiting,' Louisa reminded her.

‘Hang your offers, you bloated capitalist,' Paniatowski said. ‘I'll take my chances.'

‘Then roll the dice,' Louisa suggested.

The phone rang in the hallway.

‘I'll have to answer that,' Paniatowski said.

‘Go ahead, Mum,' her daughter agreed. ‘But it'll be a reprieve, rather than a rescue.'

The caller was a woman.

‘My name's Mary Harris,' she said. ‘You don't know me, but I saw you at my sister's wedding reception this afternoon.'

‘Yes?' Paniatowski replied, puzzled as to what might come next.

‘Did you happen to notice my daughter, Jill? She was sitting in the corner, on her own.'

‘Pink flounced dress?' Paniatowski asked.

‘That's right. The thing is, you see, she's gone missing.'

Paniatowski felt her stomach turn over.

‘What do you mean, Mrs Harris – missing?'

‘Well, she left the reception a couple of hours before I did. I know I shouldn't have let her go on her own, but it was still light outside, and we only live walking distance from the Royal Vic, so I didn't see that any harm could come to her.'

‘But now you think you might have been wrong about that?' Paniatowski asked cautiously.