Backlash (10 page)

But she had considered it, she realized. There had been a small, malicious part of her which would have taken great pleasure from seeing Kershaw standing in the dock.

‘Mr Kershaw and I got off to a rocky start yesterday,' she said, ‘and I'll admit that was probably mostly my fault. But I want you to know I'll pursue this investigation with the same vigour I've pursued all the others.'

‘I never doubted it,' Baxter said.

Bollocks! Paniatowski thought.

Lucy lived in a better class of boarding house than she did herself, Marie thought – but then Lucy
would
, because she knew how to handle money almost as well as she knew how to handle men.

But even so, the differences were only skin-deep. Lucy's landlady might be more smartly dressed than her own, but she had the same look of avarice and hypocrisy in her eyes when she opened the door. And though the wallpaper in the hallway was nicer, this was still no more than a dormitory, where girls who prostituted themselves returned nightly to lick their wounds.

When she knocked on Lucy's door, a voice from inside called, ‘Come on in.'

But when Marie opened the door, it was plain from the expression on her friend's face that she was not the person who'd been expected.

Lucy was lying on her bed, reading a book – a slim, almost tiny book! – but when she saw Marie in the doorway, she quickly stuffed it under her pillow.

‘What's that you're reading?' Marie asked.

‘Nothing,' Lucy said awkwardly.

‘Is it a
dirty
book?' Marie asked.

Lucy sighed. ‘No, it's poetry,' she said. ‘At least, it is to me.'

Marie didn't understand what she meant by that, but then she often didn't understand Lucy, because Lucy was so smart.

But anyway, understanding the way that Lucy thought wasn't why she was there.

‘Grace wasn't in her room this morning,' Marie told her friend.

‘She might be with a punter,' Lucy replied.

‘Till eleven o'clock in the morning?' Marie asked. ‘You don't really believe that, do you?'

‘No,' Lucy agreed, with resignation. ‘I don't really believe that.'

‘We have to go to the police,' Marie said, desperately.

‘What's this “we”?' Lucy countered. ‘If you're so worried, why don't
you
go to the police?'

‘Cos I'm not brave enough to go on my own – an' you know I'm not.'

Lucy reached under the pillow, and ran her fingers along the book she had been reading earlier.

‘What would be the
point
of reporting it?' she asked. ‘I reported what happened to Denise, and nothing happened.'

‘That's cos you reported it to the wrong person.'

‘And I suppose you know who the
right
person is,' Lucy said sceptically.

‘Yeah, I do, as a matter of fact,' Marie said. ‘There's this important bobby who keeps getting her picture in the papers. I think she'd help us.'

‘I don't see
why
you should think that,' Lucy answered. ‘She might be a woman, but she's still a
police officer
, isn't she?'

‘She won't look at us like the men do,' Marie said stubbornly. ‘She won't think we're nothing but dirt. She's a nice person. You can tell that from her photo.'

‘You can tell it from a photograph in a
newspaper
!'

‘That's right.'

Lucy sighed. ‘Does she have a name – this important bobby of yours?'

‘Course she does. Everybody has a name.'

‘And what's hers?'

‘I can't remember exactly, because it's a funny foreign name, but I've got it written down somewhere.'

‘You're sure you're not making this up – or that you just imagined it?'

‘I'm definitely not making it up,' Marie said hotly. She pursed her brow. ‘It starts with a “pan”. That's right – it's “pan-something”!'

Beresford and Meadows were standing by the garden gate of Kershaw's house when Paniatowski's red MBA pulled up at the kerb. Beresford was smoking, but Meadows had refused his offer of a cigarette – so maybe that was another vice that she had managed to steer clear of.

‘Have the lab boys finished with the house?' Paniatowski asked Beresford.

The inspector nodded. ‘Yes, boss, they're back at headquarters now, running a check on the fingerprints.'

That wouldn't lead anywhere, Paniatowski thought. The intruder had been far too careful to have left his prints.

‘I suppose you might as well give Mr Kershaw his keys back, then,' she said.

‘I've already done that, boss,' Beresford told her.

‘Have you indeed?' Paniatowski asked, as a prickle of irritation ran through her. ‘Well, I must be getting really absent-minded in my old age, because I've absolutely no memory of authorizing that.'

Beresford looked sheepish. ‘You didn't authorize it,' he admitted, ‘but, like I said, the lab boys had no more interest in the place, and Mr Kershaw seemed eager to get back into his home, so I didn't see the harm in letting him.'

‘No harm at all,' Paniatowski said tartly, ‘except that it weakens the chain of command, which is one of the most effective instruments we have at our disposal.'

Christ, I sound just like a bloody police manual, she thought.

But Beresford had taken the point anyway.

‘You're right, boss, I was out of line and I'm sorry,' he said. Then he went and spoiled the apology by adding, ‘It just seemed to me that Mr Kershaw might be a bit happier back in familiar surroundings.'

‘You're not supposed to be his social worker, Inspector, you're supposed to be one of the police officers charged with investigating his wife's disappearance,' Paniatowski snapped. ‘And if you really want to make him happy, you could do worse than turn your mind to thinking about how we might get his bloody wife back!'

‘You're right, boss,' Beresford said, for a second time.

‘Where is Kershaw now?' Paniatowski demanded.

‘I think he's in the basement.'

‘And do I have your permission to go and talk to him, Dr Beresford – or do you think that might upset him too much?'

‘I made a mistake, boss, and I've apologized for it,' Beresford said. ‘Can't you let it rest at that?'

A wave of shame swept over Paniatowski. She and Beresford had been through so much together – had covered each other's backs so often – that he didn't deserve this treatment, whatever he'd done.

‘I'm sorry, Colin,' she said. ‘I'm just in a bloody mood today. He's in the basement, you say?'

‘That's right, boss.'

Paniatowski nodded, and walked towards the front door.

Beresford, feeling miserable, watched her progress. He had let Monika down, he thought, and – almost as bad, from his personal perspective – he had put himself into a position which had resulted in him being humiliated in front of the new – and increasingly appealing – sergeant.

Until that day, DC Jack Crane had never realized quite how many women's shoe shops there were in Whitebridge, but so far he had visited five, and he hadn't even really made a dent in his long list.

His heart sank when he saw that the one he was just entering was manned entirely by young women, because, however grave and official he tried to sound, young women always seemed compelled to flirt with him.

He showed his warrant card to a girl who said that her name was Cindy and she was assistant manageress.

‘Doesn't it make me sound old – assistant manageress?' she asked coquettishly. ‘But I'm only twenty-two.'

Crane, stuck for an appropriate reply, said nothing at all.

‘It's the truth,' Cindy said. ‘I won't be twenty-three until next April. Honestly!'

‘I believe you,' Crane said gruffly. ‘I'm looking for a shoe.'

Cindy giggled. ‘Well, you've come to the right place, because this shop is full of them.'

‘A specific shoe,' Crane said firmly. He took a photograph of the red heel out of his pocket. ‘The shoe that this heel came from.'

Cindy examined the picture. ‘Don't think we've ever stocked anything like that,' she said. ‘June! Liz! Come and have a look at this.'

The girls crowded around the photograph – and around Crane.

‘No, never had nothing like that,' June said. ‘Most of the customers what we get in here would be frightened they'd fall off heels like them and break their bloody necks.'

‘Language, June!' Cindy said, remembering, belatedly, that she was temporarily in charge.

‘Well, they would,' June said defensively.

‘The thing is, we'd have no call for shoes like that – not from our clientele,' Cindy said. ‘The plain fact is that that heel looks a little bit . . . a little bit . . . well, you know what I mean.'

‘No,' Crane admitted. ‘I don't think I do.'

‘It looks a bit
kinky
,' Cindy blurted out.

And her two companions almost split their sides laughing.

Paniatowski heard the click of snooker balls from the top of the stairs. But it was not the vigorous click that she would have heard if the player had been really absorbed in the game. Rather, the shots were spaced out, as if whoever was playing was merely forcing himself to go through the motions.

She had been in the basement the previous day, but then she had been looking for clues, and had divided it up – in her mind's eye – into a series of small squares which should be investigated individually. Now, as she walked down the stairs, she took in the whole room.

The dartboard was in one corner, the bar stood next to it and the snooker table, over which Kershaw was lethargically bent, was in the centre of the room. Several straight-backed chairs had been placed around a card table, and there were four easy chairs in front of a large television screen. On the far wall was a bookcase, which – in the spirit of the room – was probably filled with books on sporting topics.

The whole place had been carefully thought out, and every component of it blended perfectly with the others, which meant that the large empty space near the foot of the stairs really jarred.

‘That's where the cabinet for my sporting trophies is supposed to be going,' Kershaw said, following her gaze and reading her mind. ‘I was looking forward to installing it. It would have given me real pleasure. Now, however things turn out, I don't think I'll bother.'

Paniatowski reached the bottom of the stairs. ‘The chief constable has decided not to go public on your wife's disappearance,' she said. ‘He thinks that all the media attention it would throw up would only serve to get in the way of the investigation.'

‘He's probably right,' Kershaw agreed. ‘But how do you propose to explain away all the police vehicles that were here last night?'

‘Nobody saw them but the neighbours, and they probably thought that all those bobbies were just here for one of your celebrated parties,' Paniatowski said.

Jesus, I sound bitter! she thought.

‘I never did invite you to one of those parties, did I, Monika?' Kershaw asked. ‘But even if I had, you'd never have come.'

‘No, I wouldn't,' Paniatowski agreed. She took a deep breath. ‘We're going to have to put our differences behind us, you know – at least for the present.'

‘Agreed,' Kershaw replied. ‘But before we can do that, I need to apologize. It was wrong what I did when you were my sergeant, but I was a different man back then, Monika, I really was.'

Based on the evidence of his obviously happy marriage, she was inclined to believe him – but yet, remembering what a good actor he could be when the situation called for it, she was still not
entirely
convinced.

‘I've talked to Elaine's mother and sister this morning,' she said.

‘Oh yes?'

‘And what they told me was enough to convince me that whoever abducted Elaine probably did it to get back at you.'

‘Unless he wasn't trying to get back at
anybody
,' Kershaw said.

‘What do you mean?'

‘He could be just a psychopath, you know.' Kershaw swallowed hard. ‘I don't want to think that's what he is,' a vein on his forehead began to throb alarmingly, ‘because if he
is
a psychopath . . . if . . . he . . . is . . . a . . . psychopath . . .'

‘Stop right there!' Paniatowski ordered. ‘Take a few deep breaths.'

Kershaw did as he'd been instructed, and the purple sheen which had come to his face slowly drained away.

‘Better now?' Paniatowski asked.

Kershaw nodded. ‘It's still a possibility that has to be faced, you know,' he said, with great effort.

‘Yes, it is,' Paniatowski agreed. ‘And we won't be neglecting that as a line of inquiry. But I'll also be looking for anyone who has a grudge against you – and that's why I'm asking you now for access to the files on all the investigations you've conducted in the last five years.'

‘And if I say no?'

‘If you say no, I'll ask the chief constable to order you to give them to me. And if
he
refuses, I'll go over his head to the magistrate. But why
would
you want to say no?'

‘You're quite right, why would I?' Kershaw agreed. ‘But when your lads are working their way through the files, I want my lads sitting right next to them.'