Death Watch (27 page)

‘That doesn't sound like you at all,' Woodend said.

‘It doesn't sound like any of us,' Rutter replied. ‘But I've seen what the killer did to Angela Jackson, and I'm willing to use
any
means if it will prevent the same thing happening to Mary Thomas.'

Woodend nodded. ‘That goes for me too, an' all,' he said.

‘And me,' Paniatowski told him.

Woodend looked at the big clock on the bar wall. It was ticking away the minutes to the closing bell – proving, with every jerk of its big hand, that time was not infinite.

Bob Rutter had said he would do anything to prevent Mary from suffering the same fate as Angela, but though none of them would admit it openly, they all knew, deep inside themselves, that whatever Dr Stevenson had theorized, it might already be too late.

N
orman Willis arrived back at his flat at just after midnight, but before he'd even had time to open the main door to the block, a dark figure – in the form of DC Colin Beresford – had stepped out of the shadows and informed him that he was being arrested on suspicion of drug-dealing.

Willis had first protested his innocence, then tried to bribe Beresford from the thick roll of cash in his pocket. Finally – when else had failed – he had resorted to taking a swing at the detective constable.

It was at that point he'd learned what a number of other men who'd resorted to violence had found out before him – which was that while Beresford might have a boyish appearance, there was nothing juvenile about the feel of his fist.

Willis had gone down, and – still dazed – had been vaguely aware of Beresford slipping the handcuffs on him.

Now, half an hour later, he was sitting in an interview room in police headquarters, waiting for his interrogation to begin.

He would not have to wait long.

Rutter looked down at the man sitting at the table. Norman Willis, he decided, had just the kind of attractive features which were necessary to get a job at the Pendleton Clinic, but since he'd left the place under a cloud, he seemed to have let himself go a bit. And the black eye certainly didn't help improve his appearance.

‘Police brutality,' Willis said, noticing that the inspector was examining his eye.

‘Or to put it another way, Constable Beresford beat you to the punch,' Rutter said. ‘But let's not waste our time buggering about with small talk – we both know we've got you cold for drug-dealing.'

‘Come off it, Inspector,' Willis said. ‘I hadn't got a single amphetamine on me when your lad launched his unprovoked attack.'

‘But you did have thirty-three pounds in used notes on your person,' Rutter pointed out. ‘Anyway, who mentioned anything about amphetamines? Maybe I was talking about marijuana.'

‘Maybe you were,' Willis agreed.

‘But pot isn't really your thing, is it? Everyone should have a speciality – and you've chosen to specialize in
prescription
drugs.'

‘Like I said, you didn't find any on me,' Willis said defiantly.

Rutter laughed. ‘The boys in our lab can do marvels with the new techniques they've developed recently. They can examine a hundred flies and tell you precisely which one of them it was that shat on your sandwich. So, knowing that, do you really believe that they won't find traces of the drugs you were carrying when they give your clothes the once-over?'

‘They were inside plas—' Willis began, then realized he'd been about to say too much, and clamped his mouth firmly shut.

‘Plastic envelopes?' Rutter supplied. ‘Well, maybe you're right. Maybe we won't find any traces of drugs – unless we decide to plant them ourselves.'

‘You can't …'

‘According to you, we're already guilty of police brutality, so why wouldn't we go the whole hog – and fit you up for drug-pushing? But to tell you the truth, Norman …' Rutter paused. ‘I can call you Norman, can't I?

‘I suppose so.'

‘To tell you the truth, Norman, I'm not really interested in charging you with drug-dealing.'

‘No?' Willis asked, suspiciously.

‘No,' Rutter assured him. ‘It's not worth my time and effort. Besides, what would be the point of pressing such a pissy little charge as that, when you're already going down for something much bigger?'

‘Something much bigger?' Willis asked, with a tremble in his voice.

‘Oh, didn't I mention that?' Rutter asked. ‘We'll be charging you as an accessory before the fact in the kidnapping and murder of Angela Jackson.'

‘Me?' Willis gasped.

‘You,' Rutter confirmed.

‘But I didn't … I swear I never …' Willis said hoarsely. ‘I promise … I've … I've never even met the girl.'

‘I believe you,' Rutter told him. ‘But you did provide the drug – halothane – that was used to dope her.'

‘I didn't know it was going to be used for that,' Willis protested.

‘Then what
did
you think it was going to be used for?'

‘I don't know.'

‘You didn't
think
at all, did you? As long as you were paid, you didn't care
what
it was used for? And that's negligence! That's why you'll end up behind bars until you're a very old man.'

‘There was nothing at all in the newspapers about halothane being used,' Willis said.

‘Quite right,' Rutter agreed. ‘That's one of the details we decided to hold back. But it
is
what he used – and you were the one who made it possible. So why don't you tell me how it happened?'

‘I … I was still working at the clinic at the time.'

‘I assumed you were.'

‘And … and I was borrowing a few amphetamines from the dispensary, now and again. It was only for my personal use – you have to understand that – and I'd never have taken them at all if I hadn't been under a lot of pressure …'

‘Get on with it!' Rutter growled.

‘One night, this man came up to me in a pub. He said he knew I'd been nicking stuff from the clinic, and he had half a mind to report me to the police. But then he went on to say that if I got a bottle of this halothane stuff for him, he'd give me twenty quid for my trouble, and forget all about the other thing.'

Rutter slammed his hand down hard on the table. ‘Do I look like a complete bloody idiot?' he demanded angrily.

‘No, you—'

‘Then don't try to treat me as if I was one. A man comes up to you in a pub, you say. You've never seen him before, but he not only knows who
you
are, he knows you've been stealing drugs from the clinic. And
that's
the story you want to go with, is it?'

‘I didn't say I'd never seen him before,' Willis protested.

‘
Had
you seen him?'

‘Yes. I hadn't actually talked to him, but I'd seen him around – because he was an out-patient at the clinic.'

‘What was wrong with him?'

‘I don't know. But he was seeing one of the shrinks.'

‘And did this man you'd seen around tell you his name?'

‘Course he didn't.'

‘How very convenient!'

‘But I made it my business to find out, because you never know when a piece of information like that might come in useful.'

‘So what
was
his name?'

Willis hesitated. ‘You'll drop all that “accessory before the fact” stuff, will you?'

‘As long as I don't uncover any new information which proves you knew exactly what was going on.'

‘You won't – because I didn't.'

‘Then you're off the hook for that.'

‘An' the drug-dealing charges?'

‘You're off the hook for those, too.
Now tell me his bloody name!
'

‘Edgar Brunton,' Willis said.

It was two o'clock in the morning, and most of Whitebridge was asleep. The street lights were still on in the centre of the town, but the buildings they stood in front of were in darkness. The only real signs of life in the entire area emanated from police headquarters – an island of light around the duty sergeant's desk in the lobby, another around the custody sergeant's desk in the lock-up, and a third coming from an office on the administrative floor which had been assigned to DCI Woodend.

Woodend sat at his desk, his head in his hands. Facing him were Rutter and Paniatowski. None of them had spoken for some time.

It was Woodend who finally broke the silence.

‘Sweet Jesus!' he groaned. ‘This is a rapidly turnin' into a complete bloody nightmare. Are you absolutely certain that this Norman Willis feller was telling the truth, Bob?'

‘I'm sure,' Rutter confirmed.

‘So we had the right man fingered from the very start. I bloody knew we did! It wasn't just the wallet – it was my gut feeling. And then we had to let him go – because the body turned up while he was still in custody.'

‘He's got to have had an accomplice,' Paniatowski said. ‘That's the only way to explain it.'

‘So what do we do now?' Rutter asked.

‘Now we'll have to arrest the bastard again.'

‘Crawley and Marlowe will never let us get away with that,' Paniatowski cautioned. ‘The moment they learn we've taken him in custody, they'll suspend all three of us, and kick him loose.'

‘Then we'll have to make sure they
don't
know, won't we?' Woodend said.

‘And how can we ever hope to get away with that?'

‘By not takin' him to headquarters.'

‘Then where can we …?'

‘We'll call in a few favours from the troops on the ground, an' lock him up in one of the outlyin' police stations which Marlowe pays so little attention to that he'll have almost forgotten they exist.'

‘But the second we've taken him away, his wife will be on the phone to the chief constable,' Paniatowski said.

‘Then we'll just have to arrest her, too.'

‘On what charge?'

‘Murder!'

‘Murder?'

‘Somebody had to smother that poor bloody girl an' then dump her body on that patch of waste land – an', at the moment, my money's firmly on Mrs Brunton.'

‘You do realize that if this goes wrong, we'll all be out on our ears, don't you, sir?' Rutter asked.

‘The thought had occurred to me,' Woodend admitted. ‘Which is why I'm givin' both of you a chance to pull out while you still can.'

‘I'm in,' Paniatowski said decisively.

‘What about you, Bob?' Woodend asked.

Rutter hesitated for a second, then he grinned.

‘What the hell,' he said. ‘If things do go wrong, I'm still good-looking enough to get a job as a porter at the Pendleton Clinic.'

It was three-thirty in the morning when Councillor Polly Johnson – who was by choice a magistrate and by bad luck a widow – heard her front-door bell ringing. At first she tried to ignore it, but when the ringing persisted she forced herself out of bed, threw on a dressing gown, and went downstairs to see who'd had the temerity to disturb her slumbers.

She looked at the big man standing in her doorway with some disdain. ‘For God's sake, Charlie, what are you doing here at this time of night?' she asked.

‘I need search warrants, Polly,' Woodend said apologetically. ‘An' I need them in a hurry.'

‘Obviously you need them in a hurry, or you'd have left it till morning,' Councillor Johnson said tartly. ‘But let me be clear about this. You are talking about search warrants in the plural?'

‘I am.'

Councillor Johnson put her hands on her hips. ‘Life's never simple with you, is it, Charlie?' she asked. And then, without waiting for an answer, she added, ‘I suppose you'd better come in, then.'

She led him into her kitchen, which was dominated by a large oak table. ‘You can sit here while I go and find the warrants,' she said. ‘If you want a beer …'

‘I wouldn't mind …'

‘… then you're out of luck, because there's none in the house. If you want whisky, there's a bottle in that cupboard over there, and you'll find glasses next to the sink.'

When she returned, five minutes later, Polly Johnson had a sheaf of warrants in her hand, and had clearly applied a little light make-up to her face.

Woodend, who had already taken up her offer of a drink, said, ‘Shall I pour a whisky for you?'

‘Jesus, no!' Councillor Johnson said, sitting down opposite him. ‘Not everybody has your cast-iron stomach, you know.'

‘When you've heard what I have to say, you might need it,' Woodend advised her. Then he filled a second glass, and placed it in front of her. ‘The first warrant is for Edgar Brunton's house,' he continued.

‘Is this in reference to the Angela Jackson case?'

‘Yes. An' the Mary Thomas case.'

‘As far as Edgar Brunton goes, you've already had one bite at that particular cherry,' Councillor Johnson reminded him.

‘I've got it right this time,' Woodend promised her.

‘I hope you have,' Polly Johnson said. ‘Because if you haven't, I'm going to find myself shunned at the few social functions I still attend.' She took a slug of the whisky Woodend had poured her, filled in the warrant, then said, ‘What are the others for?'

‘I don't know,' Woodend admitted.

‘When
will
you know?'

‘When I've searched Brunton's house.'

‘At which point you can come back here and I'll fill them in for you.'

‘There may not be time for that,' Woodend said. ‘We've no idea what state the poor kid's
already
in.'

‘So you expect me just to give you carte blanche, do you?' Polly Johnson asked.

Woodend grinned. ‘Of course not,' he said. ‘I just want you to give me warrants in which the only part that has been filled in is your signature.'