Lambs to the Slaughter (23 page)

‘You're forgetting that I also saw him through the front window, when Len was arguing with him,' Susan pointed out.

‘You're quite right, I did forget that,' Beresford agreed. ‘Well, I don't think we have any more questions on the artist's impression, do we, Jack?'

‘No, sir, I don't think we do,' Crane replied obediently.

Susan looked relieved, and well she might, Beresford thought.

Since she first sat down with the artist, she'd been steeling herself to defend the details of the picture that would be produced, and now it looked as if she wouldn't have to.

She thought she was in the clear – and she couldn't have been wronger!

‘There are still a few more questions we'd like to ask you before we're finally done, aren't there, Jack?' Beresford asked.

‘Just a few,' Crane agreed. He reached into his pocket and produced a tape recorder. ‘And, if you don't mind, Miss Danvers, we'd like to record the conversation. It'll save taking notes, you see – and I'm
dreadful
at taking notes.'

‘He's not exaggerating,' Beresford said. ‘His notes really are indescribably dreadful.'

‘You are happy about us recording this, aren't you, Miss Danvers?' Crane asked.

‘Well, I wouldn't say I was exactly
happy
about it . . .' Susan Danvers began.

‘That's fine then,' Crane said, pressing the ‘record' switch.

‘We'll be showing this picture of yours to everyone in the village,' Beresford told Susan Danvers, ‘but we're not very hopeful of getting any results, because, as far as we can tell from the questions we've asked already, nobody else seems to have seen him at all.'

‘Len saw him,' Susan said.

‘Ah, yes, but you see, Len is dead,' Beresford pointed out.

‘Do you think I need reminding of that?' Susan asked, with a hint of anger in her voice.

‘You said he'd been sent by the Department of Education and Science, didn't you?'

‘Yes.'

‘And that Len showed you the letter they'd written to him?'

‘Yes.'

‘We couldn't find that letter anywhere in his house.'

‘Then maybe he'd thrown it out.'

‘You knew him better than most people, Miss Danvers,' Beresford said. ‘Did he normally throw his letters out?'

‘Not normally, no,' Susan Danvers admitted. ‘Maybe he threw this one out because the young man had upset him so much.'

‘Yes, that could be it,' Beresford agreed. ‘But I'll tell you what's strange – the DES says it never sent Len a letter. In fact, it says it never
received
one from him, either.'

‘It must have done. I posted it myself.'

‘And you're sure it was addressed to the DES, and not to some other government department?'

‘I'm sure.'

‘And they say that not only did they neither receive a letter nor send one, but they're certain they never sent a man to visit Mr Hopkins. Now how would you explain that?'

‘They must be mistaken.'

‘Are you sure you're not the one who's making a mistake?' Beresford asked. ‘Are you quite sure you're not making this man up?'

‘I saw him.'

‘Fine. Well, since that's settled, let's move on to something else, shall we?' Beresford suggested. ‘Now what shall we talk about? I know – how about last Sunday's brass band competition? You weren't with Len in Accrington, were you, Miss Danvers?'

‘No.'

‘So he didn't take you to the competition, and yet he'd taken you to so many other places – to Blackpool, for instance.'

‘He didn't take me to those places – we went together.'

‘So why didn't you
go together
to Accrington?'

‘I . . . I wasn't feeling well,' Susan said. ‘I decided to stay here.'

It was the first lie they could be sure they'd caught her out in – but it was a beauty.

‘So you never went to Accrington that day?' Beresford asked.

‘No.'

‘We have witnesses – quite a number of them – who saw you there. But perhaps they were mistaken – just like the people at the DES were mistaken.'

‘I . . . I did go to the competition in the end.'

‘But you've just said you
never
went to Accrington.'

‘What I meant was, I didn't go when everybody else did. But then, when I started feeling better, I changed my mind.'

‘Everyone else got there in specially chartered coaches, but you'd have been too late to catch one of them. So how
did
you get to Accrington?

‘I . . . I took the ordinary bus.'

‘That would have involved changing buses once you got to Whitebridge, wouldn't it?'

‘Yes.'

Beresford produced a bus timetable from his pocket, and studied it for a few moments.

‘And if I've read this properly, once you'd got to Whitebridge, you'd have had to wait half an hour at Whitebridge bus station for the Accrington bus,' he said.

‘There was a wait,' Susan admitted.

‘Indeed there was – a half an hour wait, in the middle of winter, when, being Sunday, the station café wasn't even open.'

‘It wasn't so bad,' Susan said weakly. ‘I walked up and down, and that kept me warm.'

‘It still seems like a long and arduous journey for a woman who, just a few hours earlier, hadn't felt well enough to even travel in a luxury coach,' Beresford reflected. ‘Still, I expect you thought it was worth it, because once you were there, you could be with Len.' He paused. ‘You did join Len, once you'd got to the competition, didn't you?'

‘No.'

Beresford raised his eyebrows in surprise. ‘You didn't? Why not?'

‘He . . . he was with some other people by the time I arrived. I didn't want to disturb him.'

‘You didn't go to Accrington with Len because he didn't want to take you,' Beresford said harshly. ‘He was getting rid of you, wasn't he?'

‘No, he—'

‘We've spoken to the minister at the evangelical church. We
know
he was going to dump you.'

Tears began to trickle down Susan Danvers' cheeks. ‘It wasn't Len's fault,' she said.

‘Then whose fault was it?'

‘It was the new minister's fault. The old minister said that what was past was past, and as long as we didn't touch each other in
that
way, there was no harm in me looking after Len now. But this new one has no love or compassion in him at all – he's an evil man.'

‘So how did you feel when, after twenty years of caring for him – of giving up your life for him – Len was about to dump you?'

‘How do you think I felt?' Susan sobbed. ‘I was heartbroken!'

‘But there wasn't just the heartbreak, was there? You were also very angry,' Beresford said.

‘No, I wasn't. I . . .'

‘For a while, you kept hoping he'd come back to you.'

Susan nodded. ‘Yes, I did.'

‘And on Sunday, when he ignored you at the brass band competition, something finally snapped. You arrived back in the village before him, went up to his house, and got in using the key he'd given you.'

‘No!'

‘I don't know why you decided to kill him while he was on the lavatory. Maybe it was because you wanted to rob him of his dignity, just as he'd robbed you of yours. Maybe it was just that he'd be easier to kill when he was sitting down with his pants around his ankles. But whatever the reason, you made sure he'd need to go to the lavatory in the night by spiking his cocoa powder – which you knew he always drank before going to bed – with laxative.'

Susan said nothing, but from the look on her face, it was plain that at least one of the inspector's comments had really hit home.

‘And then we come back to this,' Beresford continued relentlessly, holding up the sketch that the police artist had drawn. ‘You wanted to make sure that suspicion didn't fall on you, so you invented this mysterious stranger who had an argument with Len, and who just possibly might have killed him.'

‘You're right, he did rob me of my dignity,' Susan said. ‘He didn't mean to, but he did. Even so, I could never have robbed him of his, because I loved him too much.'

‘Did you hear what I said about inventing the mysterious stranger?' Beresford asked.

But it was plain that she hadn't – or that if she had, she didn't care.

‘
Because I loved him too much
,' she repeated. ‘Even when he was dead, I tried to rescue his dignity by pulling his trousers up again, but it was too awkward, and I was too weak and upset. I . . . I got them as far as his knees, and then I just had to stop.'

‘So you tried to pull up his trousers again after you'd killed him?' Beresford said.

‘I tried to do it after I found him in the morning,' Susan replied.

‘Listen, Susan, we've got more than enough evidence to convict you, so why don't you make it easier on yourself and just admit you did it?' Crane said persuasively. ‘If you tell the truth now – to the two of us – your barrister will be able to argue in court that your mind was unbalanced by the horrible way you'd been treated. He'll say that you just lost control, and that you're very sorry for what you've done.'

‘Then he'd be telling lies,' Susan said.

‘You'd have both the judge and the jury on your side. You could be released after no more than a couple of years.' He paused to let his words sink in. ‘But if you say nothing, you'll start to look like a cold-blooded killer, and they'll lock you up for life.'

‘Do you really think I might only get two years?' Susan asked.

‘Well, I'm not giving you any guarantees, but with a bit of luck, it could well be only two years,' Crane said awkwardly.

‘And what would I do when they released me?' Susan asked.

The question seemed to knock Crane off balance.

‘Well, I suppose you could come back here,' he said finally.

‘To
what
?' Susan demanded. ‘What is there here for me, now that Len's dead?'

‘You'd still have time to build a new life,' Crane said weakly.

‘You're a fool,' Susan told him. She turned to Beresford. ‘I might as well go to prison for life, because my life is over,' she said. ‘But I still have a little pride left – and I won't confess to a murder I didn't do. I just won't!'

P
aniatowski parked her red MGA in front of the church hall. It had been less than thirty-six hours since she had first arrived in this village, she thought, but so much had happened in that time.

Thirty-six hours ago, she had thought herself as happy as any woman who had lost the love of her life could be.

Thirty-six hours ago, she had believed she was making a reasonable job of being a mother.

And now?

And now, the only thing she was sure of was that she needed to know what had happened to her daughter, and
why
it had happened.

She knew there'd been a breakthrough in the case the moment she entered the church hall.

She could feel it in the air. She could see it in the expression on the faces of the four or five detective constables who were sitting around the horseshoe – expressions which said that the investigation was all but over, and now all that was necessary was to tie up the loose ends.

Beresford, who had been talking to the sergeant, noticed her arrival, and walked over to her with a broad grin on his face. Then, perhaps remembering that the whole world was not made up exclusively of his personal triumphs, he grew more sombre.

‘How's Louisa?' he asked.

‘The doctor found no evidence of assault . . .'

‘Thank God for that!'

‘. . . but she's still pretty shaken up. As a matter of fact, I'm still pretty shaken up myself.'

‘It'll be rough at first, but it will get better,' Beresford promised her. ‘And if there's anything I can do, Monika – and I do mean
anything
– then you only need to ask.'

He was a good friend, she thought. He was her
best
friend.

She smiled. ‘Thank you for your concern, Colin – and now you can tell me your news.'

The grin was back on Beresford's face.

‘We got her, boss,' he said.

‘Her?' Paniatowski repeated.

‘Susan Danvers.'

Paniatowski's stomach turned an instant somersault.

Susan Danvers!

That just didn't feel right.

‘They say that Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned – and in this case they're spot on,' Beresford continued.

‘Has she confessed?'

‘Not yet. But I've sent her back to Whitebridge, and after a couple of hours in the holding cells, she should be more than willing to come clean. Anyway, it's time for a celebratory piss-up in the Green Dragon, don't you think?'

‘That sounds like a good idea,' Paniatowski said, hoping she sounded more enthusiastic than she felt.

Crane joined them in the Green Dragon, but not Meadows.

‘Where's Kate?' Paniatowski asked.

‘She's still not got back from Accrington,' Beresford said, ‘and, as a matter of fact, I'm rather glad she's not here.'

‘Why's that?'

‘She was really rather rude to me in here last night, wasn't she Jack?' Beresford said.

Crane looked embarrassed. ‘I think we were all a little tense last night,' he said.

‘Anyway, she's done a splendid job in Accrington – I'd never have been able to put the case together without her contribution – and as soon as she's apologized for her behaviour, I'll be more than willing to welcome her back into the fold,' Beresford said.

Wrong attitude! Paniatowski thought sadly. It was completely the wrong attitude.