âAnd once I saw what was going on there, I
knew
what had happened to Davie. There were still a few details that needed to be filled in, but Andy Adair was most forthcoming, once I'd given him the blow-lamp treatment.'
âYou decided that the four men most closely connected with Davie's death had to die themselves.'
âThat's right, ma'am. Len had betrayed Davie â and me â for thirty pieces of silver, Dunston had paid the money, Adair had managed the fight, and Stockwell . . .' A sob came to Cousins' throat. â. . . Stockwell had hanged my poor, sweet little dog when it was all over.'
âYou led this investigation on a merry dance,' Paniatowski said. She paused for a second. âWhen Stockwell's van burst into flame, you weren't even there. How did you manage that? A timer?'
âThat's right, ma'am.'
âAnd it was you who first introduced the idea of IRA involvement, and sent us off in entirely the wrong direction.'
âI didn't
like
doing it, ma'am, because I respect you as a bobby. And, as a member of your team, I wanted to do all that I could to help you. But I needed time to finish my work.'
âYou could have killed them all in one night, if you'd really put your mind to it,' Paniatowski pointed out.
âYes, I suppose I could,' Cousins agreed.
âOr you could have hidden the first few bodies until you'd finished the job â so we wouldn't even have been sure there'd
been
any murders.'
âTrue.'
âBut you didn't do that. You slit their throats with the closest thing you could find to a dog's teeth, you stripped their bodies, you posed them like fighting dogs, and then you put them on public display. Why?'
âYou know the answer to that, don't you, ma'am?' Cousins asked.
âYes, I rather think I do,' Paniatowski admitted. âBut I'd still like to hear it from you.'
âI couldn't kill all the members of the club â I knew my luck wouldn't hold out that long â but I
did
want to make all of them suffer. I wanted them to know what it was like to feel naked and afraid.'
âSo you left Stockwell's body at the home of the man who was financing the fights?'
âThat's right.'
âAnd you left Dunston's and Gutterridge's facing each other in the Rovers' stadium, because that was like the dog pit writ large?'
âExactly.'
âBut what I still don't understand is why you left Adair's body in the woods. Was the kennel owner â Toynbee â a member of the dog-fighting ring?'
âNo, ma'am. As far as I know, he's exactly what he seems to be â a decent man who loves animals.'
âWell, then?'
âI didn't do it for his benefit â I did it for his dogs.'
âFor his dogs?'
âDogs can sense evil. They can sniff out their natural enemies. I thought that I'd show them that â just once in a while â cruelty
wasn't
triumphant.'
âYou do
know
that you're insane, don't you?' Paniatowski asked.
âOh, yes, ma'am,' Cousins agreed easily. âIn fact, I'd go further than that.' He smiled. â
I'd
say I was barking mad!'
EPILOGUE
I
t was an unseasonably cold September morning, and even the birds in the elm trees seemed less enthusiastic about the start of the new day than they would normally have been.
Three people â a man, a woman and a Catholic priest â stood next to the newly re-opened grave and watched the coffin being slowly lowered into it.
âIt was kind of you to come with me, Colin,' Monika Paniatowski said, in a voice which was thick with emotion.
âThink nothing of it,' Beresford replied.
âDid I do the right thing?' Paniatowski wondered, and now there was anguish in her tone. âWould he have wanted to be buried in foreign soil, so far away from his beloved Poland?'
âFrom what you've told me about him, he'd have wanted anything that he knew would bring you some comfort. And this does.'
Paniatowski sniffled. âYes, it does.'
âBesides, after all these years, he's finally been reunited with his wife, and I think that would have mattered to him much more than a line on a map.'
âI'm not sure that's true,' Paniatowski said. âBut thank you for saying it, anyway. You're a true friend.'
âI'm better than that,' Beresford told her. âI'm a true
mate
.'
âYes,' Paniatowski agreed, sniffling again. âYes, you are.'
Two men stood watching the scene from a distance. One was tall and chunky, and had ginger hair. The other was more compact, with silvery hair atop a face which gave away nothing of what he was thinking.
âWhat made you go to all this trouble?' asked the chunky man, Chief Constable George Baxter.
âI knew it would mean a lot to Monika,' Mr Forsyth replied.
âIf I'd never seen the way you operate, I might almost believe you,' Baxter said. âBut since I have, I don't.'
Forsyth shrugged. âBelieve what you wish.'
âI think she's got something on you. You probably made her sign the Official Secrets' Act . . .'
âI did.'
â. . . and you were also probably very explicit about what would happen to her if she ran foul of it. But knowing Monika as you do, you weren't sure
that
was enough. You thought you needed an additional hold on her, and that's what returning the bones gave you.'
âPossibly,' Forsyth conceded.
âShe's
grateful
to you now â she might hate herself for that, but there's nothing she can do about it. And, for the record, I hold you in nothing but contempt for ever putting her in that situation.'
âWithout wishing to be impolite, I should tell you, again for the record, that your opinion of me is not something I will lose any sleep over,' Forsyth said. âI do what needs to be done in order to keep my country safe.'
âYou do it because you
love
doing it,' Baxter said harshly. âThe dirty tricks, the double-crossing, the intimidation, the assassinations â it's all meat and drink to you.'
âThat, too,' Forsyth agreed. âI am most fortunate in having a talent and a temperament which fit so well together.'
Paniatowski had turned, and begun to walk away from the grave. Beresford, by her side, held out his arm in case she felt a need for support, and she took it gratefully.
âJust tell me one more thing,' Baxter said to Forsyth. âAre they
really
her father's bones in that grave?'
âWhy don't you ask Monika?' Forsyth replied. âI'm sure
she'll
tell you they are.'
Baxter grabbed him by the lapels, and shook him furiously.
âI know what
she'll
tell me,' he growled. âBut I'm not asking her. I'm asking you, you bastard.'
He released his grip and took a step backwards. Forsyth brushed his lapels lightly, as if he'd just noticed a few specks of dust on them.
â
Are
they his bones?' he asked. âWhy wouldn't they be? They come from the battlefield on which he died, so there's as much chance they're his as there is that they're anybody else's.'