A Walk With the Dead (13 page)

‘Yes,' the girl replied, as tears started to appear in her eyes.

‘Why are you sorry?'

‘Because . . . because we were all so horrible to her.'

It wasn't a logical connection, Meadows thought – but it was a perfectly understandable one.

‘Horrible?' she repeated.

‘Yes,' Jane confirmed, and started to sob in earnest.

Meadows looked anxiously at Mrs Pierce, who nodded to signal that she could go on for just a
little
longer.

‘What made you decide to be horrible to her?' Meadows asked.

‘We . . . we caught her kissing Tilly.'

‘On the lips?'

‘Yes. And Antonia said . . . Antonia said it was disgusting, and we had to make them stop.'

‘So why did you tell all those lies about the reason for the fights?' Meadows asked.

‘Because . . . because Miss is here.'

‘Why should that stop you?'

Even through Jane's tears, Meadows could see the look of amazement in her eyes that anyone should need to ask such a stupid question.

‘We couldn't say anything because teachers don't know about things like that,' Jane said.

W
hen Dolly Turner's lover called her (how she adored that term –
lover
– it was so sophisticated, so grown-up!) he suggested that they meet in the park as normal, but Dolly herself was far from happy about that.

‘There was a murder there, only a couple of nights ago,' she protested. ‘It was a girl – just like me.'

‘I'm sure she wasn't
at all
like you, you little sexpot,' Tony – the lover – replied.

Dolly felt a warm glow flush through her entire body. If one of the boys she knew at school had called her a sexpot, it would have meant nothing to her, because they were no more than pimply youths, and didn't know what they were talking about anyway. But when Tony – a man of the world – used those words, it was like being crowned the May Queen.

Even so, she still didn't like the idea of going to the park.

‘The bobbies will be there,' she said weakly.

‘The police
were
there – there were all over the place yesterday – but they're not there now,' Tony said, with a firmness in his voice which she sometimes found a little intimidating.

‘What if the murderer comes back?' Dolly asked.

Tony laughed. ‘What if the murderer comes back?' he repeated. ‘You are a silly little sexpot. Whoever he is, he'll be long gone, won't he?'

‘I don't know.'

‘Look,' Tony continued, more seriously, ‘we both know why the park is the best place for us to meet, don't we?'

‘Do we?'

‘Of course we do – and it's the best place for us to meet
because
. . .'

He paused again, for her to complete the lesson that he had taught her.

‘Because it's safe,' she said reluctantly.

‘Exactly!'

‘But it wasn't safe for Jill Harris.'

‘I'm not talking about Jill Harris – I'm saying it's safe for
us
.'

‘A pub would be safe.'

‘No, it wouldn't. People would soon notice us in a pub. Besides –' Tony laughed again – ‘I'd get into big trouble for taking a girl of your age into licensed premises.'

‘I want to go to a pub,' Dolly said stubbornly.

‘Well, you can't,' Tony replied, and now he sounded more like her father than her lover. Another pause. ‘Look, I know this is difficult for you . . .'

‘It is.'

‘But it's not exactly easy for me, either. So if we were to both decide that,
because
it's so difficult, we probably shouldn't . . .'

‘No,' she gasped, cutting him off before he said something he would find it hard to go back on.

‘So we'll meet in the park – usual time, usual place?' he asked, with a hint of satisfaction in his voice.

‘Yes,' she agreed, defeatedly.

It was early evening. The quick-drink-after-work brigade had already gone home, and the out-for-the-night boozers had not yet arrived, so the team had the public bar of the Drum and Monkey almost to themselves.

It was Colin Beresford who had everybody's attention at that moment.

‘I'm afraid it was just as we thought it might be,' he said, opening his briefcase and laying the results of the detective constables' search on the table. ‘It was a nice day on Saturday, and there were a fair number of people in the park in the early afternoon. But by the time Jill got there, it was pretty much deserted.'

‘When did Tilly Roberts get to the park, Kate?' Paniatowski asked her sergeant.

‘At about a quarter to five,' Meadows answered.

‘And did she see anybody?'

‘Not a soul. She spent about five minutes looking round for Jill – because Jill had promised she'd be there if she could get away from the wedding – and then she went home.'

‘Have you drawn up a list of possible suspects, Colin?' Paniatowski asked.

‘Yes, I have,' the inspector confirmed, ‘but I'd be lying if I said I was happy with it.'

‘Why's that?'

‘Because given the actual details of the crime – no torture, no sexual assault – it's a pretty
thin
list. If Jill
had
been mutilated or interfered with, we could have pulled in at least a dozen men who've shown a tendency towards that sort of thing, even if they haven't actually gone over the edge before. As it is, I've only come up with three or four names, and I've been scraping the bottom of the barrel a bit to find even that many.'

‘Maybe the murder had nothing at all to do with the killer's own sick sexual fantasy,' Jack Crane suggested. ‘Maybe he killed her simply because he hated her.'

‘Hated her?' Beresford repeated. ‘But she was just a kid!'

‘
You
think of her as a kid,' Crane said, ‘but perhaps when the killer looked at her, he didn't see a kid at all – he saw a lesbian.'

‘In other words, he hated her not for
who
she was, but for
what
she was,' Paniatowski said, with quickening interest.

‘That's right, boss.' Crane turned to Meadows. ‘Jill and Tilly had met in the park on other occasions, hadn't they, Sarge?'

‘Two or three times.'

‘And they probably did more than just hold hands when they were there, didn't they?'

‘Tilly's very sketchy on the details, but the love bites on Jill had to come from somewhere, so I think we can assume that that's the case.'

‘So say our killer sees them on one of those occasions. He's shocked and horrified by what they're doing. He regards it as an abomination.'

‘Why doesn't he say something to them about it, then and there?' Paniatowski asked.

‘I don't know,' Crane admitted. ‘Perhaps he's
too
shocked to do or say anything. Perhaps he doesn't quite appreciate what he's seen at the time, but thinking about it later, the full implications hit him.'

‘Or maybe he
wants
to kill her then and there, but since there are so many people around, he decides it would be wiser to hold off,' Meadows said.

‘So he's got her marked down as his target, and the first real opportunity he gets is last Saturday afternoon?' Paniatowski asked.

‘Or possibly he had no intention of killing her
until
he saw her in the park again,' Crane said.

‘It's Bill Horrocks!' Beresford said excitedly. ‘It's bloody Bill Horrocks.'

‘Who's Bill Horrocks?' Meadows asked.

‘I should have thought of him before,' Beresford said, ignoring the sergeant and directing his remarks to Paniatowski, ‘but until young Jack came up with his lesbian-hating idea, he didn't fit the profile!'

‘Easy, Colin,' Paniatowski cautioned. ‘I admit he's starting to look like a good prospect . . .'

‘It has to be him.'

‘. . . but we don't want to go putting all our eggs in one basket, so while we'll certainly pull him in for questioning, we'll pull in the men already on your list, as well.'

‘It has to be Billy Horrocks,' Beresford said firmly.

Dolly liked the sex. It could be uncomfortable – and sometimes even quite painful – but she was sure she liked it. What she
didn't
like – what depressed her – was the time straight after it, when Tony had taken the thing off his thing, thrown it into the bushes, and was pulling his trousers back up.

She wasn't quite sure
why
it depressed her. Perhaps it was because Tony didn't really seem to be there any more. Or perhaps because she sensed that he wished
she
wasn't.

‘That was nice, wasn't it?' she said tentatively.

Tony brushed some dirt off his suit. ‘Could you get off my coat now, Dolly?' he asked.

She stood up, feeling thoroughly miserable. Tony picked up the coat, shook it, then slipped it on.

‘You did like it, didn't you?' she asked desperately. ‘I did everything you wanted me to.'

‘You were great,' he said.

But there was no conviction behind his words – no real warmth.

Her lover clicked on his lighter, and examined his wrist watch in its naked flame.

‘Right, I'd better be off,' he said. ‘I'll give you a ring when we can meet again.'

‘Couldn't you walk me to the end of the park?' Dolly asked.

‘You're a big girl now – you don't need me to hold your hand,' Tony said, irritated.

No, I don't
need
you to hold my hand, but I
want
you to, she thought.

‘What if the murderer's still about?' she asked, almost in tears.

‘I've told you, he'll be long gone.'

‘It wouldn't take you five minutes.'

Tony sighed. ‘Somebody might see us. Besides, I've got another appointment.'

‘You mean, you have to go home,' Dolly said bitterly.

‘You've known right from the start about my domestic situation,' Tony countered.

‘You what?'

‘You've known that I was married.'

‘Yes, but . . .'

‘But nothing! This is the way it has to be – at least for the present.'

‘At least for the present,' she repeated.

He put his hands on her shoulders and kissed her forehead.

‘One day, we'll be together all the time, but that day hasn't come yet,' he said softly. ‘You will wait, won't you?'

‘Yes,' she agreed, ‘I'll wait.'

He removed his hands. ‘Right then, as I said, I'd better be getting off,' he told her.

And then he walked rapidly through the bushes, heading for the path which led to the south gate.

Dolly shivered, partly because it was cold in the park, but partly because she had an uneasy feeling that she was being watched.

George Baxter – a whisky in one hand, his pipe in the other – was sitting in his room at Dunston Prison, feeling personally and professionally miserable.

It hadn't been a good day, he told himself. In fact, it had been a perfectly awful day.

He had rung Jo twice and she'd hung up on him both times, which – he admitted – was perfectly understandable when you looked at things from her perspective. But he had a perspective, too. He had a police force to run, a marriage to prop up and a suicide to investigate – and it was all bloody hard work.

He forced himself to focus on his investigation. The crucial question of whether or not the prison authorities had been negligent was still unanswered. And it was likely to
remain
unanswered, because though he couldn't say definitely that everyone he'd interviewed had deliberately blindsided him, he strongly suspected that was just what they
had
done.

He'd been far too orthodox in his approach to the whole inquiry, he decided. It was time he started talking to a few officers who didn't have a vested interest in what conclusions the investigation drew. And it was time, too, that he started questioning someone from the
other side
of the bars.

Louisa, already wearing her pyjamas and dressing gown, met Paniatowski at the front door.

‘How did it go today, Mum?' she asked, with a barely suppressed gleam of excitement in her eyes.

Paniatowski placed her briefcase on the hall table and bent down. ‘A hug would be nice – if you could spare one,' she said.

‘Oh, sorry, Mum,' Louisa replied, flinging her arms around her mother. But it was a very short embrace, and when she broke away again, she said, ‘So how
did
it go today?'

‘It was a day like any other day,' Paniatowski said, putting her hand on her daughter's shoulder and guiding her into the living room. ‘We made some progress, and we've had some setbacks.'

‘Tell me about the progress then,' Louisa said, jumping into one of the armchairs.

Paniatowski sat down opposite her. ‘You know I can't do that, Louisa,' she said.

‘Why not?' her daughter demanded. ‘I went with you to Jill's house, didn't I? Doesn't that make me almost part of the team?'

Paniatowski frowned. It had been a mistake taking Louisa with her on an investigation – she saw that now – but at the time she hadn't even known it
would be
an investigation.

‘For goodness' sake, don't look so severe and disapproving, Mum,' Louisa said.

‘Sorry,' Paniatowski replied. She smiled. ‘I can't tell you anything about the case. You know that yourself.' And then, to mitigate the severity a little, she added lightly, ‘You'll have to be at least a detective sergeant before I can go into any kind of detail.'

‘And how long will that take me?' Louisa asked, in a serious voice. ‘Ten years?'

It had been a long day – most of them were – and Paniatowski wondered if she'd really heard Louisa say what she thought she'd heard her say.