Backlash (28 page)

So perhaps it was because, seeing what a state Kershaw was in, he had decided he'd achieved all he'd wanted to, and was happy to die.

But it was also possible that Kershaw's present state of mind was of little consequence – that it was the Chief Superintendent's
future
state of mind which was important to Taylor Brown.

And if that was true, then when the prisoner hanged himself, at sometime after seven o'clock, he was already certain of what Kershaw's future state of mind would be – because he was also certain that, by that time, Elaine would be dead.

‘Is the boss not here, Sarge?' Jack Crane asked when he arrived at Paniatowski's office.

Meadows made an elaborate show of examining the room. ‘No, I don't think so,' she said, with a grin. ‘Somebody said she'd gone down to the cells to talk to Taylor Brown.'

‘The thing is, I've got a letter for her,' Crane said.

‘And what is it – your resignation?' Meadows replied, the grin still firmly in place.

‘No, as a matter of fact, it's an anonymous letter. It's addressed to her, but it was posted through my letterbox.'

Meadows' grin froze. ‘What did it say?' she demanded.

‘I don't know. I haven't looked at it. Like I said, it wasn't addressed to me – it had the boss's name on it.'

‘You bloody fool!' Meadows exploded. ‘We're knee-deep in shit and the clock's ticking – and you didn't bother to look at what might turn out to be a lead simply because it's addressed to the boss?'

‘Well, no – I mean, yes . . . I think.'

‘Give it to me!' Meadows ordered, and when Crane handed her the letter, she ripped it open without ceremony.

There were only a few words pasted to the sheet inside in the envelope. Crane could see that for himself. But only Meadows was close enough to read them.

And read them she did.

Once, twice, and then a third time – as if she wanted to make really sure they actually said what she'd
thought
they'd said the first time through.

When she looked up again, she seemed much paler than she had been a few moments earlier.

‘Well, if this letter's telling the truth, we can stop looking for Mrs Kershaw,' she said.

TWENTY

T
he old mill stood alone, in the middle of an industrial wasteland – like a decaying corpse that someone had forgotten to bury. It was framed, that early morning, against a slate-grey sky, and assaulted by a harsh wind which howled like a mad dog and cut like a knife

A casual observer of the dismal scene might have wondered why, suddenly, so many vehicles – six police cars, the ambulance, and Dr Shastri's Land Rover – should have drawn up in front of the mill's loading bay. But there
was
no casual observer, and the tragedy was about to be played out without the benefit of an audience.

Paniatowski got out of the car, turned up the collar of her coat, and watched as the other vehicles spilled their occupants.

None of the people gathered there could know – with any degree of certainty – whether their presence was actually necessary, she thought. But, from the general air of gloom which enveloped them, it was obvious that most of them thought it would be.

She lit up a cigarette, contemplated the building for a moment, then turned to Beresford and said, ‘Let's do it.'

‘Do you want me to organize the lads into search parties?' her inspector asked.

Paniatowski shook her head.

‘We don't need them for the moment. They might as well get back in their cars and take a cigarette break.'

‘Right, boss,' Beresford replied.

And he was thinking, if anybody's going to find anything in there, it has to be you, doesn't it, Monika. In a way, that's your penance.

They had brought a police locksmith with them, but he was not necessary. The owners of the mill had long ago given up having any hopes of a future life for their property, and when a window was smashed or a padlock cut through, no attempt had been made to replace them.

Beresford pushed at the small door inset into the bigger loading bay door, and it swung creakily open.

Paniatowski, Beresford, Meadows and Shastri stepped through the gap. A little light from outside followed them in, but they still needed their torches to pick their way through the semi-gloom.

The loading bay floor was strewn with empty bottles, used contraceptive sheaths, and old newspapers which had once served as tramps' bedding – but there was no sign of the body that the anonymous letter had promised them.

‘Shall we split up, boss?' Beresford asked.

‘What would be the point of that?' Paniatowski replied. ‘However things turn out, there's no hurry now.'

They climbed the few short steps to the platform at the far end of the loading bay, and went through the connecting door to the main warehouse.

There was nothing there, either.

They found her in the main weaving shed, where the winter light streamed in through tall windows which had been installed so the weavers could see to do their job properly.

She was lying on a folding picnic table in the centre of the shed, and was covered from head to toe with a white sheet.

It was Dr Shastri who assumed the responsibility of peeling back the sheet to reveal the dead woman's face.

‘That's her,' Beresford said, looking down at the dead sightless eyes. ‘There's no doubt about it – that's Elaine Kershaw.'

They had all been expecting it, yet it still came as a shock.

Shastri pulled back the rest of the sheet. Elaine Kershaw was naked except for a pair of bright red shoes – one of which had the heel missing – but unlike Grace's body, hers appeared unmarked.

‘Steady the table, please, Inspector Beresford, I'm going to turn her over,' Shastri said.

With the practised ease of someone who had handled dozens of cadavers, Shastri turned Elaine Kershaw so she was lying on her front.

‘Oh shit!' Beresford moaned.

Elaine's back was like a churned up battlefield. Deep gashes cut into her flesh, almost to the bone.

‘Who could do that to another human being?' Beresford wondered.

And when did it
happen
? Paniatowski asked herself silently. Could I have prevented it if I'd handled Taylor Brown just a little more skilfully?

‘How long has she been dead?' she said aloud.

‘I can't give you an accurate time, but it's certainly not more than a few hours,' Shastri replied.

So there's your answer, Monika, Paniatowski thought miserably. There's your
bloody
answer!

Paniatowski had never seen the chief constable pace up and down his office before, but now he was certainly making up for all the times he hadn't.

‘This is a disaster,' he said. ‘On so many levels, it's a disaster.'

‘I know,' Paniatowski agreed.

‘It's not an ordinary murder,' Baxter said, as if she didn't already understand that. ‘Elaine Kershaw was the wife of a high-ranking police officer. The press will crucify us. I can see the headline now – If the force can't protect its own, what chances are there that it can protect us?'

‘They won't actually say that,' Paniatowski told him.

‘No, they won't,' Baxter agreed. ‘Not in so many words. But they'll drop enough hints that even my dogs will be able to read between the lines. And then there's the morale of the Mid Lancs Constabulary to consider. How do you think Tom's brother officers will feel about it? Not to mention Tom Kershaw himself.'

‘Ah,' Paniatowski said, ‘I was wondering when you'd get round to him.'

‘Don't get smart with me, Chief Inspector,' Baxter said angrily. ‘If I haven't mentioned Tom Kershaw's personal sorrow – and indeed, my own – before, it's because I'm trying to be professional, and put the interests of the service above all else.'

‘How is he taking it?' Paniatowski asked – dreading the answer.

‘How would
you
take it?' Baxter asked harshly.

‘I'd be devastated.'

‘And that's exactly what
he
is. He's under very heavy sedation at the moment, but once he's back on his feet, he's going to want his revenge – and not just on the man who killed his wife.'

‘I appreciate that,' Paniatowski said. ‘And can I rely on your support in that area?'

‘I've always supported you, Monika,' Baxter said, ambiguously. ‘I know you're a fine officer, and you've always done everything you could to get a result – but I'm afraid that, on this occasion, I'm going to have to launch an internal inquiry.'

‘Does that mean I'm off the case?'

‘Not for the moment. In a situation like this, it's better to take things one step at a time, and avoid hasty decisions.'

‘Meaning I am still on it – but it could be yanked from under me with no warning?'

‘As I said, I'm not about to take any hasty decisions,' Baxter told her. He looked at his watch. ‘There's one more point I'd like clearing up. I've seen the preliminary autopsy report on Taylor Brown, and apparently there was some bruising on his face which was not consistent with hanging. Could you explain that?'

It was her chance – and probably her
only
chance – to put the boot into Kershaw before he put the boot into her, she realized.

But, for God's sake, the man had just lost his wife!

‘I've already investigated that,' she said. ‘Taylor Brown attacked the duty sergeant, and the sergeant himself used no more force than was necessary to restrain him. I'll be writing a report on it, but I'd appreciate it if you'd give me a couple of days.'

‘That shouldn't be a problem,' Baxter said. He checked his watch again. ‘And now if you'll excuse me, Chief Inspector, in half an hour I've got a press conference at which I'll try my hardest to create the impression that we actually know what we're bloody well doing.'

‘Would you like me to be there?' Paniatowski asked.

Baxter shook his head firmly. ‘No, I really don't think that would be a good idea.'

Of course he didn't, Paniatowski thought. She walked to the door, almost stepped out into the corridor, then turned around.

‘Could I ask you one more question, sir?' she asked.

‘What is it?' Baxter replied, irritated.

‘I'd like to know if you,
personally
, have confidence in the way I've conducted this investigation.'

‘I have no reason not to, at the present time,' Baxter told her. ‘But there is something that's been bothering me.'

‘And what's that?'

‘You spent over two days looking for Elaine. You had at your disposal every officer we could spare from other duties – and some we couldn't. She might have been anywhere in the country, but she wasn't. We know now that she was right here in Whitebridge all the time.'

‘Is there a question hidden somewhere in all that?' Paniatowski said.

‘You know damn well there is.'

‘Then ask it –
put it into words
!'

‘All right, I will,' Baxter said. ‘Why couldn't you find her, Monika?'

‘I don't know,' Paniatowski admitted.

Only hours earlier, Paniatowski's desk had been groaning under the weight of all Kershaw's files – a testament to five years of successful police work. Now the files were gone, and in their place stood a bottle of whisky and a bottle of vodka – testaments to the general sense of gloom and failure which had enveloped the team since the discovery of Elaine Kershaw's body.

‘Apart from the shoes, there's no pattern to the two killings,' Beresford said. ‘Grace Meade was wearing a kinky costume when we found her, Elaine Kershaw was naked. Meade was dumped in a ladies' toilet, Elaine was laid out in an old mill. Grace was whipped all over. Elaine was given a much worse beating – though only on her back. Grace was smothered. We don't know what killed Elaine yet, but it wouldn't surprise me at all if it was the shock from the beating.'

‘And while the killer was content to have Grace found by anybody at all, he wanted
us
to find Elaine, which is why he sent the anonymous letter,' Paniatowski added. ‘I agree with you, Colin, there
should be
a pattern – but if it's there, I simply can't see it.'

Meadows coughed, and when Paniatowski turned to look at her, she was astonished by the change that had come over her sergeant.

The expression on Kate Meadows' face was that of a woman forced to take a journey through her own personal hell. Her mouth was clamped tightly shut, as if she didn't dare to speak for fear of what she might say. Her eyes flickered uncertainly.

‘What's the matter, Kate?' Paniatowski asked.

Was it seeing the body that had got to her bagman, she wondered. That was possible – it had certainly been a horrific sight – but Meadows had seemed perfectly calm when examining Grace Meade's corpse.

‘Kate?' Paniatowski repeated.

Meadows took a deep breath. ‘I need to have a word with you in private, ma'am,' she said, with effort.

‘Is it about the case?'

‘Yes, ma'am.'

‘Then I'd like Inspector Beresford to stay, if you don't mind.'

‘I
do
mind,' Meadows told her. ‘I won't talk while he's here.'

‘Maybe you don't quite understand this yet, Sergeant Meadows, but we work as a
team
,' Beresford said angrily.