Death Watch (14 page)

‘I'm certainly angry at this moment,' Brunton agreed. ‘Who
wouldn't
be angry after being arrested by the police for something they hadn't done? My reputation has been harmed irreparably. Irreparably! Because even when you release me – and you
will
have to release me eventually – there'll be people in this town who think there's no smoke without fire, so I must be guilty.'

‘You're not helpin' us, you know,' Woodend said quietly. ‘An' if you're innocent, as you keep claimin' you are, I'd have thought you'd have
wanted
to help us.'

Brunton seemed to be turning the statement over his mind, then he said, ‘You're right. I'm not helping.' He paused again, before continuing, ‘We seem to have got off on the wrong footing, don't we? And perhaps that's partly my fault. Shall we start again?'

‘If you like,' Woodend said.

‘I'm a happily married man. I love my wife – if I didn't, I wouldn't be in this mess in the first place.'

‘Now that is an interestin' way of lookin' at things,' Woodend said. ‘Would you care to expand on it?'

‘Willingly. If I hadn't loved my wife, I would never have left the office to buy her a present, and there would have been at least half a dozen witnesses who could swear that I was sitting at my desk the whole afternoon, and so couldn't possibly have kidnapped the girl.'

‘Let's talk about that shoppin' trip of yours,' Woodend suggested. ‘You realized your wallet had been stolen when you reached for it in the Venetian Glass shop. Is that correct?'

‘Yes, it is.'

‘So what I'm goin' to try an' do now is put myself in your position. I'm standin' in the shop. Right?'

‘Right.'

‘I reach for my wallet, an' I find that it's gone. What's the first thing I'm likely to say?'

‘You tell me.'

‘I imagine it would be somethin' like “Bugger!” An', given the circumstances, I'd probably say it quite loudly. Then, because it's not my habit to swear in front of shop assistants, I'd probably have said, “Sorry about that, love, but my wallet's just been pinched.”' Woodend took a drag on his cigarette. ‘Would you like to make any comment at this point, sir?'

‘No.'

‘I thought not. An' you didn't make any comment
then
, either. You see, we've spoken to the assistant, an' she doesn't remember you sayin' anythin' at all about your wallet bein' stolen. An' why? Because you still had it! Because you didn't actually lose it until you were in the park!'

‘That's not true.'

Woodend sighed. ‘You found a piece of glassware you wanted to buy, didn't you?'

‘Did I? How do you know that?'

‘Because you'd never have reached into your pocket for your wallet if you hadn't found somethin' you wanted – which would mean that you'd never even have noticed it had been stolen.'

Brunton nodded. ‘You're right, of course. I did find a piece of glass I liked. As a matter of fact, it was a rather beautiful vase. I don't think I've ever seen one quite like it before.'

‘In other words, it was unique?'

‘I didn't say that. Indeed, I have no way of knowing whether it was unique or not, though given the asking price, I rather doubt it was. All I
did
say was that I've never seen one quite like it before.'

‘Weren't you worried you'd miss the chance to buy it?'

‘I beg your pardon?'

‘Well, you couldn't buy it then and there, could you? Your wallet had been stolen.'

‘Correct.'

‘An' wasn't there a risk that if you came back later, once you'd laid your hands on more money, it might have already been sold?'

‘That's certainly a possibility.'

‘So why didn't you ask the assistant to reserve it for you?'

‘I suppose I was so angry – both with the thief and my own carelessness – that I didn't think of that.'

‘But you didn't show that anger? Nobody
noticed
you were angry?'

‘I suspect that the nature of our respective professions causes us to show different faces to the world, Chief Inspector,' Edgar Brunton said. ‘It is perfectly acceptable for a policeman like yourself to be belligerent – it's sadly what we've come to expect of those who enforce the law – but a solicitor is supposed to appear calm at all times, and that becomes a habit.'

‘Where did you get the car from?' Woodend demanded suddenly.

‘What car?'

‘The one that you used to take Angela Jackson to your hideaway.'

‘Since I did not kidnap the girl, your question is irrelevant.' Brunton turned his attention to Rutter. ‘You've been very quiet, Inspector.'

‘Have I?' Rutter asked. ‘Maybe that's because I was listening to what you had to say.'

‘But surely, by now, it must be time for you to take on the appearance of the
good
cop.'

‘I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about.'

‘Of course you do! The first phase of the interrogation involves the chief inspector throwing out accusations left, right, and centre, until he's almost foaming at the mouth. Then we come to the second phase, where you step in with a more gentle, reassuring manner. And I'm so grateful to you for this softer approach that I immediately spill all the beans that I've been holding back from bad-cop Charlie. That's almost guaranteed to work.'

‘This isn't a game, you know,' Woodend said angrily.

‘I
do
know that,' Brunton agreed. ‘That's why I've been trying to help you in the only way that I can – which is to make it perfectly clear that you're talking to the wrong man. But you're not interested in that, are you? You
like
playing games! Playing games is what justifies your existence. So I've given up on you, Chief Inspector, and knowing – as I do – that within twenty-four hours you'll be issuing me a grovelling apology, I've decided to extract as much fun out of my present unfortunate circumstances as I possibly can.'

‘And if a child
dies
while you're having your fun?'

‘Then that's your fault, rather than mine, because instead of wasting your time putting me through the third degree, you should be out there looking for the real kidnapper.'

Woodend was the first to step out of the interview room and into the corridor, but Rutter was close on his heels.

‘Shut the door behind you,' Woodend said.

Rutter did as he'd been instructed, then said, ‘Well, what do you think about the—'

Woodend raised his hand to quiet his inspector. ‘Can you give me a minute, Bob?' he asked.

‘No problem,' Rutter told him.

But it was more than a minute he needed. For
five
minutes, Woodend prowled up and down the corridor like a wounded angry lion. Then, taking exception to a piece of the corridor wall which appeared to be exactly the same as every other piece of corridor wall, he threw a punch at it with so much force that the plaster around the point of impact cracked.

‘Did that help?' Rutter asked sympathetically.

‘No, I can't really say it did,' Woodend admitted, looking down at his bruised and bleeding knuckles.

‘If you'd like me to take over the questioning for a while …' Rutter suggested.

‘Brunton's such an arrogant bastard!' Woodend said, glancing back up the corridor, at the closed interview-room door. ‘He's a supercilious arrogant
cocky
bastard!'

‘He's certainly all of that,' Rutter agreed readily. ‘But do you think he's a
guilty
bastard?'

‘Oh, he's guilty, right enough,' Woodend replied. ‘I'm convinced of that. I can smell it on him. I can see it written in big letters above his head. But he thinks I'm never goin' to be able to
prove
he's guilty – an' I don't know why he should be so confident of that.'

‘Probably because, as you've just pointed out yourself, he's an arrogant bastard.'

‘There's more to it than simple arrogance,' Woodend told him. ‘There
has to be.
He knows somethin' that we don't.'

A uniformed constable appeared at the other end of the corridor. ‘Dr Stevenson's arrived, sir,' he said.

‘Where is he?'

‘Waiting for you in your office.'

Woodend nodded. ‘Good!'

Stevenson's arrival was more than welcome, he told himself. Because perhaps the doctor could succeed where he'd failed – perhaps a trained shrink like him would find a way of getting under Brunton's skin.

Dr Martin Stevenson was sitting in what was usually Monika Paniatowski's chair. Woodend, observing him through the window, thought the doctor was looking a little nervous at the idea of helping the police on such a serious case – but that he was also rather excited at the prospect.

When the chief inspector opened the door and entered the office, the doctor jumped up from the seat as if he were on a spring, and said, ‘Have you made any progress?'

‘You could say that,' Woodend told him. ‘We've got a suspect. He's in his late thirties, a successful professional man with a family. He's highly respected in the community, an' has no criminal record we've been able to uncover. What do you think?'

‘I think it's possible he may actually be what he appears to be – a pillar of the community,' Stevenson said cautiously.

‘But there's nothin' in what I've just told you that would rule him out of the picture?'

‘Nothing at all. It's fairly rare for the type of person I've studied to be actually married, but the psychological make-up of most of my subjects could certainly be able to
accommodate
marriage.'

‘I'd like you to talk to him,' Woodend said. ‘Would you be willin' to do that, Dr Stevenson?'

‘More than willing. In fact, I'm sure I'd find the whole experience fascinating.'

‘Well, then …'

‘But I must warn you that because of my professional code of ethics, I can't even go near him without his explicit agreement. And how likely do you think it is that he
will
agree?'

‘Very likely,' Woodend said. ‘Especially if I promise him that an all-clear from you would be his ticket out of here.'

‘Are you … are you prepared to make – and keep – such a promise?' Stevenson wondered.

‘Yes, I am.'

‘Don't you … er … think that might be a little risky?'

‘Not if you're as good at your job as I believe you to be.'

Stevenson looked troubled. ‘You're putting a lot of responsibility on my shoulders, you know,' he said.

‘They're broad enough,' Woodend told him.

Stevenson hesitated for a second or two, then said, ‘Very well. If he's prepared to see me, I'm more than willing to see him.'

‘Good man!' Woodend said enthusiastically. ‘You stay here, while I go an' talk to Brunton, an' then we'll set up—'

‘Wait a minute!' Stevenson exclaimed. ‘Did you say your suspect's name is Brunton?'

‘Yes.'

‘Edgar Brunton?'

‘That's the man. Do you know him?'

‘In a manner of speaking,' Stevenson replied heavily. ‘And I'm afraid it won't be possible for me to see him.'

‘But you were willin' enough a minute or two ago,' Woodend said. ‘What's suddenly changed your mind?'

Stevenson folded his arms, and kept silent.

What the hell was going on? Woodend wondered. And then, suddenly, he thought he knew!

‘Tell me, doctor, is lecturin' at the university
all
you do to earn a crust?' he probed.

‘No,' Stevenson said, with some reluctance.

‘Then how else do you earn money?'

‘I have a small – very limited – private practice.'

‘An' is Edgar Brunton one of your patients in this small – very limited – private practice?'

‘If he was, I couldn't tell you.'

‘So you're not sayin' that he's not?'

‘I'm not saying anything.'

‘What are you treatin' him for?' Woodend demanded. ‘Is it the kind of mental condition which might lead him to kidnap an' torture young girls?'

‘You're making this very difficult for me,' Stevenson said.

‘It isn't exactly a picnic for me, either,' Woodend told him. ‘A kid's life is at stake, an' all I'm askin' you to do is help me save it.'

‘I know that.'

‘So if you won't talk to Brunton directly, at least give me some kind of clue as to what to do next.'

‘That isn't possible,' Stevenson said, looking more and more distressed with every second that passed.

‘Since you know all about him, you'll probably have a good idea of the sort of place he'd be likely to hide the girl,' Woodend persisted. ‘Isn't that right?'

‘There's nothing I can say on the matter.'

‘All right, then, at least give me a clue about what he's likely to do if I release him,' Woodend pleaded. ‘Will he kill the girl at his first opportunity? Or is he likely to decide to keep her alive – because he'll be convinced we'll never catch him? I need answers, Doc. I
desperately
need answers right now!'

‘I know you do,' Stevenson said, regretfully. ‘But I'm afraid I can't give them to you.'

‘Can't you, by God!' Woodend demanded, as the anger he had been keeping a fairly tight lid on finally bubbled its way to the surface. ‘Well, in that case, Doctor Stevenson, I've no choice but to arrest you for obstructin' the police in the course of their inquiries. What have you got to say about that?'

Stevenson sighed heavily. ‘I suppose you're only doing your duty as you see it,' he said.