Death Watch (15 page)

‘Bloody right, I am,' Woodend agreed.

‘And I hope you'll accept that I am similarly bound to do mine, as
I
see it,' Stevenson continued.

Woodend shook his head. ‘No, I don't accept that,' he said.

‘But surely …'

‘Listen to me, doctor,' Woodend urged. ‘Whatever decisions I've made today, I'll be able to live with in the future. But do you really – honestly – believe that you'll be able to live with yours?'

T
he police convoy was made up of three unmarked vehicles, each carrying two detectives. It entered the grounds of the Brunton house through a pair of ornamental gates, and from there proceeded up a long driveway, which was laid with expensive stone slabs, rather than being covered in ‘common' asphalt. There were mature hardwood trees on each side of the driveway, and at the end of it was a house which, even by the standards of the Whitebridge rich, was large – and perhaps even just a little ostentatious.

Monika Paniatowski, who was in the lead car, took in the scene for a few moments and then turned to her driver. ‘The Bruntons seem to place a high value on their privacy,' she said.

‘Don't they just,' Beresford agreed.

‘Which means our arrival will be about as welcome as a nun's in a knocking shop.'

They had reached the turning circle in front of the house. Beresford parked with the care and attention of someone who had only recently passed his driving test, and the other two cars pulled in behind him.

There were six steps leading up to a terrace which ran the length of the house's frontage and before Paniatowski had even had time to open her door, a woman appeared at the head of them. She was wearing an elegant cashmere suit, and her elaborate hairstyle was so highly lacquered that it looked as if it might be possible to bounce billiard balls off it. The picture of her on Brunton's desk had not lied, Paniatowski noted – because for all her expensive accessories, she really was rather plain.

‘The lady of the manor,' Paniatowski said to Beresford. ‘Do
you
want to show her the warrant, or shall I?'

Looking up at the woman, and seeing the stony gaze she was aiming in their direction, Beresford grimaced. ‘If it's all the same to you, Sarge, I'd rather you did it,' he said.

Paniatowski got out of the car, and walked towards the house. The woman on the terrace made no move to meet her halfway, but then the sergeant had never expected that she would.

It was as Paniatowski's right foot reached the third step to the terrace that Mrs Brunton held out a warning hand to indicate that this invasion of her property had gone far enough.

‘What are you doing here?' she demanded. ‘Isn't it enough that you've taken my husband into custody? Have you come to arrest me as well?'

‘No, madam, we haven't,' Paniatowski replied evenly. She had a piece of paper in her hand, and now she held it out for inspection. ‘I have here a warrant to search these premises.'

Mrs Brunton bristled. ‘I simply cannot allow that,' she said.

‘I'm afraid you really have no choice in the matter, madam,' Paniatowski told her.

‘Your chief constable, Henry Marlowe, has dined at this house,' Mrs Brunton said, speaking over Paniatowski's shoulder and addressing her remarks not at the female sergeant with the warrant, but at the five male detective constables who were standing and waiting at the base of the steps. ‘In fact, he's dined with us a
number
of times.'

‘Good for him,' Paniatowski said, thinking, even as she spoke, how much she could sound like Woodend on occasion. ‘But you see, madam, where Mr Marlowe chooses to feed his face is irrelevant. It wouldn't matter to me if he was your long-lost brother come back from the dead – because the plain fact is that this is a legally executed warrant, which entitles me to search the house. And that's just what I'm going to do.'

‘And if I refuse to allow you to enter my home?'

‘We're looking for a girl who may be dying in excruciating agony even as we stand here arguing the toss,' Paniatowski pointed out.

‘I understand that – but it has nothing to do with my husband.'

‘We think it does. And if you try to stand in my way while I'm executing this warrant, I'll have to have you removed. Forcibly, if necessary.'

‘You wouldn't dare!' Mrs Brunton said scornfully.

Paniatowski took two more steps forward, stopping just short of the terrace.

‘We're prepared to follow whatever course is necessary to get the little girl safely back to her family,' she said in a voice which had become a harsh whisper. ‘And if I thought, for one second, that stuffing your head down the toilet would even slightly increase our chances of that, you'd be tasting shit right now. So, please, Mrs Brunton, don't try to tell me what I would – or wouldn't – dare to do.'

‘This is an outrage!' the other woman said. ‘I shall complain to the highest authorities.'

‘You do that,' Paniatowski told her. ‘But while you're working out which of your many influential friends you should contact first, my team will be searching the house.'

It was an hour into his renewed interrogation of Edgar Brunton that Woodend had realized he was faced with two stark choices. The first choice was to break off the session again, and step out into the corridor until he'd cooled off. The second was to stay where he was, which, he recognized, would almost inevitably lead to him wringing his suspect's bloody neck. He had wisely chosen the former option, and it was as he was pacing up and down outside the interview room that he saw the red-faced man in the muted grey suit striding angrily towards him.

‘What the hell do you think you're playing at, Charlie?' Superintendent Crawley demanded. ‘Whatever could have possessed you to treat Edgar Brunton as if he were a suspect in the Angela Jackson abduction?'

‘He
is
a suspect, sir,' Woodend said. ‘In fact, he's the
prime
suspect.'

‘And on what do you base this amazing conclusion of yours?'

‘On information gathered during the course of my investigation.'

‘Don't give me any of that vague official-sounding crap!' Crawley exclaimed angrily. ‘You're not talking to a civilian here, remember. I'm your boss. I want all the details. And I want them now.'

Woodend outlined his evidence.

‘But you've got practically nothing!' Crawley blustered, when he finished. ‘It'll never stand up in court. Not for a minute!'

‘By the time it finally gets to court, I'll have more,' Woodend promised. ‘Besides, while I'd love to see Brunton go down for a long time, that isn't my main concern at the moment.'

‘Isn't it?' Crawley asked astonished. ‘Then – in the name of God – what the bloody hell is?'

‘Gettin' the girl back alive.'

Crawley glanced nervously up and down the corridor, as if to make sure that their conversation had not been overheard, and his part of it misunderstood – or possibly understood only too well.

‘Ah yes. Of course. Getting the girl back alive,' he said feebly. ‘That's the first priority for
all
of us. It goes without saying.'

‘I'm pleased to see that we appear to be on the same side, sir,' Woodend said.

‘But allowing for the fact that it
is
our main priority, I'm far from convinced you're going the right way about achieving it.'

‘Then what is the right way?' Woodend wondered. ‘How would you do it, sir?'

‘Well, for a start, I wouldn't put as much faith in this shrink as you seem to be doing.'

‘I'm convinced he's right,' Woodend said stubbornly.

‘Because Edgar Brunton fits the profile he gave you?'

‘Partly.'

‘So if he'd described an entirely different kind of man, would you have
arrested
an entirely different kind of man?'

‘Not unless there'd been other evidence pointin' to him.'

‘Evidence!' Crawley said scornfully.

‘Doesn't it strike you as a little strange that Edgar Brunton only reported his stolen wallet to you several hours after it had supposedly gone missing?' Woodend asked.

‘He's a busy man,' Crawley said. ‘Anyway, we're getting off the point again. What I want to know is whether it's true that this shrink of yours refuses to confirm or deny that Edgar Brunton is likely to be your man?'

‘He's Brunton's doctor,' Woodend said. ‘He feels his hands are tied.'

‘Well, maybe I can persuade him to have them bloody well
untied
,' Crawley blustered. ‘Do you know where he is, right now?'

Woodend nodded. ‘For the last hour an' a half, he's been in the cells.'

‘He's been
where
?'

‘In the cells,' Woodend repeated.

‘Are you mad?' Crawley demanded. ‘Have you gone completely off your bloody head?'

‘No, I don't think so,' Woodend said, making every effort to sound as sane as he possibly could.

‘Then just what
is
your bloody game?'

‘Dr Stevenson
wants
to do the right thing, but he doesn't think his medical ethics will allow him to,' Woodend explained.

‘Yes! I know! You've already made that perfectly clear.'

‘So I'm hopin' that, after bein' banged up for a while, he'll manage to persuade himself that he has no choice but to tell me what I want to know.'

‘And if that doesn't work?'

‘Then we've lost nothin' by tryin', have we?'

‘Lost nothing! The man's a university lecturer! An important figure in the community! God knows how many friends he's got in high places.' Crawley paused for a second to draw breath, before carrying on with his onslaught. ‘I want him released immediately, Chief Inspector. Do you understand? Immediately!'

‘I'm afraid I can't do that,' Woodend said firmly.

‘What? Are you refusing to obey a direct order?'

‘An' are you willin' to take responsibility for kickin' loose a man who might be able to help us crack this case?' Woodend countered. ‘Because if you are – an' if things turn out badly as a result of it – I'll make certain that everybody knows it was your decision.'

For a moment, it looked as if Crawley would behave like a man and stick to his decision. But it
was
only for a moment. Then, the political animal which inhabited most of his soul advised him to let Woodend have his way – to let Woodend take the fall, if any fall was to be taken.

‘Based on your specific recommendation – which I will expect you to put in writing – I'm prepared to agree to hold Dr Stevenson in custody for a little while longer,' he said reluctantly.

‘Thank you, sir,' Woodend replied.

‘You'd better be right about this, Charlie,' the superintendent hissed, ‘because if you're wrong – if you've ruined Edgar Brunton's reputation needlessly, or if Dr Stevenson decides to complain about the way he's been treated – I'll have you back directing traffic before you can blink.'

‘I'm not wrong,' Woodend said. ‘But if I was you, sir, I wouldn't go threatenin' me with somethin' that – given the job I've been landed with here – is already startin' to feel like a promotion.'

Edgar Brunton's study, with its long bookcases full of rows of leather-bound books, looked more like a film set than a place in which someone actually worked.

‘However can he afford to run a place like this?' Monika Paniatowski mused.

Beresford shrugged. ‘Have you employed a solicitor recently, Sarge?' he asked.

‘No,' Paniatowski replied. ‘Have you?'

‘As a matter of fact, I have. What with Mum's condition getting worse by the day, I thought it might be best if …' He trailed off.

‘I'm sorry,' Paniatowski said. ‘I shouldn't have asked.'

‘It's all right,' Beresford told her – though it clearly wasn't. ‘Anyway, the point is that a solicitor's advice doesn't come cheap.' He grinned, as if to demonstrate that he had succeeded in putting unpleasant thoughts behind him. ‘Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying that as a class solicitors are greedy – only they'll have the shirt off your back before you've even had time to sit down.'

Paniatowski smiled, and then immediately grew serious again. ‘Perhaps that's true,' she said. ‘But I'm starting to get the distinct impression that our Mr Brunton isn't half as successful as he likes to pretend he is.'

‘Does that really matter?' Beresford asked. ‘Do you think how much money he makes could have any relevance to this case?'

‘Not really,' Paniatowski admitted. ‘From what little I've read on the subject, sex offenders don't only just come in all shapes and sizes – they come from all income groups as well.'

‘Back in the boss's office, you were arguing that Brunton couldn't have done it,' Beresford said. ‘Now you're talking like someone who has very little doubt he's guilty.
Have
you changed your mind?'

‘Yes, I have.'

‘Why the complete turn-around?'

‘Because I've been talking to the boss on the phone, and
he
thinks Brunton is guilty. Doesn't just think it – feels it deep down inside his gut. And if there's one thing I've learned while I've been working with Charlie Woodend, it's to put my trust in his gut.'

Beresford nodded, then looked around the study. ‘So what are we looking for, and where do we start?'

‘There's no easy answer to that,' Paniatowski told him. ‘We won't
know
what we're looking for until we find it – and then it will be pretty obvious that that's what we should have been searching for all along.' She paused, then said, ‘Wait a minute! There is one thing that we should
definitely
be keeping an eye open for. Property deeds!'