Dying Fall (6 page)

‘Except for him,' Woodend concurred. ‘But even in his case, I wouldn't put too much reliance on him comin' up with anythin' useful.' He paused, to take a drag on his cigar­ette, then said, ‘So what else have we got?'

‘It might help if we could find out who the dead man was,' Paniatowski said. ‘But since we don't even know what he
looked like
, that seems a very remote possibility.'

‘Aye, it's a real bugger,' Woodend agreed.

‘Perhaps we'll get some help from the general public on that,' Beresford suggested.

‘In what way?'

‘We'll ask them to describe all the tramps they
have
seen, compare them to the descriptions of the tramps we've interviewed, and see if there's one that doesn't match up.'

‘An' hope that the tramp they describe hasn't simply moved on since the last time they saw him,' Woodend said discouragingly. ‘Besides, how many people really
look
at a tramp at all? Most folk just want to get away from them as quickly as they possibly can. An' anyway, given that they've all got long hair an' ragged beards, they pretty much all look alike to anybody who's not studied them in detail. Bloody hell, even I would find it difficult to tell the ones we've interviewed this morning apart.'

‘If the public can't help us to identify the victim, then maybe they'll be able to help us identify the killer,' Beresford said.

‘If they can, they'll have been a damn sight more observant than they normally are,' Woodend countered, rather sourly.

The meeting was not going well, and they all knew it, Paniatowski thought. There were a number of reasons for that, but one of them was certainly that the team worked best as a
whole
team, and the second most important member of it hadn't even bothered to turn up yet.

‘The best chance we've got is that the killer will try to strike again, an' will be caught by one of the extra patrols I've arranged to be on duty tonight,' Woodend said. ‘Or, to put it in much the same terms as Sergeant Paniatowski did earlier, our best chance is that the killer will be caught nibblin' at some of the live bait I've thoughtfully laid out for him.'

‘I'm sorry, sir, I was completely out of order talking like that,' Paniatowski told him.

‘Aye, you were,' Woodend agreed. ‘But then we all make mistakes.' He glanced down at his watch. ‘Where the bloody hell
is
Inspector Rutter?'

‘Maybe he's caught up in traffic?' Beresford suggested.

‘Caught up in traffic?' Woodend repeated. ‘For
so
long? This is Whitebridge, not central bloody London.' He sipped moodily at his pint, then turned to Beresford and said, ‘You remember what I said earlier – that I'd got an idea about how we could get closer to the hard mods?'

‘Yes, sir?'

‘Well, I've been thinkin' it through, an' I've decided it will work. But before it
can
work, you need to pay a visit to the barber's shop.'

‘Why?' Beresford wondered. ‘My hair's not that long, sir.'

‘No, it isn't,' Woodend agreed. ‘But it's too long for the job that I have in mind.'

‘Wait a minute!' Beresford exclaimed. ‘You want me to … to infiltrate the hard mods?'

‘That's about the size of it,' Woodend agreed. ‘Monika's got a source which
she
thinks is reliable among the tramps, I need a man I can trust in among the other buggers.'

‘But I'm
twenty-three
!' Beresford protested.

‘Aye, but somehow – despite havin' worked for me for over a year – you still haven't lost your boyish charm,' Woodend said, with a smile. He placed an avuncular hand on Beresford's shoulder. ‘Look, lad, I realize it'll probably all be a waste of time, but when straws are all you've got to clutch at, you make a grab for 'em.'

‘Do you really think I can pull it off,' Beresford said.

‘I don't know, but you've certainly got more chance than I'd have,' Woodend told him. ‘But I don't want you runnin' any risks. Carry your warrant card with you at all times, an' if it looks like you're about to be rumbled, get the hell away – as quick as you can.'

The bar door swung open, and Rutter walked in.

Woodend gave him the briefest of glances, then turned to Beresford and Paniatowski, and said, ‘Well, murders don't usually solve themselves, so we'd better get back to it, hadn't we?'

The DC and sergeant drained their glasses and stood up, and Rutter, who had been close enough to hear Woodend's words, did a half-turn towards the door.

‘Not you, Inspector!' Woodend said loudly. ‘You can take a seat – because it's about time you an' me had a little talk.'

Paniatowski and Beresford made the hurried exit which had obviously been demanded of them, but before they reached the door, Paniatowski distinctly heard Woodend say, ‘So tell me, Inspector Rutter, are you still a full-time member of this team or aren't you?'

It was not like Charlie to speak so loudly, she thought as she stepped out on to the pavement – so the fact that she'd heard what he said meant that she'd been
intended
to hear it.

Or to put it another way, her hearing it had been part of Rutter's punishment.

T
he note that Woodend found waiting for him on his desk when he returned from the Drum and Monkey was brief – and very much to the point.

‘The chief constable wishes to see you
the moment
you return to headquarters,' it read.

Woodend studied Marlowe's spidery handwriting for a second, and then found himself wondering just what kind of man it was who needed to write about himself in the third person.

‘An' the answer is,' he said aloud to his empty office, ‘it's the kind of man who's a real dickhead.'

Then he sat down, lit up a cigarette, and promised himself he would smoke it really slowly.

When he did finally reach the chief constable's office, ten minutes later, he discovered that his boss was not alone – nor even, apparently, in charge. For while Marlowe usually sought to reinforce his position in the pecking order by sitting behind his over-large desk, his chair was at that moment occupied by another man, and the chief constable himself was standing by the window.

The man behind the desk was in his middle forties. He was square-faced, brown-eyed and had a cleft in his chin. His body had the chunkiness of a rugby player, and if that had been his sport, he'd obviously made an effort to keep in shape after he'd hung up his boots for the last time.

‘You know Councillor Lowry, don't you, Mr Woodend?' Marlowe asked.

Woodend nodded in the general direction of the man behind the desk. ‘We've met,' he said.

‘As you may already be aware, Councillor Lowry is not only the managing director of the highly successful Lowry Engineering Company, but also the chairman of the Police Authority for Central Lancashire,' Marlowe said.

There didn't seem to be much to say in response, so Woodend said nothing. But what he was
thinking
was that Lowry's appearance spelled trouble. Ever since he'd assumed the chairmanship of the police authority the previous year, Lowry had been harrying the Force to produce more results at a lower cost to the ratepayers. And that, in Woodend's opinion, led to bad police practice.

Lowry had been studying Woodend intently for some seconds, but now he turned his attention to Marlowe, and said, ‘Thank you, Henry.'

It was as neat – and abrupt – a dismissal as Woodend had ever seen, and in the face of it the chief constable could do no more than nod and reply, ‘Well, if you need me for anything, Tel—'

‘I'll know where to find you,' Lowry interrupted him. Then he waited until Marlowe had stepped out into the corridor, before continuing, ‘Do take a seat, Chief Inspector Woodend.'

Woodend sat.

‘Every once in a while, I make it my business to meet one of the officers who work for this police authority,' Lowry said. ‘It helps to give me some idea of what the grass roots are thinking.'

‘No need to talk to us foot soldiers to find that out,' Woodend said. ‘Just ask the chief constable. After all, as one of the most experienced sergeants on the force was tellin' me only this mornin', Mr Marlowe's really got his finger on the pulse of the Whitebridge Police.'

‘I don't appreciate sarcasm, Mr Woodend,' Lowry said.

‘Sarcasm?' Woodend repeated innocently.

‘I know what
you
think of Mr Marlowe, and whilst you could not expect me to openly agree with you, I assume you've also noted that I'm not exactly defending him, either.'

Well, well, well, there was a turn-up for the books, Woodend thought. Marlowe's one real talent was impressing his superiors, and in Lowry's case, he seemed to have failed completely. So maybe there was more to the councillor than met the eye.

‘Sorry,' he said. ‘I'll cut out the sarcasm from now on.'

‘Good,' Lowry said crisply. ‘Now let's get down to business, shall we? I've been looking at these overtime requests that you've submitted, and they really are outrageous, you know.'

‘I disagree,' Woodend said. ‘There's some kind of nutter on the loose out there, so the streets have to be patrolled.'

‘You don't actually know whether or not he's going to strike again, do you?' Lowry asked.

‘I know,' Woodend said firmly.

‘How?'

‘I can feel it.'

Lowry laughed. ‘That would be the famous Woodend “gut feeling”, would it? I've heard about that.'

‘Then you'll also have heard that it rarely lets me down.'

‘Interesting that you should use the word “rarely”,' Lowry mused. ‘I take that to mean that this gut instinct of yours is not
quite
as infallible as you sometimes like to give the impression it is.'

‘It's failed me a few times,' Woodend admitted.

‘And even if your feeling is correct, there's no saying that the killer will strike again tonight, is there? He might wait a week. Or a month. Or even a year.'

‘It won't be as long as a month,' Woodend said.

‘That's something else you just
know
, is it?'

‘Yes.'

‘Then let's say that he waits three weeks. Do you expect to keep all that extra manpower on the streets for a whole three weeks?'

‘Yes.'

Lowry shook his head. ‘It simply can't be done,' he said. ‘The ratepayers would never stand for it. They elected me to reduce the rates, not drive them up to new record highs.'

‘And, of course, there are municipal elections coming up soon,' Woodend mused.

‘What exactly are you suggesting?' Lowry asked angrily.

‘I'm suggestin' there's municipal elections comin' up soon,' Woodend replied.

‘I want to keep police costs down,' Lowry said. ‘I can do that without your help, but it would be easier if you co­operated.'

‘What you really mean is that your committee might think twice about takin' the course of action you were recommendin' if I was known to be strongly opposed to it.'

‘Well, exactly,' Lowry said, as if he were pleased that the rather slow chief inspector had finally grasped the point. ‘It would certainly be to your advantage to work with me, instead of against me.'

‘Would it?' Woodend asked, and those who knew him well would have detected the dangerous edge creeping into his voice. ‘In what way?'

‘For starters, it would ensure that you kept your job.'

‘You mean that if I don't become your monkey, you'll get me fired?'

Lowry laughed. ‘No, no, Chief Inspector, you've got things completely the wrong way round. It's that fool Marlowe who wants to get you fired, but he wouldn't dare push for it if I were on your side. Now wouldn't you like to have that kind of protection?'

Woodend shrugged. ‘I've put in a good few years' service. I could live off my pension if I retired now.'

‘You probably could,' Lowry agreed. ‘But there wouldn't be much cash left over for extras, would there?'

Woodend shrugged again. ‘I've never been one for drinkin' pink champagne out of chorus girls' slippers.'

‘Of course you're not. But there's your daughter Annie to consider, isn't there?'

‘What do you mean?'

‘She's just graduated from nursing college, hasn't she? She'll be looking to buy a place of her own, and it would be nice if you could give her a hand with the deposit – but you won't be able to do that on a policeman's pension.'

‘Now listen to me—' Woodend began.

‘And then there's Joan, your wife,' Lowry interrupted him. ‘She had a mild heart attack in Spain, a couple of years back. Of course, we all pray she won't have another one, but if she does, wouldn't it be nice to know that as far as treatment went, she was being rushed to the front of the queue?'

‘Don't threaten me, you bastard!' Woodend growled.

‘I'd be threatening you if I'd said I'd do my best to ensure that she was kept at the
back
of the queue,' Lowry said mildly. ‘What I'm offering you is something much more positive. And if I could give you a piece of advice, Chief Inspector,' he continued, his voice hardening, ‘you should never forget that while I'm a reasonable man who always tries to reach a consensus, I'm also the chairman of the Police Authority, and, while I am wearing that particular hat, I will simply not tolerate the kind of offensive remark you have just directed at me.'

Woodend stood up. ‘If you don't want to be called a bastard, then don't behave like one,' he said. ‘An' here's a bit of advice for you – don't try to block the overtime, because if you do, I'll be on the blower to all the local papers before you can say “landslide electoral defeat”.'