Fatal Quest (19 page)

‘Didn't he? Why ever not?'

‘Because the bus driver did.'

‘Did I say something unintentionally amusing?' Cathcart asked Woodend sharply.

‘No, sir, I was just remembering something funny that happened yesterday,' Woodend lied.

And he was thinking, That's my girl! That's the woman I married.

Peggy was laughing, as though she thought Joan had made a rather clever joke. But then, when she realized the other woman was serious, her look turned to one of absolute horror.

‘You came by
bus
?' she asked incredulously.

‘Not all the way, no,' Joan said. ‘We did the first half of the journey on the tube.'

‘So you don't
have
a car?' Peggy asked, as if she could still not quite get her head around the idea. ‘Oh, Arthur's such a fool! He should have
known
that, and sent a car to pick you up.'

‘We wouldn't have wanted to put anybody to that much trouble,' said Joan, who looked as if she was beginning to wish she'd
just nodded when Peggy had asked if the finding the place had been easy.

‘I'm rapidly coming to the conclusion there are only two kinds of women in this world,' Peggy said. ‘Sweethearts like you, who “don't want to put anybody to that much trouble”, and bitches like my friends and me, who are
so
used to putting other people to trouble that half the time we don't even realize we're doing it.'

‘Is that right?' Joan said vaguely.

‘And now I've shocked you, haven't I?' Peggy asked.

An' she's not the only one you've shocked, Woodend thought.

‘Well, yes, I was a bit surprised,' he heard Joan admit. ‘You see, while I've heard men call women “bitches” once or twice – usually when they've had too much to drink – I don't think I've ever heard a woman use the word about herself – an' certainly not about
other
women.'

Peggy laughed again. ‘Then clearly you don't hang out with the same kind of bitches as I do,' she said. ‘But let's change the subject, shall we?'

‘Yes,' Joan said gratefully. ‘I think that
might
be for the best.'

‘So what shall we talk about? Why don't you tell me how you feel about living in London?'

‘It really is very polite of you to spend so much of your time with me, Mrs Cathcart …' Joan began.

‘Peggy! Call me Peggy!'

‘… an' I want you to know that I do appreciate it. But wouldn't you rather be chattin' to some of your other guests?'

‘Look around you at the women in this room,' Peggy Cathcart said. ‘Do they remind you of me? Or do they remind you of you?'

‘Well, of you, obviously.'

‘Exactly. And that's the trouble with them.'

‘The trouble?'

‘I've grown up with them – or with their sisters or cousins, which is much the same thing. I know all about their attitudes, and the ways their minds work. So even as I'm asking them a question, I already know what the answer's going to be. And that's most awfully boring.'

‘Listen, I know you're tryin' to be kind—' Joan said.

‘See the woman over there?' Peggy interrupted, pointing.

‘Yes?'

And Woodend saw her, too. She was as tall and elegant as Peggy, and was wearing a cocktail dress which had probably cost as much as a small cottage in Whitebridge.

‘I'm going to ask her how her plans for Christmas are going,' Peggy Cathcart told Joan. ‘And she's going to tell me that it's hell in Harrods these days, because the assistants are useless, it's full of people who should really be shopping
elsewhere
, and anyway, it doesn't offer anything like the quality it used to. She may also say – and this is more of a guess on my part – that at least she and her family will avoid the worst of the actual Christmas period, because they'll be away in Switzerland, on a skiing holiday.'

‘Look, there's no need to …' Joan protested.

‘Oh, come on, don't spoil my bit of fun,' Peggy said, and then she took Joan by the arm, and led her across to where the woman in the smart cocktail dress was standing.

‘Do you think I'm right about that, Charlie?' Woodend heard Cathcart ask.

‘Right about what, sir?'

‘That if we'd had the political will, we could actually have stopped the Russians from taking over so much of Berlin?'

‘Maybe,' Woodend said.

And from the corner of his eye he saw that Peggy had now led Joan away from the woman in the smart cocktail dress, and the two of them were huddled in a corner, giggling like schoolgirls.

‘You seem to be having difficulty concentrating with all this noise,' Cathcart said.

‘Well, it is a bit distractin',' Woodend admitted.

‘Then maybe it might be better if we adjourned to the garden before we start talking about really important matters, don't you think?' Cathcart said.

And though it sounded like a suggestion, it was very clearly an order.

‘That's fine with me,' Woodend said.

And he meant it. He had no qualms about leaving Joan alone any longer. In fact, he thought, she seemed to be coping with the situation better than he was.

‘What I didn't know at the time – an' didn't find out until considerably later – was that while all this was goin' on, a very different kind of meetin' was takin' place back in London,' Woodend told Paniatowski. ‘It was a significant meetin' in all kinds of ways, not the least of which was that it was the first time in years that Toby Burroughs an' Greyhound Ron Smithers had come face to face.'

‘Come face to face,' Paniatowski repeated. ‘But weren't they bitter rivals?'

‘They were. An' not just at a business level. They hated each other with a passion. Toby Burroughs had told me that he was quite happy to let Ron Smithers have his share of the London pie, you remember, but that was a lie. The simple fact was that there was nothin' he could do about it, and while both men would have loved to take over the other's gang, neither of them was strong enough to pull it off.'

‘So where did this meeting take place?' Paniatowski asked. ‘Somewhere public, I'd imagine.'

‘
Very
public,' Woodend agreed. ‘Tower Bridge. They both arrived mob-handed, but on different sides of the river. Then, while the minders stayed at the ends of the bridge, the two bosses walked to the middle, which was where an invisible line ran, dividin' Toby's territory from Ron's.'

‘Is that what the meeting was about? Territory?'

‘No, it was about Jimmy Machin.'

‘Why would Burroughs be interested in Jimmy Machin?' Paniatowski wondered.

Woodend grinned. ‘You're
almost
askin' the right question – but not quite,' he said.

‘So what
is
the right question?'

‘Who asked for the meetin' in the first place?'

‘All right, who asked for the meeting in the first place?' Paniatowski said obediently.

‘Smithers did. Now ask me why.'

‘Why?'

‘Because he knew Machin hadn't killed Booth. An' how did he know that?'

‘Because he was there himself when Booth was killed?'

‘Exactly. He'd almost confessed as much when I confronted him in the Savoy Grill. You remember what he said? “It's possible I was in the Waterman's on Tuesday afternoon, though I'll deny it if I'm pushed. An' it's possible –
if I was there
– that I saw a fight break out in which nobody was meant to get seriously hurt, but somebody ended up dead. But it really is as simple as that. A simple accident occurred”.'

‘
Did
he see a fight break out – or did he
start
one?' Paniatowski asked.

‘That's somethin' we'll never know,' Woodend said. ‘Though given his reputation for both temper an' violence, it wouldn't surprise me at all if he was the one who killed Booth.'

Paniatowski took a thoughtful sip of her vodka. ‘I still don't see why he wanted the meeting with Burroughs,' she said. ‘After all, since he'd already dealt with the business by getting Machin to confess …'

‘But that's the point! He hadn't! The other thing he'd told me in the Savoy Grill was that if somebody was usin' Tongue to fit up Machin, it certainly wasn't him. And for once, he was telling the truth.'

‘So he thought that Burroughs was responsible for the fit-up?'

‘Yes.'

‘Why?'

‘Because although Machin wasn't actually on Burroughs's firm, he'd at least done some work for him in the past.'

‘And so Smithers wanted to know why Burroughs – his deadly enemy – had gone out of his way to do him a favour?'

‘He was
burstin'
to know – mainly because he wanted to find out what Burroughs expected in return.'

‘And what
did
Burroughs expect in return?'

‘Nothin'. In fact, he said that he knew absolutely nothin' about the fit-up.'

‘Was he telling the truth?'

‘Maybe,' Woodend said, enigmatically.

‘And if he
wasn't
telling the truth – if he
was
behind it – what was his motive? What possible reason could he have had for saving Smithers's bacon?'

Woodend's grin broadened. ‘You're the new detective chief inspector,' he said. ‘
You
tell
me
.'

W
oodend and Cathcart strolled through the garden until they reached the natural barrier of the river.

Woodend looked around him – at the swans gliding majestically by; at the weeping willows which would be truly magnificent in a few short months; at the jetty projecting out into the water, to which an expensive motor boat was moored.

‘So what do you think of the old place, Charlie?' Cathcart asked. ‘Are you impressed by it?'

‘Who wouldn't be?' Woodend asked.

Cathcart grinned. ‘But if you're as good a copper as I think you are, you'll also have been wondering how I can possibly afford to run it on my salary.'

‘No … I …' Woodend began.

‘Charlie!' Cathcart said sternly.

‘It had crossed my mind,' Woodend admitted.

‘My wife's maiden name was Bairstow. What's the first thing that
you
think of, when you hear that name?'

‘Bairstow's Best Bitter,' Woodend said, automatically.

Cathcart laughed again. ‘Knowing your penchant for strong ale, I'd have been disappointed if you'd said anything else. Bairstows own not only the brewery, but two hundred and fifty public houses as well. And my wife, as the only child of the late Harold of that ilk, owns
Bairstows
– lock, stock, and beer barrel.'

It was Woodend's turn to grin. ‘It's every Northern male's fantasy,' he said.

‘What is?'

‘Marryin' a woman who owns a brewery.'

‘But that's not
why
I married her,' Cathcart told him, suddenly serious.

‘No, no, I'm sure it isn't,' Woodend said hastily.

‘Do you remember that talk we had, back in Berlin, when you asked me if I was married, and I replied – rather awkwardly – that getting married was something I'd never quite got around to doing?' Cathcart asked.

‘Yes, I do,' Woodend replied.

‘I wasn't being quite honest with you at the time. Or perhaps I wasn't being quite honest with myself. The fact is that there are some things you never expect to do in your life, Charlie, and, in my case, one of those things was falling in love. But then I met Margaret, and the moment I caught sight of her, I was lost. She seemed to float across the room, rather than walk as mere mortals do. I thought at first I was just imagining her. And then I realized my poor, pathetic imagination was incapable of conjuring up such a perfect picture of loveliness.'

‘She's … er … certainly a good-lookin' woman,' Woodend said awkwardly.

‘And now you're embarrassed,' Cathcart countered.

‘No, I …'

‘Of course you are, and I don't blame you for it for a moment.
Anybody
would be embarrassed at hearing a middle-aged man going on like a love-sick schoolboy. I want to apologize for putting you in such an awkward position.'

‘Think nothin' of it,' Woodend said.

Cathcart coughed, perhaps to cover his own embarrassment, then said, ‘Anyway, I didn't bring you out here to witter on about myself. It's
you
I want to talk about.'

‘Is it, sir? What
about
me?'

‘I feel responsible for you, Charlie.'

‘There's no need to.'

‘Yes, there is – at least, looking at things from my perspective there is. If we hadn't had our little chat in that jeep in Berlin, you probably wouldn't be here now.'

‘That's true enough.'

‘I suggested you joined the Met because I felt it would be good for
you
, and
you
would be good for it – and though you may not have realized it, I've been following your career with interest.'

‘Have you?'

‘I have indeed. And I have to tell you now that you've more than justified the confidence that I showed in you back in Berlin.'

‘Thank you, sir.'

‘I was the one who pushed through your promotion to DCI Bentley's team,' Cathcart continued. ‘How are you getting on with Bentley, by the way?'

‘All right.'

‘All right! That doesn't exactly tell me much, does it?'