The Dead Hand of History (14 page)

‘You've got a point,' Beresford agreed.

‘Another priority is to check out Tom Whittington's flat and Linda Szymborska's house,' Paniatowski said. ‘I'll see to that myself. And we also need more information on Linda and Stan's marriage. If we ask him about it, I've no doubt he'll claim that it was a marriage made in heaven, and that – until last night – there was never a cross word between them. And Jenny Brunskill will probably tell us the same – because she's a loyal little thing. So what we need to do is talk to people who don't have quite as much invested in the perfect-marriage theory.'

‘I'll handle that,' Walker offered.

Oh no, you won't, Paniatowski thought. I don't want you jumping into anything as delicate as that with your size-nine boots.

‘There's another job I have in mind for you,' she said. ‘I want you to be in charge of the search.'

‘The search? For Linda Thingy's and Tom Whittington's bodies?'

‘That's right.'

Walker sighed heavily. ‘If that's what you really want, ma'am. You're the boss, and I'm here to do no more than your bidding.'

‘But I take it from your sigh that you're not very enthusiastic about the idea yourself?'

‘If I'm honest, ma'am, no, I'm not. As I see it, it'll be a waste of resources which could be more usefully employed elsewhere.'

‘In what
way
will it be a waste of resources?'

‘I'd have thought that was obvious.'

‘Not to me, it isn't.'

‘We have almost no chance of actually finding the bodies, because they could be anywhere in Lancashire by now – or maybe even further afield than that,' Walker said.

‘They could be – but I don't think they are,' Paniatowski told him. ‘It takes time to move bodies around, and given that both of the victims must have been killed after they left work—'

‘It's true, they were, but that's more than twenty-four hours ago now,' Walker interrupted.

‘. . . and that Stan, if he
is
the killer, has been in his office for most of the day, that time simply hasn't been available.'

‘He could have shifted them overnight,' Walker said.

‘Could he?' Paniatowski asked.

‘I don't see why not.'

‘If you'd just murdered two people, would you put their bodies – still leaking all kinds of unpleasant fluids – into the boot of your car and drive through central Lancashire in the dark with them?'

‘Maybe.'

‘I wouldn't, because even assuming you could
fit
both of them into the boot, think of the risk you'd be running. You might have an accident. People do – even careful drivers. You might be stopped by a random police roadside check – and there are plenty of those around, now that the traffic units are clamping down on drunk-driving.'

‘That's true, but . . .'

‘Our killer's planned out everything far too carefully to be willing to take that kind of chance. So I think the bodies are still here – somewhere in Whitebridge. And having heard my arguments, don't you agree, Sergeant?'

‘It's possible,' Walker said reluctantly.

‘And given the careful man we think he is, the odds are that he chose to commit the
actual murders
somewhere he knew he could safely leave the bodies once it was all over,' Paniatowski continued, ‘because even moving them a
short
distance involves an element of risk.'

‘Which means that you won't just be finding the bodies,' Beresford added supportively, ‘you'll also be uncovering the scene of the crime – which is far more significant.'

‘Because we all know that
however
careful they are, murderers almost always leave at least one clue at the crime scene,' Paniatowski concluded. ‘Isn't that true, Inspector Beresford?'

‘It is, ma'am,' Beresford concurred.

‘And you'd agree with that, too, wouldn't you, Sergeant Walker?' Paniatowski asked.

‘Yes, they usually do,' Walker conceded.

Paniatowski glanced down her watch, and then knocked back her remaining vodka.

‘Right, that's it,' she said, standing up. ‘We've done all we can for one day, we already know what we've all got to do tomorrow – and I'm going home.'

‘There's just one more thing, ma'am,' Walker said.

‘Yes?'

‘You will remember that it was me who first suggested Stan as a suspect, won't you?'

‘Oh yes,' Paniatowski promised. ‘I'll remember.'

ELVEN

L
ily Perkins had been Louisa Paniatowski's nanny from the time Monika had adopted the four-year-old until her sixth birthday party, which was the occasion that the little girl chose for her historic announcement.

‘I don't need a nanny any more,' she said, with deadly seriousness, after the candles had been blown out, the presents had all been opened and her guests were finally gone.

Paniatowski looked at the girl worriedly, and even the subject of the conversation herself, who was standing at the other end of the room, seemed somewhat concerned.

‘You're not upset with Lily, are you?' Monika asked.

‘Course not,' Louisa replied in an offhand way which indicated that she thought that was just the kind of stupid question you could expect from grown-ups. ‘I love Lily – but I'm
too old
for a nanny now.'

Paniatowski relaxed. ‘So you are,' she agreed. ‘I'm sorry, Lily, but you're just going to have to go.'

‘Go?' Louisa repeated, her lower lip already starting to tremble.

‘Or how about this for an idea?' Paniatowski said quickly, before the tears could begin to fall. ‘We give Lily the sack as your nanny, and we hire her to do our cooking and cleaning for us?'

‘That
is
a good idea!' Louisa agreed, with obvious relief.

And so Nanny Lily had been banished from the house forever, and Housekeeper Lily had immediately taken her place.

Lily Perkins finished polishing the cooker hob and turned around to inspect the rest of the kitchen. She'd done a good job on it, she decided, a job that would satisfy even the most demanding of employers – so it would certainly more than satisfy Monika, who left half her mind in police headquarters and hardly even noticed what the house looked like.

There was the sound of a key turning in the front door, and Lily stripped off her rubber gloves and made her way to the hall.

‘Thank the Lord you're home,' she said, as her employer stepped across the threshold.

‘Why? What's the matter? Is something wrong?' Paniatowski asked, with obvious alarm.

‘Al-Jebra,' Lily said darkly.

‘Al-Jebra?'

‘You know! It's like doing normal sums, but you use letters instead of numbers.'

Algebra! Paniatowski thought, with relief.

‘It was all right when Louisa was in primary school,' Lily continued. ‘Then all I had to do was help her decide what crayon to use to colour things in with, and I was quite good at that. But I tell you, Monika, the stuff that she's bringing home now gives me a blinding headache. I've explained to her I'm well out of my depth – but, even so, I do so hate to disappoint the little lass.'

Paniatowski smiled. Lily was a real treasure, she thought, and though the woman might not be much in the brain stakes, she was full of common sense and had a heart as big as a double-decker bus.

Lily was already reaching for her coat from the hallway rack.

‘If I rush, I'll just be in time for bingo,' she explained. ‘To tell you the truth, I was fully resigned to missing it tonight.'

‘I told you I'd be home by eight.'

‘So you did.'

‘Well, then?'

‘But what with you starting a new job, and there being a new murder to investigate, I took all that with a pinch of salt.'

‘I said I'd be home at eight and I
am
home at eight,' Paniatowski said defensively. ‘I'm trying to turn over a new leaf.'

‘Hmm,' Lily said, unimpressed. ‘A new leaf, you say.'

‘A new leaf,' Paniatowski repeated.

‘Well, we'll see how long
that
lasts, won't we?' Lily asked sceptically, as she headed through the door.

Louisa was sitting at her desk, her pencil clutched tightly in her hand and her tongue pensively licking the corner of her mouth as she tried to penetrate the mysteries of Al-Jebra.

She really was a beautiful child, Paniatowski thought, watching her from the doorway – her skin was olive brown, her eyes were dark pools, and her hair was as jet-black as the coat of an Andalusian stallion.

She looked
so much
like her natural mother, and Paniatowski often found herself wondering just how much Louisa actually remembered of the woman who had been murdered by mistake.

She wondered, but she didn't ask, because since the child had never brought the subject up herself, she didn't feel brave enough to bring it up either.

Louisa sensed her presence, and looked up, smiling.

‘You're home early, Mum,' she said.

‘I'm trying to turn over a new leaf,' Paniatowski said, for the third time in as many minutes.

Louisa rolled her eyes in disbelief.

‘Right,' she agreed. ‘You're turning over a new leaf. And there really
is
a Father Christmas.'

‘Don't make me feel guilty,' Paniatowski pleaded silently. ‘Not tonight. Not on my first day in a job that I'm not even sure I can handle.'

‘Cheer up, Mum,' Louisa said. ‘It
was
only a joke, you know.'

Paniatowski forced herself to smile.

‘I know that,' she said. ‘Of course I do. So, tell me, how's the homework going?'

‘It didn't make any sense at first, but I think I understand it now,' Louisa said seriously. ‘You can check it, if you like.'

‘I'd be more than delighted to,' Paniatowski said, pulling up a chair and sitting down beside her. ‘In fact, I'd be honoured to.'

Louisa giggled. ‘You do lay it on a bit thick sometimes, Mum, you know,' she said.

Yes, I suppose I do, Paniatowski thought. But that's because I'm trying to be both mother and father to you – and there are times when I think I'm not up to either job.

‘By the way,' she said aloud, as she checked through Louisa's homework, ‘I've got a message for you.'

‘Who from?'

‘Dr Shastri. She sends her love.'

Louisa looked puzzled. ‘Do I know any Dr Shastri?' she asked.

‘Of course you do. She's the police doctor.'

‘Oh, Auntie Putibai!' said Louisa, as the penny dropped.

‘Is that her name?'

‘Didn't you
know
that's her name?' Louisa asked quizzically.

No, Paniatowski admitted, I didn't.

In fact, she'd be willing to bet that there was no one in the Mid-Lancs Constabulary who
did
.

She had worked with Dr Shastri for over ten years, and they had become friends – at least to the extent that the doctor's familiar-yet-distant attitude ever allowed anyone to become her friend – but Shastri had never volunteered her name, and, as time went by, it had grown increasingly difficult, not knowing it already, to ask what it was.

Besides, it didn't seem quite right that Shastri
should
have a first name, as if she was just an ordinary mortal like the rest of them.

The mention of ‘Auntie' Putibai had got Louisa thinking of other pseudo-relatives.

‘Do you know what?' she asked.

‘What?'

‘I do miss Uncle Charlie. I know he's only just gone, but I
already
miss him.'

And so do I, Paniatowski thought. So do I.

Detective Constable Jack Crane was sitting on a stool in his bedsit, with a well-thumbed book of Andrew Marvell's poems open on the small kitchen table in front of him.

As he read, his lips moved, not because they needed to, but because he liked the feel of them as they formed themselves around the words.

Being both a university graduate
and
a policeman was not an easy furrow to plough, he thought with that small part of his mind which was still refusing to be absorbed by the poem.

His old university friends – still mindlessly quoting the words of Marx and Kropotkin, even three years after leaving their ivory tower – looked down on him as some kind of traitor.

And his colleagues in the Force? They didn't even
know
he'd been to university.

It had been a conscious decision on his part to keep his academic background a secret from the people he worked with, and it was one he had never regretted taking, because the simple fact was that most bobbies – and not just Neanderthals like Sergeant Walker – distrusted a man with an education. And when even a grammar-school education was looked on with suspicion, a man with a 1st Class Honours degree in English Literature would have to be a
complete
fool not to keep quiet about it.

While his lips continued to mouth Marvell's words, his mind turnpped to the murder investigation in which he, as a detective constable, would be playing a minor role.

He already knew much more about the case than most of the other junior offices involved in it, because, unlike them, he had been at the bakery with Walker, and so had learned the identity of the two victims.