The Red Herring (15 page)

‘An' doesn't the bas–– . . . doesn't he realise that
you
need him, too?' Woodend said angrily.

‘He's . . . he's very serious about doing what he sees as his duty,' Margaret Dunn said. ‘Besides, I think I'll be better making the appeal on my own. You see, Reginald's never really had a close relationship with the girls.' She put her hand up to her mouth, as if by saying what she had, she'd shocked even herself. ‘I don't mean that he doesn't love them . . .
didn't
love Janice, and
doesn't
love Helen,' she amended, ‘but he doesn't find it easy to show his emotions . . . except, of course, his emotions for his country. I think he would have looked rather wooden on television, and I'm not sure that the hurt he's feeling inside would really have come across. And that's what you want, isn't it – for the hurt to come across?'

‘Yes, that's what I want,' Woodend agreed.

‘Then I'm right, and it'll be better if it's just me.'

‘You're a very brave woman, Mrs Dunn,' Woodend said admiringly.

‘Am I?' the woman replied, as if the remark had surprised her. ‘I'm not sure that Reginald would agree with you.'

‘Then he's never really looked at you properly,' Woodend said.

‘No,' Margaret Dunn agreed sadly. ‘I don't think he ever really has.'

‘Where did you meet?'

Margaret Dunn laughed, though without much humour. ‘At an RAF dance, of course. Where else? My father was an air commodore – a bit of a war hero, actually. I sometimes think that what really attracted Reginald to me was the hope that something of Daddy had rubbed off on his daughter.' She shook her head angrily. ‘Why am I talking about me?' she demanded. ‘I don't matter. Reginald doesn't matter. Only
Helen
matters.'

There was a knock on the door, and a voice called out, ‘We're ready for you now, Mrs Dunn.'

Margaret Dunn looked up at Woodend, and he could see the anxiety written in her eyes.

‘Will you come with me?' she pleaded. ‘Will you be sitting by my side when I try to reach out to that . . . that man?'

‘Of course I will, lass,' Woodend said.

W
oodend and Rutter sat at the corner table in the public bar of the Drum and Monkey as they had most nights for over a year. For the previous ten minutes the chief inspector had been doing most of the talking, but now he took a long slurp of his pint and waited for his subordinate to start picking holes in his theory.

‘Tell me again why you think the kidnapping had to be planned in advance,' Rutter said.

‘Think of other kidnappin's you've read about,' Woodend said. ‘Witnesses have come forward to say they've seen vans cruisin' around, as if they were on the lookout for somethin'. Or else they've seen a kid bein' dragged along by somebody they took to be a parent at the time – but aren't so sure about any more. Neighbours have rung up to say blokes who live alone suddenly have a girl stayin' with them. An' what leads have we got this time? None at all! It just has to have been planned.'

‘For Verity Beale to have learned about it, she must have come into contact with the kidnapper.'

‘Or
kidnappers
! Because it wouldn't be the first time there's been more than one nutter involved in a case like this.'

‘So you're saying the kidnappers must be people she knows socially?'

‘Aye, they could be,' Woodend agreed. ‘It could be somebody she's been out with, or the mate of somebody she's been out with. It could have been somebody she heard talkin' at the next table when she was out on a date. Then again, it could be somebody she worked with – or one of them Yanks she's been teachin'. I'm not offering a blueprint for an arrest here, lad, I'm just openin' one of speculation that I don't think we can afford to ignore.'

The door opened and Monika Paniatowski entered the bar. She nodded to her two colleagues, then went over to the bar to order her customary double vodka.

‘Are you going to run this theory of yours by Monika?' Rutter asked.

‘No,' Woodend said.

‘Why not?'

‘Because she's not workin' on our team at the moment.'

‘It's not like you to keep things to yourself,' Rutter said, sounding slightly reproving.

‘It's not a question of keepin' things to myself,' Woodend said. ‘This feller they've sent up from the Yard will have his own way of goin' about things. An' maybe since he's from the outside he might see things we'll overlook or just take for granted. So the last thing I want to do is put blinkers on him. As far as I'm concerned, the more different approaches we have to these the cases the better.'

Paniatowski, having bought her drink, came over to join them. The moment she had sat down she took a generous swig of her vodka.

‘How did your very first television appearance go, Monika?' Woodend asked her.

‘Fine,' the sergeant replied, noncommittally.

‘Do you want to talk about it?' Woodend asked.

‘About my appearance on television?'

‘Nay, lass. About whatever else it is that's so obviously preyin' on your mind.'

‘I'm not sure there
is
much to talk about yet,' Paniatowski confessed. ‘All I've got is this feeling.'

‘What kind of feelin'?'

‘That there's a new set of rules in play, and nobody's bothered to tell me what they are. That though I think I'm in control of myself, there's somebody hidden behind the curtain, pulling my strings.'

‘
Who's
hidin' behind the curtain? Are we talkin' about that feller from the Yard here?'

Paniatowski shook her head. ‘No. At least I don't think so. He's got his faults but . . .'

‘But what?'

A slight smile came to Monika Paniatowski's face. ‘Well, he's a boss, isn't he? So he's bound to have faults. And he's certainly a cocky devil, but then everybody who's ever worked at the Yard is like that.' The smile disappeared, and she became serious again. ‘But I don't see him as the puppet-master. If anybody
is
pulling strings, I suspect his are being yanked as well as mine.'

‘What's his name?' Woodend asked. ‘Maybe I know him.'

‘I don't think you do – unless it's by reputation. His name's Jack Horrocks, and he didn't start working at the Yard until after you'd left.'

‘Until after I was
pushed
, you mean,' Woodend said. ‘What's your general impression of him – an' you leave out that dig about all Yard men bein' cocky, because you've already scored enough points off me with that particular dig.'

‘It's too early in the investigation for me to have anything as grand as a general impression,' Paniatowski said cautiously. ‘I think I like him, but until I've seen how he handles the interview in the morning, I won't know how good a bobby he is.'

‘What interview?' Woodend asked.

‘We're going to talk to the American officer who was drinking with Verity Beale just before she died.'

‘An' presumably also slept with her, an' all,' Woodend said.

‘Presumably.'

The waiter came across to the table. ‘Phone call for you, Mr Woodend,' he said.

‘Who is it?'

‘He wouldn't give his name. Just said it was very important he talked to you right away.'

Woodend stood up. ‘Probably the Jehovah's Witnesses. I've been on their hit list for some time,' he said, forcing a grin to his face.

The phone was in the passageway which led to the toilets, next to a stack of empty beer crates.

‘Woodend!' the chief inspector said, picking it up.

‘I saw you on the television tonight.'

The voice at the other end of the line sounded hoarse, but Woodend suspected that was more to disguise it than because the caller had some kind of throat infection.

‘So you saw me on the telly, did you?' he asked. ‘What are you? A talent scout? Think you can get me a job in Hollywood, do you?'

‘You're looking for the little girl.'

‘If you
did
see me on the telly, you don't have to be a genius to have worked that out.'

‘I've got her.'

Woodend felt the hairs on his neck prickle. The hoarse caller could be a crank, of course – they got enough of those ringing in after every major crime. But there was always the possibility that he wasn't!

‘So you've got her, have you?' he asked. ‘Well, why don't you hand her back before any real harm's done? You're probably a bit frightened yourself, but you don't need to be. You don't have to run any risk in returnin' her – just leave her somewhere she can be easily found, an' then call me again.'

The other man laughed. ‘You'd like that, wouldn't you?'

‘Yes I would. I think it'd be the best thing all round,' Woodend said earnestly.

‘I'm going to be gone for a moment, but don't hang up because I've got someone I'd like you to hear.'

There was silence for a few seconds, then Woodend heard a girl's voice say, ‘Don't hurt me! Please don't hurt me!'

‘Who are you, luv? Tell me your name!' Woodend said.

‘I'm . . . I'm Helen Dunn.'

The line fell silent again. Woodend began counting slowly. He had reached twelve before the man with the rasping voice came back.

‘As you've just heard for yourself, she's still alive,' the rasper said. ‘You
did
hear, didn't you?'

‘Yes, I heard,' Woodend agreed. ‘What is it you want?'

‘I want to
kill
her, of course! But not yet. Killing her now wouldn't be half as much fun as waiting a while. So there's still a chance you could find us both, isn't there?'

‘You don't have to go through with this, you know,' Woodend said, trying not to sound as if he were pleading.

‘But I
want
to go through with it. Why don't you ask me when I intend to kill her?'

‘There's no point in either of us talkin' like that.'

‘Ask me!' the other man insisted. ‘Ask me – or I'll do it right now.'

‘When are you goin' to kill her?' Woodend said dully.

The hoarse man laughed again. ‘I don't know,' he said. ‘It could be three days from now, or it could be tomorrow morning. You've no way of knowing, have you? So if you want to find her, you haven't got a minute to waste.'

Then the line went silent again, and this time there was mechanical hum which told Woodend the call really was over.

‘Whoever the caller was, he must have been in this pub fairly recently,' Bob Rutter said, looking round him in an attempt to remember the faces of the people who had been in the now-vacant seats.

‘He could have been here,' Woodend agreed. ‘On the other hand, he might know my car, an' have seen it parked outside when he drove past. Or he could just be somebody who knows me well enough to be sure that I'd be here at this time of night. The point is, was the caller the kidnapper or just a nutter?'

‘You heard the girl's voice,' Paniatowski pointed out.

‘I heard
a
girl's voice,' Woodend countered. ‘In fact, I can't even be sure of that. I heard what
sounded
like a girl's voice choked with terror, but maybe it was just him impersonatin' a girl.' He drew heavily on his cigarette. ‘But let's assume for the moment that the call was genuine,' he continued. ‘Why should the kidnapper have rung me?'

‘Because you're the man in charge,' Rutter said. ‘Because he saw you on television.'

‘I didn't mean that,' Woodend said. ‘What I want to know is, why ring
anybody
connected with the case?'

‘Maybe he just likes playing games,' Paniatowski suggested.

‘Aye, that's not entirely unknown,' Woodend agreed. ‘But if that
is
the case, the call should have come later.'

‘What do you mean?' Rutter asked.

‘If he is playin' a game, there's two parts to it. The first part is the one he plays with the girl, an' the second is the one he plays with me.'

‘You're saying he shouldn't have rung you until there was no chance of you spoiling the first part of the game,' Rutter said.

‘Or to put it another way, he shouldn't have rung you until the girl was dead,' Paniatowski added.

‘Exactly,' Woodend said. ‘Let's leave that question for a minute, an' move on to somethin' else. He could have rung me at the station. He could have rung me at the television studio, just after we'd made the broadcast. But he didn't do either of those things. He either ran the risk of followin' me, or took the chance that I'd be here. Why?'

‘He wanted to make sure you had no possibility of either tracing the call or recording it,' Paniatowski said.

‘That's what I think, an' all,' Woodend agreed. ‘Which means that he's not like some of these loonies who play games with the police because what they really want to do is get caught. So I come back to my original question. Why
is
he playin' the game – an' why has he started to play it
now
?'

The waiter returned to the table. ‘Another call for you, Mr Woodend. I think it might be the same man who called you last time.'

He should have rung the technical lads at the station, and had a tracer put on the pub's phone, Woodend thought as he stood up. But even if he
had
done that, it would not have been in place yet – and the caller probably knew it just as well as he did.

He reached the corridor and picked up the phone. ‘Is it you again?'

‘Yes, it's me again,' the hoarse-voiced caller said. ‘Have you been having a nice little chat with Inspector Rutter and Sergeant Paniatowski?'