A Walk With the Dead (29 page)

‘Quite the reverse – you've been extremely competent throughout the whole sorry business.'

‘Then I don't see . . .'

‘Before you came here, you had a job at Winson Green Prison in Birmingham, didn't you?'

‘Yes.'

‘So why did you put in for a transfer?'

‘No particular reason – I just felt like a change.'

‘You came here for one reason, and one reason only – because this is where Jeremy Templar was being sent.'

‘Why would I have done that? I'd never even laid eyes on him until I got here.'

‘Last night, at the pub, I was accosted by a Mr Williams,' Baxter said. ‘He told me about all the horrific things that Templar had done to his daughter. Then he suggested that I shouldn't pursue my investigation into who'd been attacking Templar too carefully. Would you care to make a comment at this point?'

‘No.'

‘The question is, how did he know I'd be in the pub? And the answer is – because you told him.'

‘Oh, I see,' Jeffries said. ‘I learn you're going to the pub, so I ring this Mr Williams in Birmingham, and by the time you've driven the five miles from here, he's driven over
a hundred
miles from Birmingham. Is that how it's supposed to have happened?'

‘No,' Baxter said. ‘That isn't how it happened at all. Williams and his daughter will have been staying in the area – probably at the house of a friend – awaiting their opportunity to talk to me. Tell me, Mr Jeffries, if I ask your neighbours if you've had visitors recently, what are they likely to tell me?'

‘So I knew the Williams family slightly when I lived in Birmingham, and when he asked me if I could put him up for the night, I saw no objection to it,' Jeffries said, taking another step backwards. ‘What's wrong with that?'

‘It was more than just a slight acquaintanceship,' Baxter told him. ‘Williams' daughter, Susan, was baptized at St Luke's Church on the thirteenth of September 1959. One of her godmothers was Susan Blaine, Mr Williams' sister, who she was named after. The other godmother was Jane Talbot. And her godfather was Edward Jeffries.'

‘You should have known her when she was growing up,' Jeffries said, dropping all pretence and smiling fondly, despite the situation he now knew he was in. ‘She was an absolutely marvellous little kid, and I learned to love her as much as if she'd been my own daughter.' The smile faded, and a mask of hatred replaced it. ‘Then that animal got his hands on her!'

‘And you decided that the sentence he'd been handed down wasn't harsh enough,' Baxter said. ‘More than that – you decided to punish him yourself. It can't have been too difficult to get some of the prisoners to do your bidding. You had rewards and punishments aplenty to offer them.'

And even the king rat on the other side of the bars hadn't dared stand in the way, because that would have meant a late-night visit by officers carrying truncheons, and transfer to another prison the following morning.

‘Put yourself in my position for a second,' Jeffries said. ‘You'd have done the same.'

‘No, I wouldn't,' Baxter corrected him, ‘I'd have
wanted
to do the same. But I'd have stopped myself – because if we don't have the rule of law, then we don't have anything.'

‘What happens now?' Jeffries asked.

‘The Yorkshire Police are on the way. You probably have about half an hour before they arrest you. You might want to use that time to apologize to the other officers you've dragged into your conspiracy, and who will probably soon be arrested themselves.'

‘I did what I did for poor little Susan's sake,' Jeffries said defiantly. ‘Whatever happens to me now, I have no regrets, and if I had my time over again, I'd do exactly the same thing – except that this time I'd make sure Templar didn't get a chance to hang himself before I'd
really
made him suffer.'

‘If, instead of coming to Dunston to wreak your revenge, you'd stayed in Birmingham and been the kind of supportive godfather that Susan needs right now, you'd have done a lot more good,' Baxter said.

Jeffries looked at Baxter as blankly as Susan's father had done, when the chief constable had said something similar to him.

‘I don't see that,' he said.

‘No,' Baxter agreed sadly, ‘I know you don't.'

When Paniatowski and Meadows arrived at Woolworths, at eight thirty-five that morning, they found the middle-aged man, who they had arranged to meet there, pacing up and down along the pavement and glancing at his watch every few seconds.

‘Sam Houghton, head of security,' he said in a clipped military tone which he couldn't quite carry off. ‘I thought we'd agreed on eight thirty.'

Paniatowski could have mentioned that she'd been up half the night, going through files of previous murders and trying to establish a pattern – but when a store detective elevates himself to the position of head of security, explanations are rarely worth the bother, so she contented herself with saying, ‘Sorry to have kept you waiting, Mr Houghton.'

‘Well, at least you're here now,' Houghton said, in what he probably considered a magnanimous tone.

He put his key in the lock, and pushed open the main door of the big empty store.

‘I almost became a bobby once myself,' Houghton said, as he led them down the shop.

‘Oh yes?' Paniatowski asked neutrally. ‘What stopped you?'

‘Well, to be honest with you, I think I've got too much initiative – too much drive – to have ever really fitted into a stodgy organization like the police,' Houghton said. He paused. ‘No offence intended.'

‘None taken,' Paniatowski assured him.

They had reached the back end of the store. A nondescript door faced them, and on it was a handwritten note that said, ‘Strictly No Entry to Unauthorized Personnel – this means you!'

‘This is it,' Houghton said, ‘the nerve centre of the store's entire security operation.'

He opened the door with a flourish, and they found themselves looking into a room that was little more than a broom cupboard, but which was cluttered with big ugly electronic machines.

‘I bet you wish you had a set-up like this down at police headquarters,' Houghton said.

‘We can only dream of it,' Paniatowski agreed.

They edged their way into the room, and shuffled up to the table at the far end of it.

There was only one chair, and Houghton took it.

‘Sorry, ladies, but I need to sit here to be able to operate the machines,' he said.

‘Understood,' Paniatowski replied.

She was not holding out great hopes that this whole exercise would lead to anything, for though she agreed with Meadows that it was always
possible
the murderer had been in the store, it did not seem like a
strong
possibility. Still, she had to admit that clutching at straws started to look like a pretty good prospect when you were drowning – and she was certainly drowning in this investigation.

There were three small television sets sitting on the table.

‘Those are the monitors,' Houghton said grandly. ‘There are three cameras in operation, so there have to be three monitors. I can either run them one at a time, or all three simultaneously. Which would you prefer?'

‘I'm not sure,' Paniatowski admitted. ‘Are the video machines anything like tape recorders?'

‘There are certain similarities, though, of course, the video machines are much more complex,' Houghton said, in a superior tone.

‘So it's not too difficult to rewind them?'

‘No problem at all, if you know what you're doing – as I do. I can rewind them, freeze the image, anything you want.'

‘Then run all the monitors together,' Paniatowski said.

Houghton clicked a few switches, and black and white images appeared all three screens.

‘Monitor One is showing you the top end of the shop,' Houghton said. ‘You can see me standing by the bras and knickers.'

And so she could, Paniatowski thought. It was weird to be looking down on him, but the man was clearly Sam Houghton.

‘Now look at the third screen, which shows the activity at the other end of the shop, and you'll see the girls,' Houghton said.

Maggie, Polly and Lil are standing at the confectionery counter, then Maggie loses interest in the sweets, and looks around her for something more exciting. Her eyes come to rest on the stationery counter. She jabs Polly to get her attention, points at the counter, and then says something.

‘There's no sound,' Paniatowski said.

‘This is closed-circuit television, not the Odeon Cinema,' Houghton said, frostily,

‘Go over there and grab some pens,' Maggie tells Polly. ‘You can slip them up the sleeve of your cardigan.'

‘What do we want pens for?' Polly asks.

Maggie has no real answer, and so she says, ‘We can sell them.'

‘Who'd want to buy them from us?' Polly wonders.

It's another good question, because no one they know has any use for pens – but there is something more important than logic at stake here.

‘It's a test,' Maggie says. ‘You've got to prove you're good enough to stay in my gang.'

‘Why can't Lil do it?' Polly asks.

Why not indeed? Lil would probably be more than willing. But Maggie knows that it would be a fatal error to allow her authority to be challenged at this point.

‘Either you nick some pens, or you're out of the gang right now,' she says firmly.

‘It's not fair,' Polly says.

But she reluctantly heads towards the stationery counter anyway.

‘You see what happened?' Sam Houghton asked. ‘The girl in the wig moved further up the store. That's why she's suddenly disappeared from the end monitor and reappeared on the middle one.'

Maggie has spotted the store detective, over by the knickers, and is watching him carefully, though she occasionally turns round to look at Polly, who is clumsily stuffing pens into her sleeve.

Polly's a bloody useless thief, Maggie decides, and it'll be a miracle if the store detective doesn't catch on to what she's doing.

And no sooner has the thought crossed her mind than the store detective does catch on, and starts to make his way towards the stationery counter.

‘It's an instinct you develop in this job,' Houghton told Paniatowski and Meadows. ‘We see a little slag like her hovering in one place too long, and we know there's something wrong.'

‘Amazing – I wish I had your powers of deduction,' Meadows said.

The store detective is heading in Polly's direction. For a moment, Maggie wonders if she should let Polly get caught as a punishment for being so pretty. Then she reminds herself that she is the leader of this gang, and that carries with it certain responsibilities.

She steps into the centre of the aisle, blocking the store detective's access. When he moves to his left, she moves to her right. When he moves back to his left, she mirrors the action.

‘Get out of my way,' he says gruffly.

She has to say something to stop him, or he will be round her and collaring Polly.

‘You've been watching me, haven't you, mister,' she says. ‘You fancy me, don't you?'

‘Don't be ridiculous,' the detective says.

‘You do! You fancy me.'

‘Kindly get out of my way.'

‘You can cop a quick feel, if you like. I don't mind.'

‘I'll do no such thing.'

The detective tries to squeeze past, but Maggie flings her arms around him, and rubs her flabby breasts up and down his chest.

‘You like it, don't you!' she screams in his ear, only adding to his very obvious disorientation.

‘A lot of men would have lost their cool in that situation, but I was still perfectly in control,' Houghton said.

‘Yes, I can see you were,' Paniatowski agreed, flashing Meadows a warning glance.

Maggie senses the store detective is about to make another break for freedom, and, removing her left hand from his shoulder, makes a grab for his trousers with all the speed and skill she has so often demonstrated behind the school bike sheds. And to her surprise, her hand comes into contact with something hard and inflexible.

‘You really
do
fancy me,' she says in wonder. ‘Well, who would have thought that?'

The store detective has been unwilling to use his superior strength against a mere girl, but now he has had enough. He pushed her away from him with such force that she hits the opposite counter and then falls to the floor.

‘Did we just see her grab your crotch?' Meadows asked, ignoring Paniatowski's second warning look.

‘No, you most certainly did not,' Houghton said forcefully. ‘Looking at it with untrained eyes, you might think that's what happened, but I can assure you, she never touched me.'

The store detective steps over Maggie, and makes his way hurriedly to the stationery counter, leaving the second screen and appearing on the third, but Maggie's delaying tactics have worked, and both Lil and Polly have gone. He turns around to face Maggie.

On the second screen, Maggie has already climbed to her feet, and is heading for the other exit.

‘Jill, Dolly and Maggie,' Paniatowski said softly to herself.

Three young girls who have been attacked in the same park – two of them with fatal consequences – in only four days.

In all the cases of multiple killings that Paniatowski had studied, the killers had always had specific criteria by which they selected their victims – redheads, shop girls, prostitutes – and it had usually been possible to see the thread that connected them.