Stone Killer (28 page)

‘And even then, he didn't come out and simply demand it,' Judith Maitland said bitterly. ‘That wasn't his way.'

‘So what
did
he do?'

‘He said that if his business went bankrupt, he'd move his family to New Zealand. But I knew exactly what he meant – exactly what he was asking for.'

‘So what did you do?'

‘I talked it over with my partner, Stanley.'

‘Why?'

‘Because I needed to draw a substantial amount of capital out of the business, and there was no way I could do it without his consent.'

‘And did he give that consent?'

‘Not at first. But it wasn't the money he was worried about.'

‘No?'

‘Not at all. He said that even without checking the books, he knew the business was going so well that we could easily afford it.'

‘Then what
did
he object to?'

‘To giving in to blackmail. He said there'd be no end to it. Burroughs might claim he'd be happy with just the one payment, but he wouldn't be. He'd be back next year for another one. And the year after that, and the year after that. Stanley said I'd never be free of him.'

‘An' Stanley was right,' Woodend said.

‘I know he was. I even knew it at the time. But I was so desperate that I would have done anything. So I pleaded with Stanley. We had the first real argument we've ever had as partners, and it was a bloody one. But still he wouldn't budge.'

‘But he
did
budge in the end, didn't he?'

‘Yes.'

‘So what made him change his mind?'

‘I had a car accident. I wasn't really harmed at all, but it
could
have been very serious.'

‘I know. I've heard about it.'

‘It shook Stanley up almost as much as it shook me up. Maybe even more. He said if I had died, my last thought would probably have been about him – and how he had refused to help me. He was in tears, even as he was telling me. Then he said that our friendship was worth more to him than all the money in the world. He still thought I was making a mistake, but if paying the blackmail was what I wanted, then he didn't feel he could stop me.'

‘Did you actually get as far as paying Burroughs?'

‘No. The reason I went to see him on the night he died was to tell him that we'd been getting the money together, and he could have it the next day.'

‘Why did you keep quiet about Timothy being your child after you were arrested?' Woodend asked. ‘You must surely have realized that if you'd told the judge that Burroughs was using your own son to blackmail you, you'd never have been given the sentence you were.'

‘I'm not a fool! Of course I realized that.'

‘Then why didn't you say anything?'

‘Because it's bad enough that, when Timothy gets a bit older, he'll learn that his father was murdered. Imagine how much worse for him it would be if he was also told that the person serving time for that murder was his natural mother!'

‘D
o you know what's goin' through my head right now, Monika?' Woodend asked, as he and Paniatowski walked across the car park towards Whitebridge Police Headquarters.

‘I couldn't even begin to guess, sir,' Paniatowski replied.

‘I'm thinkin' that if I come out of this bloody mess in one piece – an' it'd be a foolish man who'd be prepared to put any money on that – I just might have a bit too much to drink tonight.'

‘Good idea.'

‘In fact, I think I might just have
a lot
too much to drink. I could even achieve that state which students of philosophy call “utter leglessness”, if I really put my mind to it.'

A man was coming out of the main door. He had his head down, and was holding his attaché case tightly under his arm.

‘Good evenin', Mr Slater-Burnes,' Woodend said.

The man from the Ministry stopped, and looked up. His face was black with rage.

‘The chap's a viper!' he said hotly.

‘You'll be talkin' about our esteemed Chief Constable, will you, sir?' Woodend asked.

‘He blindsided me,' Slater-Burnes complained. ‘Went completely behind my back. Can you
believe
that?'

‘Very easily,' Woodend said. He turned towards Monika. ‘How about you, Sergeant? Can
you
believe it?'

‘It's not really my place to comment on the actions of my superiors, sir,' Monika Paniatowski said, deadpan.

‘I had no idea what he was doing until the very last minute,' Slater-Burnes continued angrily. ‘Not a clue. And by the time I did get a glimpse of the way his devious, twisted mind was working, it was too late to do anything. Now he looks like the shining hero of the hour, and I look like nothing more than some kind of bumbling nincompoop.'

‘You have my sympathies, sir,' Woodend said.

‘Thank you, Chief Inspector. But bearing in mind that I'll be on the train for London in an hour, while you have to stay here and continue to work with the bloody bastard, I think you need my sympathies much more than I need yours,' Slater-Burnes replied.

The Chief Constable was sitting at his desk. Behind him, on the wall, were framed photographs of him shaking hands with important people, and certificates he had collected by attending courses at institutions located conveniently close to good golf courses.

The look on his face suggested that he thought the world was a very benevolent place to live in if your name happened to be Henry Marlowe – and that he had been waiting patiently to explain, to his least-favourite chief inspector, just why that should be.

‘Ah, Mr Woodend, I'm glad you're here,' he said expansively, ‘because I've got a little job I want you to do for me.'

‘Have you, sir?' Woodend asked. ‘An' what might that be?'

‘Nothing much. Nothing that should stretch even
your
capabilities. I'd simply like you to go down to the Cotton Credit Bank on the High Street, and bring the siege to an end.'

‘I'm sure we'd
all
like that, sir,' Woodend said. ‘But I'm not entirely sure how I should go about it.'

‘Of course you're not,' Marlowe said. ‘But, you see, I am.' He picked up an impressive piece of paper which had been lying conveniently to hand on his desk, and held it out for the Chief Inspector to examine. ‘All you have to do is show this to Major Maitland.'

‘It's a Royal Pardon,' Woodend said, scanning it. ‘I've never seen one before.'

‘Few people have. It's not the kind of document you can get your hands on by merely collecting cigarette coupons.'

‘An' it's for Judith Maitland.'

‘It is, indeed, for Judith Maitland,' the Chief Constable agreed. ‘The Home Secretary took a lot of persuading, but I did finally talk him into using his influence to get it issued.'

‘Aren't you worried about the precedent it might set, sir?' Woodend wondered.

‘Precedent? I don't know what you mean?' Marlowe said.

Of course he did, Woodend thought. He knew perfectly well. But he was playing out the game to its full extent – stretching his moment of triumph as far as he possibly could.

‘It just might send out the message that if you have a relative in gaol, all you need to do to get him pardoned is take a few hostages,' Woodend said, playing a game of his own.

‘That certainly would be the case if Mrs Maitland were to be allowed to get away with it scot free,' the Chief Constable said.

‘But she won't be?'

‘No, she most certainly won't.'

‘Then what
will
happen to her?'

‘The moment the hostages are freed, she'll be re-arrested. This time she won't be charged with
killing
Clive Burroughs, but only with causing him grievous bodily harm. Of course, she can't be given as long a sentence for GBH as she was for murder, but most of the public seem to think her current sentence was too harsh anyway. And so do the newspapers.'

‘Ah, yes, the newspapers,' Woodend said.

The papers were Marlowe's Bible, he'd long ago realized, and if one of the popular ones suggested that it would be a good thing if all chief constables painted their backsides bright yellow, Henry Marlowe's hand would reach straight for the paint brush.

‘So Judith Maitland ends up serving a stiff – but not excessive – sentence, and everybody's happy,' the Chief Constable concluded.

‘Very clever,' Woodend said.

‘I think so, too,' Marlowe said complacently.

‘But I'm afraid that I can see just two little flaws to the plan,' Woodend added.

‘And what might they be?'

‘Well, the first is that you'll be trying her for the same crime twice. An' you can't do that under the rule of double jeopardy.'

‘Haven't you been listening?' Marlowe demanded, irritably. ‘It's the same
crime
, but a different
charge
.'

‘Even so, it's splittin' hairs a bit, isn't it?' Woodend said dubiously. ‘I'm almost sure that Judith Maitland's lawyers will find some grounds on which to object.'

‘Well, of course her lawyers will find grounds on which to object, you bloody idiot. They'll be submitting motions to the Court of Appeal as soon as they learn what we're doing. And they won't stop there. They'll take it as high as the House of Lords, if they have to. And they might even win in the end.'

‘Then I don't see—'

‘But that will take
years
. We'll have all moved on by then – or, at least,
I
will. And do you think the general public will still care by that point? Of course not! They'll have completely forgotten about it.'

‘But they'll still remember you as the man who found a way to end the siege of the Cotton Credit Bank,' Woodend said.

‘Well, exactly!' Marlowe replied, pleased that the Chief Inspector had finally got the point.

‘It's certainly very ingenious,' Woodend admitted. ‘I don't think I would ever have come up with anythin' like that myself, even if I'd thought about it for a thousand years.'

‘Quite,' Marlowe agreed. ‘And that, Chief Inspector, is why I'm sitting in this chair, and you are not.'

‘Yes, that must be the explanation,' Woodend agreed.

The taste of triumph in Henry Marlowe's mouth was acquiring a slightly sour edge to it. For a moment, he wondered why that might be. And then he thought he knew.

It was not at all like Woodend to give in so easily and – for him – so gracefully, he told himself. The obnoxious Chief Inspector had to at least
believe
he had one more card left to play.

‘Let's have it!' the Chief Constable said.

‘Have what, sir?'

‘You said that there were two flaws to what is – as you've admitted yourself – my
very
clever plan.'

‘Yes, sir,' Woodend agreed. ‘Now you come to mention it, I think I
did
say that.'

‘Well, we've dismissed the first of your objections easily enough, haven't we? We've agreed that whatever ultimately happens to Mrs Maitland, I'll come out of the whole affair smelling of roses.'

‘Have we, sir?'

‘Haven't we, Chief Inspector?'

‘Not really. If you do decide to charge Mrs Maitland with GBH, then I think you'll come out of it smellin' of somethin' else entirely.'

‘I'm losing my patience with you, Chief Inspector,' Marlowe said. ‘Why don't you just come right out with what's on your mind?'

‘All right,' Woodend agreed. ‘If you're goin' to charge anybody with GBH, then I think it should be the person who swung the hammer which stove in Clive Burroughs' skull.'

‘And?'

‘An' that, sir,
wasn't
Mrs Maitland.'

I
t had been dark for more than an hour when Woodend and Colonel Danvers passed through the police barricade and entered the High Street. It had not been a particularly warm day, and with the setting of the sun it had grown bitterly cold.

From somewhere in the distance, Woodend could hear the strains of the Salvation Army Band, playing their traditional carols. He'd almost forgotten that Christmas was so close, and he found himself wondering if, when the Queen made her Christmas Day Speech, he'd still be alive to watch.

‘Maitland's been in there for over fifty hours now,' Colonel Danvers said, as they approached the nearer of the armoured cars. ‘I know from experience that the strain must have been almost intolerable. God alone knows what state he's in, or what he's likely to do.'

‘Well, you certainly do know how to motivate a man who's about to set off on a dangerous mission,' Woodend said dryly.

‘You don't have to go, you know,' the Colonel told him. ‘You could let me go, instead. I'm a soldier, like him. He'll listen to me.'

‘No, he won't,' Woodend told him. ‘It has to be me.'

‘Then at least put on a flak-jacket before you enter the bank.'

Woodend shook his head. ‘That'd be sendin' out all the wrong signals. He'll think I'm only wearin' it because there's an assault group followin' right behind me. If this is goin' to work, it has to be because he's sure that he trusts me.'

Danvers shrugged. ‘Well, it's your funeral,' he said.

‘You really
are
good at this motivational stuff, aren't you?' Woodend countered.

For the fourth time since the siege had begun, Woodend opened the heavy glass door and stepped inside the bank. He looked up at the camera Maitland had installed over the counter, waved his hand, and waited.

He did not have to wait long. The door behind the counter opened, and Major Maitland appeared.

‘I didn't send for you,' he said angrily. ‘You're only supposed to come when I send for you!'