Dying Fall by Sally Spencer Read Free Book Online Page B

been close enough to hear Woodend’s words, did a half-turn towards the door.
    â€˜Not you, Inspector!’ Woodend said loudly. ‘You can take a seat – because it’s about time you an’ me had a little talk.’
    Paniatowski and Beresford made the hurried exit which had obviously been demanded of them, but before they reached the door, Paniatowski distinctly heard Woodend say, ‘So tell me, Inspector Rutter, are you still a full-time member of this team or aren’t you?’
    It was not like Charlie to speak so loudly, she thought as she stepped out on to the pavement – so the fact that she’d heard what he said meant that she’d been
intended
to hear it.
    Or to put it another way, her hearing it had been part of Rutter’s punishment.

Six
    T he note that Woodend found waiting for him on his desk when he returned from the Drum and Monkey was brief – and very much to the point.
    â€˜The chief constable wishes to see you
the moment
you return to headquarters,’ it read.
    Woodend studied Marlowe’s spidery handwriting for a second, and then found himself wondering just what kind of man it was who needed to write about himself in the third person.
    â€˜An’ the answer is,’ he said aloud to his empty office, ‘it’s the kind of man who’s a real dickhead.’
    Then he sat down, lit up a cigarette, and promised himself he would smoke it really slowly.
    When he did finally reach the chief constable’s office, ten minutes later, he discovered that his boss was not alone – nor even, apparently, in charge. For while Marlowe usually sought to reinforce his position in the pecking order by sitting behind his over-large desk, his chair was at that moment occupied by another man, and the chief constable himself was standing by the window.
    The man behind the desk was in his middle forties. He was square-faced, brown-eyed and had a cleft in his chin. His body had the chunkiness of a rugby player, and if that had been his sport, he’d obviously made an effort to keep in shape after he’d hung up his boots for the last time.
    â€˜You know Councillor Lowry, don’t you, Mr Woodend?’ Marlowe asked.
    Woodend nodded in the general direction of the man behind the desk. ‘We’ve met,’ he said.
    â€˜As you may already be aware, Councillor Lowry is not only the managing director of the highly successful Lowry Engineering Company, but also the chairman of the Police Authority for Central Lancashire,’ Marlowe said.
    There didn’t seem to be much to say in response, so Woodend said nothing. But what he was
thinking
was that Lowry’s appearance spelled trouble. Ever since he’d assumed the chairmanship of the police authority the previous year, Lowry had been harrying the Force to produce more results at a lower cost to the ratepayers. And that, in Woodend’s opinion, led to bad police practice.
    Lowry had been studying Woodend intently for some seconds, but now he turned his attention to Marlowe, and said, ‘Thank you, Henry.’
    It was as neat – and abrupt – a dismissal as Woodend had ever seen, and in the face of it the chief constable could do no more than nod and reply, ‘Well, if you need me for anything, Tel—’
    â€˜I’ll know where to find you,’ Lowry interrupted him. Then he waited until Marlowe had stepped out into the corridor, before continuing, ‘Do take a seat, Chief Inspector Woodend.’
    Woodend sat.
    â€˜Every once in a while, I make it my business to meet one of the officers who work for this police authority,’ Lowry said. ‘It helps to give me some idea of what the grass roots are thinking.’
    â€˜No need to talk to us foot soldiers to find that out,’ Woodend said. ‘Just ask the chief constable. After all, as one of the most experienced sergeants on the force was tellin’ me only this mornin’, Mr