A Walk With the Dead by Sally Spencer Page B

sheepishly. ‘I wasn’t about to deny it, boss,’ he admitted. ‘I’m cursed with good looks.’
    â€˜And burdened with humility,’ Paniatowski said dryly. ‘Sergeant Meadows, on the other hand, comes across to teenage girls as an older sister. Admittedly, it’s a slightly
dangerous
older sister – the one they’d like to copy if only they had the nerve . . .’ She paused. ‘I’ve got that about right, haven’t I, Kate?’
    â€˜If you say so, boss,’ Meadows replied.
    â€˜And because that’s how they see her, they’ll tell her things they’d never dream of telling the rest of us,’ Paniatowski continued. ‘That leaves you, Jack. You can stick with me, and carry my bag.’
    â€˜Fine,’ Crane said, doing his best to hide his disappointment.
    â€˜That’s about as far as we can go for the moment,’ Paniatowski said, rounding things up. ‘Any questions?’
    Meadows shook her head, and Crane said, ‘It all seems clear enough.’
    â€˜Will you two excuse us for a minute?’ Beresford asked, looking first at the sergeant and then at the detective constable.
    He’d posed it as a question, but both Meadows and Crane knew it was nothing of the kind, and they immediately stood up and walked over to the bar.
    â€˜I hope you’re not looking for advice on your ever-more-complicated love life, because I never discuss sex on a Sunday,’ Paniatowski said, with an uneasy grin.
    She knew what he was going to say, Beresford thought – and she didn’t want to hear it.
    â€˜Are you sure you want this case, Monika?’ he asked, anyway.
    Paniatowski’s forced grin froze, and then melted completely away.
    â€˜Firstly, we don’t know yet if it
will be
a case,’ she said. ‘And secondly, if it does turn out to be a case, why
wouldn’t
I want it?’
    â€˜It’s less than two months since your Louisa was abducted,’ Beresford said. ‘Do you remember what sort of state you were in when that happened?’
    â€˜Of course I remember. How can you ever think I’d forget it? Now can we change the subject, please?’
    â€˜We were in the pub in Bellingsworth village when you got the call that she’d gone missing, and—’ Beresford continued steadfastly.
    â€˜I know where we bloody were,’ Paniatowski interrupted him.
    â€˜â€”and when you came back to the table, you were trembling – and as white as a sheet. You tried to find your car keys in your handbag, and you couldn’t even manage something as simple as that, so in the end I drove you back to Whitebridge myself.’
    â€˜Are you enjoying dredging all this up?’ Paniatowski asked. She shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, that wasn’t fair.’
    Beresford said nothing.
    Ten seconds ticked slowly by before Paniatowski continued, ‘Yes, I was in a state. I admit that. Louisa’s my only child, for God’s sake! How would you have expected me to react?’
    â€˜Exactly as you did,’ Beresford said. ‘And you’re not
so far
from that state now. So do you really think that you’re strong enough to handle an investigation which is bound to remind you of that terrible night?’
    â€˜I’m strong enough,’ Paniatowski said.
    â€˜I’m sure that the deputy chief constable would be more than willing to hand the investigation – if there is one – over to some other chief inspector,’ Beresford told her.
    â€˜I’m strong enough,’ Paniatowski repeated, firmly.

FIVE
    S unday drifted lazily on, as Sundays invariably and inevitably did. The pubs closed at two in the afternoon, the drinkers wandered home, and by half-past two, the centre of Whitebridge – and the suburbs that clung to it like dependent limpets – were almost deserted. Once inside their own houses, the Sunday drinkers tucked into their