Death of an Innocent by Sally Spencer Page A

statements were being re-checked, just as they should have been. Yet already, just over twenty-four hours after the bodies had been discovered, the atmosphere was thick with failure.
    Charlie Woodend would never have allowed this, she thought. Charlie Woodend, unlike DI Harris, understood that getting control into his own hands wasn’t important – that it was only how he
used
that control which mattered.
    She was walking over to her desk when a voice said, ‘DS Monika Paniatowski, is it?’
    She stopped and turned. The man who’d addressed her was around forty-five, she guessed. He had a bullet-shaped head, and quick, darting eyes. Between his large nose and thin-lipped mouth, he had a well-clipped moustache. Even in a crowd, Monika would have picked him out as some kind of hatchet man.
    â€˜Yes, I’m Paniatowski,’ she said.
    The man held out his hand to her. ‘DCI Evans. I’ve been seconded from Preston.’
    So Ainsworth had come to his senses, Paniatowski thought. After wasting the first day of the investigation, he had realized that Harris couldn’t cope, and had brought in somebody from outside. She could only hope that Evans would move quickly to undo the damage which had already been done.
    â€˜Have you officially taken charge yet, sir?’ she asked.
    â€˜Taken charge?’ Evans repeated, mystified.
    â€˜Of the case?’
    â€˜I’m afraid you’re labouring under some misapprehension, Sergeant. I’m not here to assist with your murder investigation.’
    â€˜You’re not?’
    â€˜No. My brief is to investigate the charges which have been brought against DCI Woodend.’
    This was bloody unbelievable, Paniatowski thought. It was bad enough that they were trying to shaft Cloggin’-it Charlie at all – it was insane that they should have chosen to do it at this crucial stage in the investigation.
    â€˜I don’t really see how I can assist you, sir,’ she said.
    â€˜Don’t you?’ Evans asked. ‘Well, from your perspective, you probably don’t. But it’s my perspective which matters here, and
I
think we need to have a serious talk.’
    Phones were ringing all around them. Fresh information was being chalked up on the blackboard.
    â€˜I can probably squeeze a few minutes for you round about lunchtime,’ Paniatowski said.
    â€˜You’ll give me as much time as I need,’ Evans said coldly. ‘And you’ll give it to me now!’
    â€˜But, sir⎯’ Paniatowski protested.
    â€˜It’s not a request,’ Evans told her. ‘It’s an order. Is there a room we could use where we might have a bit more privacy?’
    â€˜There’s probably an office free upstairs.’
    â€˜Then take me to it.’
    Paniatowski led Evans up the basement stairs to the ground floor. The second office she tried was free. Evans walked round the desk, sat down behind it as if it were his own, and signalled the sergeant to take one of the visitors’ chairs.
    â€˜A suspension is a very serious matter,’ he said heavily. ‘As Mr Woodend’s sergeant, I would expect your natural inclination to be one of loyalty, but I must ask you to clear such tendencies from your mind, and do all you can to help me to establish the facts.’
    â€˜The reporter from the BBC was completely in the wrong,’ Paniatowski said. ‘You know yourself that the facts we choose to hold back from the general public can be as important as the ones we reveal, especially in the early stages of an investigation, and besides⎯’
    â€˜Have you ever been to Chief Inspector Woodend’s house?’ Evans interrupted her.
    â€˜Yes,’ Paniatowski replied, puzzled.
    â€˜Socially?’
    â€˜
Mrs
Woodend has invited me round for a meal a few times.’
    â€˜And were you the only guest?’
    â€˜No, I⎯’
    â€˜Who else was there?’
    â€˜What has this