âBut why donât you tell me why
you
think youâre a victim?â
âI was sexually abused as a child,â Mainwearing told him. âFrom the age of six! By my own father! Dear old Dad!â He sniffed, and a single tear began to run down his cheek. He brushed it angrily away with the back of his hand. âIâm sorry,â he said. âI should have more control than that.â
Woodend risked a surreptitious glance at Paniatowski. By now she should have waded into the interrogation, playing the role of the bad bobby to Woodendâs more reasonable one. It was a part she had already played successfully several times that afternoon. But instead of showing her claws, she was just sitting there â pale as a stone statue, as wooden as a church pew carving.
The chief inspector cursed himself for his own stupidity. Paniatowski, as he was only too well aware, had herself been abused as child â though by her step-father, rather than her natural one. The damage the experience had done to her was not noticeable most of the time, but there were occasions â and this was obviously one of them â when, despite her best efforts, that damage rose to the surface.
âAnâ I should have seen it cominâ,â Woodend told himself. âI should have bloody well seen it cominâ.â
âAre you all right, Sergeant?â Mainwearing asked â and he sounded genuinely concerned.
âDonât worry about her,â Woodend said roughly. âYouâve got enough problems on your own plate at the moment, not the least of which is convincinâ me that youâre on the wagon as far as little boys are concerned.â
âI had counselling in prison, and Iâve had counselling since I came out,â Mainwearing said. âItâs been a struggle, but Iâve got it under control. If I ever thought I
couldnât
control it, Iâd submit myself for voluntary castration.â
Woodend winced at even the mention of castration, then said, âDo you have an alibi for this afternoon?â
âYes, I do.â
âLetâs hear it, then.â
âI was an accountant before I went into prison, but while I was serving my sentence I trained as a motor mechanic, and after I was released I decided Iâd rather tinker with engines than with figures.â
âI didnât ask for your life story, I asked for your alibi,â Woodend said, glancing at Paniatowski again and seeing that she was starting to come out of the trance into which her own painful memories had drawn her.
âI have my own garage,â Mainwearing continued, unruffled. âItâs a very modest business, but Iâm quite proud of it. Thatâs where I was when your officers picked me up.â
âAnâ thatâs where you were all afternoon, is it? Workinâ on a motor, no doubt. All by yourself!â
A slight, amused smile came to Mainwearingâs lips. âIf I had been working alone in my garage, that wouldnât be much of an alibi, now would it?â he asked. âAs a matter of fact, Iâd only just got back to the garage when your men came for me. For the previous four hours, Iâd been working at the municipal bus station on one of the double-deckers that was having some rather complicated engine trouble. You can check on that, if you like â¦â
âDonât worry, I will.â
â⦠but it will be a waste of police time. I was working side by side with two of the bus companyâs own mechanics, and because it was such a rush job, we didnât even stop for lunch. All we had to eat was sandwiches, and we munched away at them while we were working on the engine.â
Mainwearing was either the best liar heâd ever met, or he was telling the truth, Woodend decided. He was almost convinced it was the latter â though heâd still make sure he had the alibi checked out.
âDo you
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