Death Watch by Sally Spencer Page B

want us to catch whoever abducted this young girl, Mr Mainwearing?’ he asked.
    â€˜But of course,’ Mainwearing replied, looking shocked that the question even needed to be posed.
    â€˜Then help us out,’ Woodend suggested. ‘Give us some sort of lead to latch on to.’
    â€˜Like what?’
    â€˜Tell us the name of somebody we should be takin’ a closer look at.’
    â€˜I wish I could, but I’ve no idea who the guilty party could be,’ Mainwearing told him. ‘Alcoholics often band together. I suppose that’s because as long as all the people around them are drinking as heavily as they are, they can convince themselves they’re normal. Sex offenders aren’t like that. Theirs is very much a solitary obsession.’
    Yes, by and large it
was
a solitary obsession, Woodend thought. He’d said as much to Paniatowski earlier. And the very fact that it
was
solitary was the whole bloody problem!
    â€˜Alcoholics have a knack of recognizin’ kindred spirits even when other people don’t,’ he said, giving this line of questioning one last chance. ‘Are you tryin’ to tell me you couldn’t spot another sex offender?’
    â€˜I probably could spot some of them,’ Mainwearing admitted. ‘But not all of them, by any means. As I’ve already said, they’re a very cunning breed. And just as a recovering alcoholic steers well clear of pubs and parties where he knows there’ll be booze, I steer well clear of playgrounds – and anywhere else there might be children. So as much as I might wish to, I’m afraid I can’t give you the name of a single sex offender living in the Whitebridge area, Chief Inspector.’
    Woodend nodded defeatedly. ‘You can go now, Mr Mainwearing,’ he said. ‘But if you’re contemplatin’ leavin’ Whitebridge for any length of time, you must let us know where you’re goin’.’
    Mainwearing stood up. ‘Why should I want to go anywhere else?’ he wondered aloud. ‘What would be the point, when wherever I went I could never escape myself?’
    Woodend waited until Mainwearing had left the room, then turned to Paniatowski again. The colour had returned to the sergeant’s cheeks, he noted, and she was not sitting as quite as stiffly as she had been earlier. But she still looked very troubled.
    â€˜Are you all right, Monika?’ he asked.
    â€˜All right? Why wouldn’t I be all right? Of course I’m all right,’ Paniatowski replied in an aggressive tone which showed she clearly wasn’t.

Six
    I t was a long-standing tradition that, at the end of a day spent investigating a major case, Woodend’s team would congregate around their special table in the public bar of the Drum and Monkey. It was at this table – over pints of best bitter for the men, and glasses of vodka for Monika Paniatowski – that theories were exchanged, and imaginative leaps in detection made. It was at this table that finding the solution to complex crimes often began.
    That night the team arrived at the pub just before closing time, and as they sat down it was plain to all of them that the magic – the usual electricity which leapt from one to the next – was notable only by its absence.
    â€˜The problem is that there’s nothing for us to get our teeth into in this case,’ Bob Rutter said dispiritedly, as he sipped without enthusiasm at the pint Woodend had just bought him.
    Yes, that was
exactly
the problem, the chief inspector agreed silently.
    Most violent crimes were relatively simple to solve, because the victim had some direct connection with his or her attacker.
    A wealthy man is murdered – take a very close look at the people who stand to benefit from his estate.
    A victim’s body displays signs of a frenzied attack – find out who had a deep grudge against him.
    Greed and anger – these were the two