Dying Fall by Sally Spencer Page A

if I retired now.’
    â€˜You probably could,’ Lowry agreed. ‘But there wouldn’t be much cash left over for extras, would there?’
    Woodend shrugged again. ‘I’ve never been one for drinkin’ pink champagne out of chorus girls’ slippers.’
    â€˜Of course you’re not. But there’s your daughter Annie to consider, isn’t there?’
    â€˜What do you mean?’
    â€˜She’s just graduated from nursing college, hasn’t she? She’ll be looking to buy a place of her own, and it would be nice if you could give her a hand with the deposit – but you won’t be able to do that on a policeman’s pension.’
    â€˜Now listen to me—’ Woodend began.
    â€˜And then there’s Joan, your wife,’ Lowry interrupted him. ‘She had a mild heart attack in Spain, a couple of years back. Of course, we all pray she won’t have another one, but if she does, wouldn’t it be nice to know that as far as treatment went, she was being rushed to the front of the queue?’
    â€˜Don’t threaten me, you bastard!’ Woodend growled.
    â€˜I’d be threatening you if I’d said I’d do my best to ensure that she was kept at the
back
of the queue,’ Lowry said mildly. ‘What I’m offering you is something much more positive. And if I could give you a piece of advice, Chief Inspector,’ he continued, his voice hardening, ‘you should never forget that while I’m a reasonable man who always tries to reach a consensus, I’m also the chairman of the Police Authority, and, while I am wearing that particular hat, I will simply not tolerate the kind of offensive remark you have just directed at me.’
    Woodend stood up. ‘If you don’t want to be called a bastard, then don’t behave like one,’ he said. ‘An’ here’s a bit of advice for you – don’t try to block the overtime, because if you do, I’ll be on the blower to all the local papers before you can say “landslide electoral defeat”.’
    And then, without waiting for a reply, he marched furiously to the door.
    Woodend was back at his own desk. In the ashtray in front of him lay the remains of three Capstan Full Strength cigar­ettes, which he had not so much smoked as crushed between his agitated fingers.
    â€˜The man’s a real bastard, Monika,’ he told Paniatowski, across the desk. ‘A complete bloody arsehole.’
    â€˜Yes, sir, I rather gathered that was what you thought of him the
first
three times you said it,’ Paniatowski replied. ‘But however much of a bastard he is, it wasn’t your wisest move to tell him so to his face.’
    â€˜He knew about Annie, and he knew about Joan,’ Woodend ranted. ‘He was using my
family
to put the screws on me.’
    â€˜It’s a despicable trick, if that’s what he was doing,’ Paniatowski agreed, ‘but even so—’
    â€˜Two can play at that game,’ Woodend interrupted her. ‘I want all the dirt you can dig up on him, so that the next time he comes after me, I’ll have something to hit back with.’
    â€˜That’s a dangerous game to play,’ Paniatowski cautioned.
    â€˜Maybe – but I’m not the one who started it,’ Woodend countered.
    â€˜And there’s always the very real possibility that there’s no dirt on him
to
dig up.’
    â€˜There’s dirt,’ Woodend said firmly. ‘I can smell it on the bastard. I can almost see it oozing out from under his fingernails.’
    â€˜I’m not sure I feel entirely comfortable with the assignment, sir,’ Paniatowski said. ‘I am
supposed
to be working on a murder inquiry.’
    â€˜In this case, you can’t separate the two things,’ Woodend told her. ‘If Lowry has his way, we won’t have the resources to investigate the murder.’ He paused,