Golden Mile to Murder by Sally Spencer Page A

put his size nine clodhopper in it,’ she said. ‘Are you feeling a bit better now?’
    â€˜Much better,’ Mrs Davies said. ‘I know I shouldn’t get so upset – and most of the time I don’t – but then there comes a moment now and again when it’s all too much.’
    Paniatowski reached across and stroked her hand. ‘I know,’ she said soothingly.
    As soon as the sergeant had released her hand, Mrs Davies stood up. ‘Well, I can’t stand around here moping all day,’ she said. ‘Widow or not – daughter in a special school or not – there’s still the housework to be done.’
    â€˜You’re sure you’re all right?’ Paniatowski persisted.
    â€˜Perfectly fine.’
    â€˜In that case, could I ask you a favour?’
    â€˜What?’
    â€˜When we were standing outside, I couldn’t help noticing your bedroom curtains. I’m almost certain they’d be perfect for my flat, but if I could just have a closer look –’
    Mrs Davies forced a weak smile to her lips. ‘Of course. If you’d just follow me.’
    She led the sergeant up the stairs and into the main bedroom. Paniatowski walked straight over to the window. She could see a group of lads playing football in Stanley Park, and noticed that, below her on the pavement, Woodend was striding up and down and puffing energetically on a Capstan Full Strength.
    The sergeant ran the curtain material through her finger and thumb. ‘Very nice,’ she said. She lifted the curtain and saw it had been machine-hemmed. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve got a spare bit of this material, have you?’
    â€˜There should be some in my sewing basket downstairs,’ Mrs Davies told her. ‘Let’s go and see.’
    â€˜I . . . er . . . Would you mind if while you’re looking, I just use your toilet?’ Paniatowski asked. ‘Only, it’s that time of the month, and you know how often you’ve got to go when you’ve got your period.’
    Mrs Davies nodded. ‘I certainly do,’ she agreed. ‘Take your time. I’ll see you in the lounge.’
    As Paniatowski followed Mrs Davies out of the room, she took a quick look around her, and what she saw pretty much confirmed the suspicion she’d had since Mrs Davies had said that her sewing things were
downstairs
.
    Woodend was waiting next to the car, his third cigarette since he had left the house clamped between his lips.
    Paniatowski smiled. ‘Smart thinking, sir,’ she said as she approached him.
    Woodend took a deep drag of his cigarette. ‘I beg your pardon?’
    â€˜It was smart to pretend to be a typical, insensitive man. That made you into an enemy, but me into an ally – and that bought me another fifteen minutes in the house. That was your intention when you put on the show, wasn’t it, sir – to buy me more time?’
    â€˜Did you learn anythin’ useful while you were in there?’ Woodend asked, avoiding answering his sergeant’s question.
    â€˜Oh, I think so,’ Paniatowski said with confidence. ‘Mrs Davies keeps her sewing machine downstairs.’
    â€˜Now that is a revelation!’ Woodend said sarcastically.
    â€˜Yes, it is,’ Paniatowski said, quite serious. ‘How many bedrooms would you say these houses have, sir?’
    â€˜Four?’ Woodend guessed.
    â€˜That’s right,’ Paniatowski agreed. ‘Now in most houses, that would mean one for each of the kids – even if one kid was in a special school and only came home for the holidays – one for the parents, and one that the wife would use as her sewing and ironing room. Only that isn’t the case in the Davies household.’
    â€˜You seem to know a lot about it,’ Woodend said uneasily.
    â€˜I told her I was interested in her bedroom curtains, and asked if I could take a closer look at them. Then,