The Ring of Death Page 3

  ‘I’m not going back there,’ Toynbee screamed. ‘You can’t make me go back there!’

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ Kendrick reassured him. ‘In fact, I’d like you to stay just where you are now, until the police arrive. Have you got a kettle?’

  ‘A kettle?’ the other man repeated, as if the words were meaningless to him.

  ‘A kettle,’ Kendrick repeated.

  ‘Yes, I . . . I’m looking at it now.’

  ‘Then brew yourself a cuppa. An’ be sure to put lots of sugar in it. Will you do that for me?’

  ‘Yes, I’ll do that,’ Toynbee promised.

  ‘And don’t worry,’ Kendrick told him. ‘We’ll have somebody with you in a matter of minutes.’

  ‘Will it help?’ Toynbee asked, with a pleading note in his voice.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘The tea! Will it help?’

  ‘Should do,’ the sergeant said.

  But he was thinking, ‘God knows if anything will help after what you’ve been through.’

  Five forty-seven a.m.

  The first thought that flashed through Colin Beresford’s mind as he groped for the bedside phone was that the call was from his mother’s nursing home, and that they were calling to inform him that she had died in the night. The second thought was if any such merciful release had occurred, whoever was in charge would probably have waited until a civilized hour before ringing him.

  ‘Beresford,’ he mumbled into the phone, as he tried to focus his mind on what he had now decided would undoubtedly be police business.

  ‘I’m right in assuming you’re the inspector on call, aren’t I, sir?’ asked the voice at the other end of the line.

  ‘Considering you just woke me up, you’d bloody better be!’ Beresford growled.

  And the moment the words were out his mouth, he was thinking, ‘Christ, it doesn’t take long for a little bit of power to turn your head, does it?’

  The man on the other end of the line was silent, perhaps wondering what he should say next.

  ‘Yes, I’m the inspector on call,’ Beresford told him. ‘Who am I speaking to?’

  ‘Sergeant Kendrick, sir.’

  ‘Sorry for biting your head off, Kendrick. I’m not at my best at this time of the morning.’

  ‘Very few of us are, sir,’ the sergeant said, forgivingly. ‘Thing is, we just had a report of a murder, an’ as bizarre as the circumstances seem, I think it’s on the up-an-up.’

  ‘Then you’d better give me the details.’

  Kendrick reeled them off, and when he’d finished, Beresford said, ‘And you’re sure this isn’t just some kind of sick joke?’

  ‘Not sure, no,’ the sergeant said cautiously. ‘But the caller didn’t sound as if he’d invented it. And to be honest with you, I don’t think I could invent that kind of thing myself.’

  And neither could I, Beresford agreed silently – not however hard I worked at it.

  ‘All right, I’ll take things from here,’ he said.

  ‘Would you like me to ring ma’am?’ Kendrick asked.

  From the way he said the last word, Beresford guessed that the sergeant was no big fan of Monika’s – and immediately felt better about speaking roughly to him earlier.

  ‘No, I’ll ring her myself,’ he said. ‘You just make sure there are enough uniforms at the scene to lock things down.’

  ‘Got it,’ Kendrick said.

  ‘And one more thing,’ Beresford continued.

  ‘Yes, sir?’

  ‘The next time you speak to me about my boss, make sure you use her full title.’

  ‘Got that as well,’ Kendrick said, suddenly sounding sullen.

  Five fifty-three a.m.

  ‘You were quick off the mark,’ Kendrick said, surprised at the speed with which DS Cousins answered his phone. ‘Were you already up?’

  ‘I haven’t really been to bed,’ the other man replied. ‘I don’t sleep much, these days.’

  Aye, that’s what I heard around the station, Kendrick thought.

  ‘Thing is, Paul, there’s been a murder, and I’ve had to assign it, at least in the short term, to the Polack’s team,’ he said aloud.

  ‘Had to assign it?’ Cousins repeated.

  ‘They were next on the rota. I had no choice in the matter.’

  There was a pause, then Cousins said, ‘So if you’ve already called DCI Paniatowski, why are you calling me?’

  Kendrick gave a mental shrug. ‘You’re down on the list to be joinin’ that team soon, so I just thought you might like to get in on the ground floor.’

  There was another pause at the other end of the line, then Cousins said, ‘I want you to know I appreciate this, Harry.’

  ‘You what?’

  ‘Ever since I came back off sick leave, most of the fellers I used to work with have been steering clear of me. So I appreciate the vote of confidence you’ve just given me.’

  It was scarcely that, Kendrick told himself. He still thought of Cousins as a raving loony, but the man had been a good bobby once. And if it came to a choice between helping Cousins pull the strings behind the investigation, or leaving the whole thing to a foreign-born bitch who probably couldn’t find her own tits without the help of a road map, the sergeant knew which he’d prefer.

  ‘I won’t forget this. I mean it,’ Cousins said.

  He sounded so pathetic, Kendrick thought with disgust – a bit like a whipped dog which comes crawling back for another beating.

  ‘Think nothing of it, Paul,’ he said. ‘After all, if us old-fashioned bobbies can’t depend on each other to hold back the tide, who can we depend on?’

  FOUR

  At six-oh-nine Paniatowski was already behind the wheel of her red MGA, her first cigarette of the day clamped in her mouth, a cup of instant coffee jammed between her seat and the gearstick mounting.

  She drove at speed through a town which was only just waking up – her siren contributing to that awakening – and by six-seventeen, as she reached the roadside sign which thanked her for visiting Whitebridge, she was already lighting a second cigarette from the stub of her first.

  All evidence of civilization quickly petered out as soon as she left the town behind. Now there was only the moors ahead of her – a vast expanse of purple heather waving gently in the breeze, and short bitter grass that even the hardy moorland sheep found tough work.

  A startled rabbit ran across the road, and she stamped down on the brake pedal to avoid hitting it. A family of voles scurried for cover at the sound of her engine. It was going to be a lovely morning, she thought, looking up at the sky and observing the peewits, as they hovered above her.

  Was she making a deliberate effort to absorb the harsh beauty of the moors, she wondered.

  And if so, why?

  Perhaps it was an attempt to inure herself – in advance – to the horror which was awaiting her.

  She slowed as she approached the clump of silver-birch trees where the body had been discovered. There were already vehicles at the scene – two patrol units and a third, unmarked, car – but there was no sign yet of either Dr Shastri’s Land Rover or an ambulance.

  As she pulled in behind one of the patrol cars, she saw a man walking quickly towards her. He was square-bodied and dressed in a blue suit which was a few years out of style. His dark hair was turning grey, and the stubble on his chin was almost white.

  He could have been in his mid-fifties and wearing his age well, or in his mid-forties and carrying it badly, Paniatowski thought. Then she recognized him – and realized that it was the latter.

  When he’d reached the MGA, the man came to a halt.

  ‘DS Cousins, ma’am,’ he announced.

  ‘Yes, I know,’ Paniatowski said neutrally.

  ‘I realize I’m not officially a member of the team yet,’ Cousins continued, ‘but the duty sergeant rang me, so I thought I might as well turn up and see if I could be of any use.’

  The duty sergeant rang me! Paniatowski re
peated silently.

  ‘Mate of yours, is he?’ she asked.

  ‘No, not particularly, ma’am,’ Cousins replied, sounding puzzled.

  But was he really puzzled at all? Paniatowski asked herself.

  Or was he, rather, part of the conspiracy of old-time sergeants determined to see that the new DCI did not succeed?

  ‘You’re getting paranoid,’ she thought.

  But then, as the old joke went, it was hard not to be paranoid when everybody was against you.

  She studied Cousin’s face for signs of deviousness, and could find none.

  But what did that prove?

  Detective Sergeant Walker had seemed straightforward enough, too – even as he was attempting to plunge the dagger deep into her back.

  ‘I want the crime scene secured,’ she said crisply.

  ‘That’s already been done, ma’am,’ Cousins said. ‘There are four uniforms in place now, and they know where the reinforcements are to be deployed when they arrive.’

  Paniatowski nodded. ‘In that case,’ she said, ‘let’s go and look at the body, Sergeant.’

  ‘The stiff was found by Mr Toynbee, who’s the owner of the kennels just down the road,’ Cousins said, as they walked. ‘That’s the reason he was out so early in the morning.’

  ‘What is?’

  ‘His dogs. He likes to give them a walk first thing.’

  ‘So you’ve spoken to him?’ Paniatowski asked, worried that Cousins might already have started the undermining process.

  ‘Yes, ma’am – but only briefly. I’ve told him to stay in his office until you’d talked to him. I’ve also advised him that if he wants to see his operating licence renewed, he’d be wise to speak to nobody else first.’

  ‘That’s good advice,’ Paniatowski agreed.

  They entered the woods. The trunks of the silver-birch trees glistened in the sunlight which was seeping through their foliage. The ground still smelled of that damp earthiness brought on by being soaked in morning dew. Somewhere in the near distance, a bird was singing.

  ‘Watch out for that pile of vomit, ma’am,’ Cousins cautioned, pointing into the grass. ‘Mr Toynbee spewed up his load when he saw the body. And I can’t say that I blame him.’

  The trees, closely packed near the road, thinned out as they advanced into the wood, and soon they reached a clearing where the body had been dumped.

  ‘Jesus!’ Paniatowski said, feeling the bile rise to her throat at her first sight of the corpse.

  She’d been briefed for this moment. She’d known what to expect. But knowing wasn’t the same thing as being prepared – and it was clear to her now that she hadn’t been prepared at all.

  Much of the flesh on the dead man’s lower right arm had been burned away, but she’d seen worse in her time, and that wasn’t the problem she had with this corpse. Nor did the fact that he was completely naked really bother her – though, in the overall picture, it certainly didn’t help.

  What had got to her – what had brought up the bile – was that he had been posed on his hands and knees, and though she’d been briefed on that, too, the actual sight of it still shook her.

  Why should it affect her like this, she wondered.

  What was so especially horrific about him being in this position?

  It was, she supposed, that more than anything else that had been done to him, this act seemed to rob him of all humanity.

  ‘Can’t have been dead for more than seventy-two hours, or the rigor would have worn off and he’d be flat on the ground,’ Cousins said, matter-of-factly.

  ‘Get a grip, Monika!’ Paniatowski ordered herself. ‘Show this new sergeant of yours what you’re really made of!’

  ‘But he must have been posed in that position – fixed in that position – until rigor set in,’ she said, keeping her voice as flat and analytical as she possibly could.

  Cousins nodded. ‘That’s true, ma’am.’

  Paniatowski walked around the body. The victim had been in his mid-thirties, she guessed, and had been in very good shape physically. His throat had been ripped open, but there was no sign of blood on the ground in front of him. What there was on the ground, though, was a driving licence, wrapped up in a see-through plastic envelope.

  ‘He wasn’t killed on this spot,’ she said, feeling slightly better now.

  ‘No, ma’am, he wasn’t.’

  ‘And it can’t have been easy to transport him here.’

  Cousins nodded again. ‘He wouldn’t have fitted in the boot of a car like that. The killer will have needed at least a small van to shift him.’

  ‘So why do it that way?’ Paniatowski wondered. ‘Why didn’t the killer move him before rigor set in? Why would he deliberately make it so much more difficult for himself?’

  ‘The only plausible explanation is that he wanted us to find his victim in exactly the position we did find him in,’ Cousins said.

  ‘Because he wanted his victim to be humiliated, even in death?’

  ‘That would explain why he took all his clothes off him,’ Cousins said. ‘He’s a well-built enough feller, but it’s hard for anybody to look dignified when they’re stark bollock naked.’

  Paniatowski knelt down and examined the driving licence. ‘If this is his, then his name’s Andrew Adair, and he lives at 32 Palmerston Terrace,’ she said. ‘But we don’t know for certain that it is his, do we?’

  ‘No, but it’s more than likely,’ Cousins said.

  Yes, it was, Paniatowski agreed. The killer had gone to a lot of trouble to protect the driving licence, and what would have been the point of that if it had belonged to anyone but the dead man?

  ‘Which raises another important question,’ she said aloud. ‘Why is he making it so easy for us to identify his victim?’

  ‘Now there you’ve got me, ma’am,’ Cousins confessed.

  ‘As soon as we’ve got a photograph we can use, I want it shown to the residents of Palmerston Terrace,’ Paniatowski said.

  ‘But not to the residents of number 32?’ Cousins suggested tactfully.

  ‘No, not them,’ Paniatowski agreed. ‘If he has any family, I don’t want them seeing him until Dr Shastri has done what she can to make him look a little more human.’

  ‘You shouldn’t expect too much, ma’am,’ Cousins cautioned.

  Paniatowski felt her heckles rise. ‘Why shouldn’t I expect too much?’ she demanded. ‘Because, when all’s said and done, Dr Shastri’s only a Paki?’

  ‘No,’ Cousins replied, with just a hint of rebuke. ‘Because it wouldn’t be an easy job for any doctor – even one as good as Dr Shastri. And she’s not Pakistani, ma’am – she’s Indian.’

  ‘You’re right, of course,’ Paniatowski said, with an apology in her voice, if not in her words.

  She took her cigarettes out of her pocket – noting as she did that her hands had stopped trembling – and held the packet out to Cousins.

  The sergeant shook his head. ‘I’ve given up, ma’am.’

  ‘Wish I could,’ Paniatowski said. She slotted a cigarette into her own mouth, lit it up, and inhaled deeply. ‘I’m going to talk to the owner of the kennels,’ she continued. ‘Mr Toynbee, is it?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am. Harold Toynbee.’

  ‘So until Inspector Beresford turns up, you’ll be in charge here, Sergeant. All right?’

  ‘Fine with me, ma’am,’ Cousins said.

  The kennels were surrounded by a high wire-mesh fence, and when Paniatowski rang the bell at the gate, the sound was greeted by a series of barks and howls. A man, wearing cord trousers and a rough tweed sports coat with leather patches on the elbows, emerged from a square single-storey brick building, quite close to the entrance, and Paniatowski held up her warrant card for him to see.

  ‘DCI Paniatowski,’ she said. ‘Are you Mr Toynbee?’

  ‘That’s me,’ the man admitted.

  He was around forty-five years old, Paniatowski guessed. He was a hale and hearty man, with the kind of ruddy
complexion which indicated a clear preference for the outdoor life – though on that particular morning the ruddiness was somewhat tinged with grey.

  Toynbee unlocked the gate. ‘You’d better come into the office, Chief Inspector.’

  He led Paniatowski across the yard to the brick building, while all the time the dogs continued their howl of disapproval.

  The office itself was divided into two halves. In one half – the business part – there was a desk and a bank of filing cabinets. In the other half – the showroom part – there were two display cabinets filled with winners’ cups of various sizes, and whatever wall space was available had been covered with framed certificates.

  ‘That was awarded for Best in Breed at Crufts, three years ago,’ Toynbee said, pointing automatically at one of the larger cups in the display cabinet.

  ‘Very impressive,’ Paniatowski said.

  ‘We’d have come away with Best in Show, too, if the judges hadn’t already decided, before the show even opened, to give the cup to one of the bigger breeds that year,’ Toynbee added sourly. ‘Course, they say they hadn’t decided at all. They say they always go into it with an open mind. But everybody knows that . . .’ He pulled himself up short. ‘I’m sorry, I’m babbling. But when I got up this morning, I never expected I’d find a . . . find a . . .’

  ‘Why don’t we sit down?’ Paniatowski suggested.

  ‘Sit down?’ Toynbee repeated. ‘Good idea.’

  He walked around his desk and plopped down into his chair. He was still in a state of shock, Paniatowski thought, as she took the seat opposite him, but that was more than understandable.

  ‘I’ve seen dead bodies before,’ Toynbee said, as if he felt the need to defend himself. ‘Course I have. I helped lay out my own granny. But this was . . . this was something else.’

  ‘Did you get a look at his face?’ Paniatowski asked.

  ‘I did,’ Toynbee said, almost guiltily. ‘I . . . I actually knelt down so I could see it more clearly. I don’t know why I did that. Do you know why I did that?’

  ‘I take it you didn’t recognize him,’ Paniatowski said.

  ‘God, no! If I’m this cut up over a complete stranger, imagine how I’d have been if it had turned out to be a mate.’