Dying Fall Read Free Page B

swallowed up by much larger ones where all the heavy work was done by machinery, and there was little room for casual labour – or even casual acquaintanceship.
    Woodend turned to Detective Constable Colin Beresford, who – it was widely believed around police headquarters – had much greater access to his boss’s ear than his lowly rank would indicate.
    â€˜Did you have any difficulty rounding them up?’ he asked.
    â€˜A few of them were a bit awkward, mainly the ones who were so out of their heads that they had no idea what was actually going on,’ Beresford said. ‘But on the whole, they were no trouble. After all, they’ve taken the line of least resistance for most of their lives, so why should they change now?’
    â€˜Until you’ve had a little more experience of life yourself, don’t be so sweepin’ in your generalizations, lad,’ Woodend said, with an unaccustomed harshness in his voice.
    The tone flustered Beresford. ‘Sorry, sir, I never meant to suggest …’
    â€˜Forget it, lad,’ Woodend said. ‘But,’ he cautioned, ‘don’t let me catch you jumpin’ to conclusions again.’
    The chief inspector turned to face the tramps. ‘I’m very grateful to you for agreein’ to cooperate with this investigation,’ he said in a loud voice which caught all their attentions, ‘an’ I’d like to make one thing clear from the start, which is that none of you are a suspect in this murder, in any way, shape or form.’
    Some of the tramps looked relieved, some showed no emotion at all, and some – and Beresford had probably been right about this – were so out of their heads that they had no idea what he was talking about.
    â€˜The reason you’re all here is because you’re potential witnesses,’ Woodend continued. ‘Now you may think you have nothin’ of value to contribute to the investigation – an’ maybe you’re right – but it’s also possible that you might just have noticed somethin’ in the past few days which won’t mean anythin’ to you, but could tell
us
a lot. That’s why you’ll each individually be taken to another room, an’ asked a few questions by one of my men. Once that’s happened, you’ll be given a packet of cigarettes an’ will be allowed to leave. Thank you for listenin’.’
    He turned away, and saw Monika Paniatowski looking at him with a troubled expression on her face.
    â€˜You’re letting them go?’ she asked, disbelievingly.
    â€˜That’s right,’ Woodend agreed.
    â€˜Even though this could well be nothing more than the first in a series of killings?’ Paniatowski asked.
    â€˜Even if it is,’ Woodend confirmed.
    â€˜So it’s your intention to put them back out on the street. to be used as live bait?’
    Woodend shook his head. ‘Nay, lass. I’m puttin’ them back out on the street because we don’t have the facilities to hold them, an’ even if we had, there’s no legal justification for doin’ it. In other words, I’m puttin’ them back out on the street because I have no bloody choice in the matter.’
    The more gruesome the murder, the more it appealed to Elizabeth Driver’s readership, and hence to Driver herself. Which was why, even as Woodend was addressing the tramps in police headquarters, she was behind the wheel of her Jaguar, and heading towards Whitebridge at speed.
    As she drove, she was thinking not only about the case of the dead tramp – ‘Horror of Grilled Vagrant’ suggested itself as a headline – but also about her own relationship with Woodend’s team in general, and with Detective Inspector Bob Rutter in particular.
    The core of that relationship was the book she had decided to write – was
contracted
to write – about the Whitebridge Police. It was going