A Death Left Hanging Read Online Free PDF

the travelling salesman (surgical supports) at the other end of the bar decided, he might just chance his arm and see if he could pick her up.
    The entry of the big man in the hairy sports jacket and cavalry-twill trousers put a sudden end to any hopes that the salesman had been nurturing. It was obvious that the blonde had been waiting for him, and that – though he was considerably older than she was – there was a very definite familiarity and intimacy between them. The surgical supports salesman quickly turned away before the new arrival – whom he thought seemed
very
big indeed – noticed that he was staring and offered to rearrange his face with a ham-like fist.
    Unaware of the salesman’s disappointment, Woodend bought a pint for himself and a vodka for Monika Paniatowski, then led his sergeant over to a corner table.
    â€˜What are you workin’ on at the moment, Monika?’ he asked, trying his best to sound interested.
    Paniatowski shrugged. ‘Breaking and entering cases mostly. I suppose somebody’s got to do it, but it’s no more than PC Plod stuff really. How much longer will you be serving on this committee? I’m bursting to get back to doing some real police work.’
    Woodend sighed. ‘In that case, you’d better see Mr Hoskins about bein’ reassigned.’
    â€˜And just what’s that supposed to mean?’
    â€˜It means that when this committee’s finished its so-called task, there’ll be another one formed that I’ll be expected to serve on. And another one after that. And so on – all the way to retirement. I warned you this might happen, Monika. As far as the brass in the Mid Lancs force is concerned, I’m a leper. An’ the longer you hang around with me, the more chance there is you’ll catch the disease yourself. So get out from under. Do it while you still can.’
    â€˜And leave you to your fate?’
    â€˜You can’t help me, Monika, however much you might want to,’ Woodend said sadly. ‘Nobody can.’
    â€˜So you’re perfectly content to be a committee man for the rest of your career?’
    â€˜No,’ Woodend said. ‘I’m not content at all. That’s why I’m goin’ to put my papers in.’
    â€˜You’re resigning? And what will you do instead?’
    â€˜Buggered if I know,’ Woodend admitted. ‘But it can’t be any worse than this.’
    A uniformed constable came in through the main door, looked around him, then walked over to the table where Woodend and Monika were sitting.
    â€˜Mr Marlowe would like to see you, sir,’ he said.
    â€˜Is that a fact?’ Woodend replied. ‘An’ did he give you sort of any idea of
when
he’d like this rare an’ historic encounter to take place?’
    â€˜Yes, sir. He said you should come right away.’
    Unlike Jane Hartley, Woodend had already made up his mind about the Chief Constable. Marlowe might do a pretty good slimy, he had decided long ago, but the Chief Constable’s sneakiness had attained such heights that it would put the wisest, most cunning old fox to shame. None of which explained why – after months of pretending that his chief inspector simply didn’t exist – Marlowe felt such an urgent need to talk to him now. Nor did it explain why he looked genuinely frightened.
    â€˜Thirty years ago there was a particularly nasty murder here in Whitebridge,’ the Chief Constable said. ‘A man called Fred Dodds, a highly thought of local businessman by all accounts – got himself battered to death. The officer in charge of the case arrested his wife, a woman called––’
    â€˜Margaret Dodds,’ Woodend interrupted.
    The Chief Constable’s eyes narrowed in a way that could have been either defensive or suspicious – but was probably both.
    â€˜How could you possibly know about that?’ he demanded. ‘You