The Dead Hand of History by Sally Spencer Page A

got four jailbirds working for you.’
    â€˜In this company, we pride ourselves on giving people who’ve made a mistake a second chance.’
    â€˜Have any of these “second chancers” of yours ever been done for violence?’ Walker asked.
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜Any of them who’ve not been done for violence, but who you feel could turn very nasty, given the right circumstances?’
    â€˜Certainly not. We like to encourage a happy working atmosphere here in Brunskill’s Bakery, and that kind of person – anyone prone to violence – would simply not fit in.’
    Walker sighed again. ‘I have to say, you’re not being very helpful, madam,’ he told her.
    â€˜So what would you like me to do in order to be more helpful?’ Jenny wondered. ‘Tell you that Billy the cake mixer often looks at me in a funny way, as if he’d like to beat me up?’
    â€˜Only if it’s the truth, madam,’ Walker said. ‘ Does he often look at you in a funny way?’
    â€˜No, of course he doesn’t. He’s a perfectly sweet boy. That’s why I gave him the responsibility of looking after the bakery cat.’
    â€˜Then why bring his name up at all?’
    â€˜I was just trying to make the point that . . .’
    â€˜Unless, deep down – subconsciously, shall we say? – there’s something about him that does worry you.’
    The office door swung violently open, and Walker looked up to see Paniatowski framed in the doorway.
    â€˜I’d like a word with you outside, Sergeant!’ she said.
    Walker raised his eyes towards the ceiling, in a gesture of mock despair towards a vengeful god.
    â€˜Yes, ma’am, I’m sure you would like a word with me, and I’d like one with you, so if you could just give me a few minutes to finish off this—’
    â€˜Now!’ Paniatowski said.
    Walker rose heavily to his feet. ‘I’m sorry about this, Miss Brunskill,’ he said. ‘I won’t be long.’
    â€˜If I was you, Sergeant, I wouldn’t go putting any money on that,’ Paniatowski told him.

EIGHT
    â€˜ T his isn’t right,’ Sergeant Walker complained to his new boss, as he stepped into the foyer of the administration block and closed Jenny Brunskill’s office door behind him. ‘It isn’t . . .’
    â€˜I think we’d better go outside,’ Paniatowski said.
    â€˜Why?’ Walker asked – furious, willing to take issue on almost anything that was said to him. Then he saw Elaine, the secretary, apparently absorbed in what she was reading at her desk, but with her ears flapping like a circus elephant’s. ‘All right,’ he agreed.
    They walked out on to the forecourt. The staff car park was just ahead of them, and the loading bay to the left. To the right was a public telephone box, and Paniatowski found herself wondering if this was the box that the call to the mortuary had come from.
    â€˜I really don’t think you should have done that, ma’am,’ Walker said morosely.
    â€˜You don’t think I should have done what ?’
    â€˜Spoken to me in the way you did, in front of a member of the general public. A male DCI would never have—’
    Walker stopped abruptly, as if he’d suddenly decided that he was pushing things just a little too far.
    â€˜Yes?’ Paniatowski asked.
    â€˜We’re supposed to be working as a team,’ Walker continued, in a tone which was a strange mixture of the aggrieved and the conciliatory. ‘We’re supposed to put up a united front when we’re dealing with civilians.’
    â€˜Then why don’t you start acting like you’re a member of that team?’ Paniatowski demanded angrily.
    â€˜Sorry, ma’am?’ Walker replied, as if he had no idea what she was talking about.
    It had been a mistake to lose her temper, Paniatowski realized, because