The Witch Maker by Sally Spencer Page B

The following morning they would return to dark, brooding Hallerton, and attempt to solve a murder that no one there seemed particularly keen to
have
solved. In fact, he couldn’t even put aside thoughts of the village for even that long, because there was a phone call he needed to make.
    He took a swig of his pint and stubbed out his Capstan in the already-overflowing ashtray.
    â€˜I’d better go an’ call Bob on the off chance he’s come up with somethin’ useful,’ he said.
    â€˜Yes, that’s probably a good idea,’ Monika Paniatowski said, her voice giving away nothing of the turmoil that was raging inside her.
    Woodend stood up. ‘Shouldn’t be long,’ he said. ‘But if you start feelin’ bored, you can always order another round.’
    He was at the point of turning towards the door when his sergeant said, ‘Could you ask Bob ... could you ask Inspector Rutter ...’
    â€˜Yes?’
    â€˜I ... I miss my little car. Could you ask Inspector Rutter if it would be possible for one his lads to drive it up here in the morning?’
    â€˜Aye, I’ll do that,’ Woodend said, wondered what it was she’d really been going to ask him to ask Rutter. ‘I’ll tell you somethin’, Monika – I’ve known mother hens that lavished less attention on their chicks that you devote to that car of yours,’ he continued, in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere.
    Paniatowski smiled weakly. ‘You know how it is with the things that are important to you,’ she said.
    Yes, Woodend thought. Yes, I believe I do.
    Bob Rutter had lost track of time – he always did when he immersed himself in reports – so it was not until the insistently ringing phone reminded him there was a world beyond that of cardboard folders that he even realized it had gone dark outside.
    He picked up the phone. ‘DI Rutter.’
    â€˜See if you can find out why there’s no war memorial in Hallerton,’ said a familiar voice on the other end of the line.
    Rutter was not quite sure that he had heard correctly. ‘A war memorial?’ he repeated.
    â€˜There should be one, an’ there isn’t. I’d like to know why. It might not have any relevance to the case, but at least it’ll put me one up on that smug bastard of a vicar.’
    â€˜Are you feeling all right, sir?’ Rutter asked worriedly.
    â€˜No, I’m not. Nobody who knows he has to go back to Hallerton in the mornin’ could be feelin’ all right. It’s not somethin’ that I’d wish on my worst enemy.’ Woodend paused. ‘So have you come up with anythin’ that might help me solve the case in a hurry, an’ give me the excuse to leave the bloody place behind me?’
    â€˜I’m not sure,’ Rutter admitted. ‘Aside from murder, there doesn’t seem to be much crime in Hallerton.’
    â€˜Well, that’s a comfort,’ Woodend said sourly.
    â€˜I’m been comparing the crime sheets from Hallerton with those of the other villages round it,’ Rutter continued. ‘The rest of the villages record a marked increase in petty theft and burglary since the war. Nothing really significant, you understand – bicycles taken, a few pounds stolen – but in Hallerton there isn’t even that. I don’t know why that should be. Perhaps the local constable keeps a tighter grip on things than the constables in the other villages do.’
    â€˜Or
somebody
keeps a tighter grip,’ Woodend said.
    â€˜I beg your pardon, sir.’
    â€˜Nothin’. Just thinkin’ aloud. Have you got anythin’ else for me?’
    â€˜There’ve been four suicides the last fifty years, two of them in the last ten. Isn’t that rather high for a small place like Hallerton?’
    â€˜I haven’t got the statistics, but it
is
quite common for small farmers to take their shotguns an’