Dying Fall by Sally Spencer

these
non-ratepayers
unprotected, are you?’
    â€˜As I explained to Chief Inspector Woodend, there’s no guarantee that the killer will strike again soon, if ever,’ Lowry said.
    â€˜And, as I’m sure Cloggin’-it Charlie explained to you, there’s no guarantee that he
won’t
,’ Polly Johnson countered.
    â€˜Not much of a story at all, so far,’ Elizabeth Driver said, over the phone, to her editor in London. ‘The burning-alive bit of it is great, of course, but it’s a pity that it couldn’t have been someone more sympathetic who got fried. I mean to say, who gives a damn about a sweaty tramp?’
    â€˜There’s a nice juicy murder in Hampshire I’m thinking of sending you to cover,’ the editor said with some relish. ‘They’ve been finding body parts all over the place, but so far they haven’t located the head.’
    â€˜I’d rather stay here,’ Driver said.
    â€˜No doubt you would,’ the editor agreed. ‘But you see, that’s not the way it works. I’m the one who pays the piper, so I’m the one who gets to say what tune is played.’
    â€˜You might miss a top-notch story if you
do
pull me out,’ Driver cautioned. ‘After all, the great Chief Inspector Woodend could make an arrest in a day or two – and even if the victim isn’t interesting, the murderer could be.’
    The editor sniffed. ‘More than likely, it’ll turn out to be the work of some local yobbo,’ he said.
    More than likely it would, Driver thought. But she wasn’t ready to leave Whitebridge yet. In fact, there were several reasons to stay.
    She counted them off on the fingers of her right hand. Her book was nearly completed, and this was the ideal place in which to put the finishing touches to it. She needed to finally work out what her future relationship with Bob Rutter was going to be – and that was easier to work out in Whitebridge, too. And most important of all, she needed to get the town – and especially the town’s police – firmly into the public mind through some scandal or other, so that when the book did eventually come out, it would have even more impact. She was not quite sure how she would achieve this third objective yet, but she was confident that something would occur to her in the next few days.
    â€˜Are you still there?’ her editor asked, impatiently.
    â€˜If you let me stay, I’ll get you a tremendous headline within the next seventy-two hours,’ Driver said.
    The editor sniffed again. ‘And that’s a promise, is it?’ he asked.
    â€˜It is,’ Driver confirmed.
    â€˜Well, it’s a promise you’d better keep,’ the editor said, ‘because one thing you should always bear in mind, Liz, is that you’re only as big as your last big story.’

Nine
    â€˜A m I speaking to Detective Inspector Charles Woodend?’ asked a woman’s voice at the other end of the telephone line.
    â€˜You are,’ Woodend confirmed.
    â€˜I’m an anonymous informant,’ the woman said.
    Woodend grinned. ‘Are you, indeed? Well, has anybody ever told you,
Anonymous Informant
, that you sound just like Councillor Polly Johnson, JP?’
    The woman laughed. ‘Damn it! Rumbled!’ she exclaimed. Then, in a more serious voice, she continued, ‘You’ve got trouble, Charlie, and it’s in the form of Councillor Lowry.’
    â€˜I know all about that,’ Woodend said. ‘He wants to cut back on overtime, an’ I don’t. But how did you find out? Has he been tryin’ to nobble you?’
    â€˜Well,
of course
he’s been trying to nobble me,’ Polly Johnson said, speaking slowly now, as if she’d just realized she was addressing a simpleton. ‘And I told him where he can stick it. But there are other councillors on the authority – especially the ones with small