Salton Killings by Sally Spencer Page A

thought, but sharp enough for all that.
    â€œTake a seat, Constable,” Giles said.
    Not a mistake, Rutter thought, a deliberate attempt to knock him off his stroke.
    â€œSergeant, sir,” he said smoothly, lowering himself into the easy chair opposite the Superintendent’s desk. “Thank you, sir.”
    â€œSergeant.” Giles pondered. “You don’t look old enough.”
    Rutter smiled, amiably.
    â€œI hear you’ve been keepin’ my lads busy this afternoon. You might even say . . . gettin’ in their way.”
    â€œI am engaged in a murder inquiry, sir.”
    â€œYes,” Giles said, stubbing one cigarette and immediately lighting another, “but Diane Thorburn’s, not Mary Wilson’s.”
    â€œWe think they might be connected.”
    Giles shook his head.
    â€œWe know who killed Mary Wilson, a Yank airman. We just couldn’t prove it.”
    â€œThere’s no PM report,” Rutter said.
    â€œThere was a war goin’ on,” Giles replied. “Things got lost.”
    â€œThere was no PM report,” Rutter said evenly, “because there was no PM.”
    Giles scowled.
    â€œKnow that for a fact, do you?” he demanded.
    Rutter nodded.
    â€œThere were only two doctors in Maltham who could have done it. I rang both of them. Neither of them did.”
    â€œI think you exceeded your authority,” Giles said, his voice grating. “Inquiries of that nature should go through this office.”
    â€œNevertheless, there was no PM.”
    â€œI think you’re being impertinent,” Giles said. “I could report you to your superiors.”
    â€œI realise that, sir.”
    Giles sighed.
    â€œYou’re not goin’ to drop this one, are you, lad?”
    â€œNo, sir.”
    â€œI suppose it’s for the best to have it out in the open,” Giles admitted. “Every copper bends the rules now an’ again, and thinks no more about it, but I must say that over the years the Mary Wilson case has pricked my conscience a bit.” He reached for another cigarette, and this time offered one to Rutter. “There was no PM because her father didn’t want one. He was a county councillor then, still is for all I know. An’ he was a great friend of the last Chief Constable – both of ’em strict C of E. I could have pushed it if I’d really wanted to, but I was still new at the job, findin’ my feet. Besides, what with most of the younger men away in the war, I was over-stretched, an’ it didn’t seem worth the effort of wastin’ any more resources – the girl had obviously been strangled.”
    â€œWhat reason did Wilson give for opposing the PM?” Rutter asked.
    â€œHe said it was unnatural, a defilement of the dead, a crime against God. An’ lookin’ back on it, I think that’s why, after sixteen years, it’s still botherin’ me.”
    â€œYou mean because
you
don’t believe that.”
    â€œNo,” Giles said. “I mean because I don’t think he believed it himself. He was tryin’ to hide somethin’ he thought the PM would uncover. An’ I wish to Christ I knew what it was.”

Chapter Six
    â€œI’ve faced artillery, Messerschmitts and naked bayonets,” Woodend said, “an’ let me tell you, there’s no more terrifyin’ sight than a bolted pub door.”
    â€œNo sir, I don’t suppose there is,” Black replied uncertainly.
    Woodend chuckled and slapped him on the shoulder.
    â€œYou don’t know how to take me, do you, lad? Listen, there are only two golden rules for gettin’ on with superior officers: do your job well – an’ laugh at their jokes.”
    Black grinned.
    Woodend rang the bell. It had come as a surprise to him to learn that Liz Poole, the gorgeous landlady of the
George
was also the mother of fifteen-year-old Margie Poole, the murder