The Dead Hand of History by Sally Spencer Page A

way through a fair number of magazines.’
    â€˜So what you’re saying is the killer always planned to tip us off about the second hand with a note?’ Walker asked.
    â€˜No, I’m saying he always planned to tip Traynor off,’ Paniatowski corrected him.
    She was right, Walker thought. Bang on the button.
    And while he told himself he could probably have worked all that out for himself – given time – the simple fact was that DCI Paniatowski had already worked it out.
    â€˜What I still don’t know is what he wants us to do,’ Paniatowski continued. ‘But whatever it is, he’s using the press as a way of making sure that we do it.’
    â€˜So if he’d already decided to use an anonymous note to reveal the location of the second hand, why didn’t he do the same thing for the first?’ Beresford asked. ‘What’s the point of changing horses midstream?’
    Paniatowski gave him a thin smile. ‘If you remember, Colin,’ she said, ‘that’s the question I asked you .’

SEVEN
    M ike Traynor read through his article in the first edition of the Evening Chronicle with no small degree of satisfaction.
    Human hand discovered on river bank!
    Police this morning discovered a severed hand hidden in the bushes on the river bank close to the Pinchbeck Estate. The hand was in a blue plastic freezer bag.
    He was guessing about the freezer bag, but it was a pretty good guess, because the second hand had been in such a bag, and so there was no reason why the first one shouldn’t have been.
    Though no general statement about the hand has been issued, a well-placed and reliable source in Whitebridge Police Headquarters has confirmed – exclusively to this reporter – that the hand is a woman’s.
    And that was no lie, Traynor thought – it had been confirmed, though it was certainly true that DCI Paniatowski had never intended to give him any such confirmation.
    There were further – even more bizarre – developments later in the morning, but for the moment, and at the specific request of the police authorities, I have decided not to report on them.
    Well, that should definitely put the cat right among the pigeons, Traynor told himself.
    Of all the reporters covering the case, only he was in a position to state that the hand was definitely a woman’s – and only he had any basis for hinting that more was to follow.
    He had been tempted to tell his readers that they could find the ‘more’ that he had alluded to in the following morning’s Daily Globe . But he had quickly decided that his editor – who (totally unreasonably) cared more about the Chronicle ’s success than he did about his reporters getting on in the world – would never have stood for that.
    He wondered how his editor would react when he did read the Globe . Probably go ballistic, he thought. He’d probably claim that since the Chronicle was paying his salary, the Chronicle should have the first bite at any stories he’d uncovered.
    Well, sod that! This story was too big for a provincial rag. This story was national .
    The administrative area in Whitebridge Police Headquarters was the part of the building which was least likely to be visited by street-level bobbies. It occupied much of the second floor, and consisted of a warren of small offices, linked by a long corridor which was painted battleship grey and had a lovely view of the car park. It was here that overtime payments were calculated, maintenance work was approved and officers’ leave time was registered. But it was also here that the Criminal Records Department had its slightly fusty home, and it was that particular office that Sergeant Walker had been very eager to visit.
    Standing in the corridor outside the CRD, DC Crane at first kept himself occupied by counting the cars parked below, but that task was soon completed, and he found himself at a loose