Read Online Dying in the Dark by Sally Spencer - Free Book Online

Woodend and Paniatowski finally emerged from the offices of New Horizons Enterprises, and with the darkness had come a chill which promised another cold night. It wouldn’t be long now before early-morning windscreens were covered with a thick layer of frost, and engines stuttered in response to the demands of starter motors, Woodend thought.
    The two detectives climbed into Woodend’s Wolseley, both lighting up cigarettes as they did so.
    â€˜I get heartily sick of all the people who ask how there can be a God when there’s so much sufferin’ in the world,’ Woodend said, as he pulled away. ‘Fortunately, bein’ a serious student of theology, I’ve got a rebuttal right at my fingertips. And what I say to them is this – “If there is no God, then who the bloody hell created pubs?”’
    â€˜Sorry, sir, what was that again?’ Monika Paniatowski asked.
    Woodend sighed. ‘It wasn’t
that
funny a line the first time round, so it certainly wouldn’t improve with repetition,’ he said.
    â€˜What wouldn’t?’
    â€˜I was just indicatin’ – in my own bumblin’, fumblin’ way – that at the end of a day like this, it’s a bloody good thing there’s a pint waitin’ for us.’
    â€˜If you don’t mind, sir, I think I’d rather give the pub a miss tonight,’ Monika said.
    Woodend raised a surprised right eyebrow. ‘What’s the matter? Not feelin’ well?’
    â€˜I’m all right,’ Monika said, unconvincingly. ‘I’d just rather go home and get my head down. You
don’t
mind, do you?’
    Of course he minded. Some of their best work had been done in the public bar of the Drum and Monkey. There were cases which would have gone unsolved but for the inspirations which came from lubricating their brains with ample supplies of best bitter and double vodka. Besides, business apart, he rather enjoyed having a drink with his team.
    â€˜I don’t mind at all if you don’t come,’ he lied. ‘Where would you like me to drop you off? At the station?’
    â€˜Yes, please,’ Monika replied.
    The public bar of the Drum and Monkey was crowded, but the landlord – bless his little cotton socks – had made sure that the team’s usual table was kept free. Except that there didn’t seem to be any reason to reserve it that night, because Monika had gone home, and there was no sign of Bob Rutter.
    â€˜DI Rutter’s not happened to have been in tonight, has he, Jack?’ Woodend asked.
    â€˜Not that I’ve seen,’ the landlord replied. He pointed to the phone behind the bar. ‘Do you want to call the station, an’ see if he’s still there?’
    â€˜Not at the moment,’ Woodend said, because, after all, he didn’t want the Inspector to think that he was
chasing
him – that he was
desperate
for the man’s company.
    Sitting at his usual table, pint of best bitter in front of him, he waited for new ideas to start flooding into his head. But none came. He needed stimulating, he told himself. He needed the input that only Bob Rutter and Monika Paniatowski could provide.
    He tried to remember what it was like working without them, and found he couldn’t. Though Bob Rutter had only been with him for six years – and Monika Paniatowski for considerably less – closing a case without their help now seemed almost inconceivable.
    â€˜Phone call for you, Mr Woodend,’ the landlord called out across the busy room.
    Woodend did his best not to look too eager as he stood up and walked over to the bar, but there was still a definite spring in his step.
    â€˜Where are you, Bob?’ he asked into the mouthpiece.
    â€˜It’s not Bob, Charlie,’ said a female voice with the slightest hint of a foreign accent.
    â€˜Maria?’ Woodend asked.
    â€˜I’m so glad I found you there, Charlie,’