Free Echoes of the Dead by Sally Spencer

himself firmly in the middle of Lilly’s world.
    On the other hand, even though he was personally convinced that nothing would come from re-interviewing people whose alibis had already been checked out – and however incompetent the Whitebridge police were, they would surely have checked the alibis – Bannerman might just have presented him with the perfect way of getting his sergeant off his back.
    And the fact was, he admitted, there were a number of good reasons why he really wanted Bannerman off his back.
    The sergeant was an outsider, whose very presence would be likely to make the people in Whitebridge clam up.
    Besides, from the way he’d spoken to Elsie Dawson, it was clear that Bannerman didn’t regard sensitivity to other people’s grief as the quality that he most needed to cultivate.
    And then there was the clincher – that he neither liked Bannerman as a person nor entirely trusted him as a policeman.
    â€˜But hang on, Charlie,’ cautioned a slightly uneasy voice from somewhere at the back of his head. ‘Isn’t it your job to train up your sergeant – to lead by example, and make him into a policeman just like you?’
    â€˜No!’ a stronger voice – one which he clearly recognized as his own – immediately countered. ‘It’s my job to catch the animal who killed poor little Lilly Dawson – an’ catch him before he has the chance to strike again! It’s my job to help the town I grew up in to heal itself. An’ if that involves cuttin’ this bumptious little prick out of the loop, it’s a price well worth payin’.’
    â€˜Sir?’ Bannerman said questioningly.
    And Woodend realized that it must be quite some time since he had last spoken.
    â€˜I’ve been thinkin’ about what you said,’ he told the sergeant, ‘an’ I’ve decided you’ve probably got a point. It might well be very useful to re-interview all the possible suspects.’
    Bannerman nodded seriously. ‘If that’s your considered opinion, sir, then I’m sure that you’re right.’
    He thinks he’s manipulated me! Woodend told himself. The bugger really thinks he’s got me wrapped around his little finger!
    â€˜And not only do I think it’s a good idea, but I’ve decided I’ll leave that particular job in your very capable hands,’ he said aloud.
    Bannerman beamed, as if he’d just been told he’d won first prize in a school debating competition.
    â€˜Really, sir?’ he asked.
    â€˜Really,’ Woodend confirmed.
    He checked his watch, and was surprised to see that though it felt like it had been a very long day, it was still only a quarter to nine.
    â€˜Do you fancy another pint?’ he asked.
    Bannerman shook his head. ‘If it’s all the same to you, sir, I think I’ll turn in for the night.’
    He really didn’t know the ropes, did he, Woodend thought – still didn’t appreciate one of the most important unwritten rules of being part of a team, which was that the boozing stopped when the boss decided it should stop.
    Even so, he was far from displeased by his sergeant’s ignorance – because he had had quite enough of the bloody man for one day.
    Left alone, with only the garish wallpaper for company, Woodend wondered what he should do next.
    He wasn’t ready to go to bed, but he didn’t want to remain in the Balmoral Bar, either. The obvious solution would be to pay a visit to one of the dozen or so pubs within easy reach of the hotel – pubs where he would not have to drink alone because he was almost bound to run into someone who he had known in his childhood or his youth.
    But he was starting to realize that to do that would be a mistake, because his life had moved on, and things could never again be as they once were.
    The old mates who he talked to in one of these pubs wouldn’t see him as the lad who