Free Death's Dark Shadow--A novel of murder in 1970's Yorkshire by Sally Spencer

her,’ Paniatowski replied.
    â€˜A railway porter called Higgins. He says he saw her get off the train from Manchester last Wednesday.’
    â€˜That was the day on which we think she died!’
    â€˜Exactly!’
    â€˜Why didn’t he contact us before?’
    â€˜Because he’s an idle bastard?’ Beresford speculated, his voice tinged with anger. ‘Because he’s got about as much a sense of civic responsibility as a corporation lamp-post has?’
    â€˜Was there anything else that he could tell you, apart from when she arrived in Whitebridge?’
    â€˜He thinks he remembers that she was carrying a small bag or suitcase, but he can’t remember what colour it was.’
    â€˜And we still haven’t found that, have we?’
    â€˜No. We haven’t found the coat she was wearing, either.’
    â€˜I’ll meet you at headquarters in half an hour, Colin,’ Paniatowski said, and hung up.
    When she returned to the living room, she saw that her daughter was grinning again.
    â€˜Well?’ Louisa asked.
    â€˜Thank you for your help, darling, I really appreciate it,’ Paniatowski said. ‘But do you have to look so bloody smug?’
    Louisa gazed down at the table. ‘I’m sorry, Mum,’ she said, in a little girl voice.
    â€˜No, you’re not,’ Paniatowski said.
    Louisa raised her head again, and the grin was still in place. ‘No, I’m not,’ she agreed. ‘Is there a reward?’
    â€˜Indeed there is,’ Paniatowski told her, ‘the reward of knowing that you’ve done your duty as a responsible citizen.’
    â€˜I’m not old enough to be a citizen,’ Louisa pointed out. ‘But I am old enough to be given a record voucher.’
    â€˜Well, you’ve earned it,’ Paniatowski conceded. ‘In fact, if I’m honest, you’ve more than earned it.’
    â€˜Glad to oblige,’ Louisa said.
    It was relatively easy for the switchboard in Whitebridge police headquarters to make contact with the headquarters of the Cuerpo de Policía Armada in Madrid, but rerouting the call to their office in Alicante took over half an hour, and it was another twenty minutes before anyone who spoke English could be found to deal with the inquiry.
    The man who eventually came on the line said that his name was Captain Muñoz.
    â€˜Never been to Britain, but I spent a few years in the States,’ he told Paniatowski. ‘So what can I do for ya, Chief Inspector?’
    â€˜We have a murder victim – a woman – here in Whitebridge who we believe may recently have come here from Calpe, or one of the outlying villages,’ Paniatowski explained.
    â€˜Oh yeah?’ Captain Muñoz replied, but there was no real interest behind the question.
    â€˜We were wondering if you could find out something about her background for us,’ Paniatowski said.
    â€˜We can look through the files and see what we’ve got on her,’ Muñoz suggested.
    â€˜Is she likely to be on your files?’ Paniatowski asked.
    â€˜Sure, if she was a subversive,’ the captain replied, ‘and since she was in England when she got hit, I’d guess there’s a pretty good chance that’s exactly what she was.’
    â€˜Would you care to explain the reasoning behind that?’ Paniatowski asked cautiously.
    Muñoz sighed at her obvious stupidity.
    â€˜Most Spanish women would never even think of leaving Spain unless they’d got something to hide,’ he explained.
    She and the captain clearly had very different ways of looking at the world, Paniatowski decided.
    â€˜The victim in the case was quite an old woman,’ she said, hoping the information would make a difference to his attitude.
    â€˜There’s no age limit for people who are intent on destroying the fatherland, lady,’ the captain said.
    â€˜Maybe there is a file on her,’ Paniatowski conceded