Free The Dark Lady by Sally Spencer Page A

cards.”
    â€œAn’ what game did you play exactly? Was it snap? Or are you more inclined towards happy families?”
    â€œWe played poker,” the young Pole said. “I lost seven shillings and elevenpence.”
    Woodend scratched the edge of his nose with his index finger. “It’s always fascinatin’ to me how people who don’t know any better think that addin’ little details to the story they tell the police will give those stories an aura of authenticity,” he said. “Tell me, how long did it take you to lose your seven shillin’s an’ elevenpence?”
    â€œIt took me until long after Herr Schultz had been beaten to death in the woods.”
    Woodend sighed. “Just answer the question, please.”
    â€œThe poker game went on until at least four thirty in the morning. It may even have been five o’clock.”
    â€œWere you all drinkin’ as well?”
    â€œOf course we were drinking. We are Poles. When there are three or four of us together, it is impossible
not
to drink.”
    â€œThen you must have had thick heads when you turned up for work the next mornin’. I’m surprised your foreman didn’t notice anythin’ an’ report you to his supervisor.”
    Wasak shook his head, as if he despaired at the depth of the chief inspector’s ignorance.
    â€œWe are all shift workers in a chemical plant which operates around the clock,” he said. “Often we have to work at the weekend, and when that happens we are given time off in lieu. This was one such occasion. There was no work for any of us the day after Schultz was murdered.”
    â€œSo between about quarter past eleven an’ four thirty in the mornin’ – or it might have been five o’clock – you were all together?”
    â€œThat’s right.”
    â€œAnd nobody left durin’ that time?”
    â€œAs far as I can remember, we all went to the lavatory at some point during the game.”
    They were hard work, these Poles, Woodend thought. It wasn’t that they were all as thick as two short planks, just that they acted as though they were.
    â€œYou all went to the bog, but nobody was gone more than a couple of minutes. Is that it?” he said, spelling it out.
    â€œYes, that is correct.”
    The chief inspector rose to his feet. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, Mr Wasak, there’s a drink waitin’ for me on the bar,” he said. “By the way, who won this gin rummy game of yours?”
    â€œPoker,” the Pole corrected him. “Zbigniew was the big winner. And it was poker.”
    â€œAye, so it was,” Woodend agreed.
    He walked back to the bar, aware of the eyes on him once again. Bob Rutter, who had already started to sip his own half of bitter slid a brimming pint over to his boss.
    â€œDid you find out anything useful from your little chat, sir?” the sergeant asked.
    Woodend shook his head. “I get the distinct impression that at least half the people livin’ on this camp don’t give a toss whether or not I find Gerhard Schultz’s killer,” he said. “An’ what’s even worse, about half of the rest would much rather I didn’t.”
    Rutter lit up one of his cork-tipped cigarettes. “That’s hardly surprising, is it?” he asked. “Being a time-and-motion man has never been the most popular occupation in the world.”
    â€œTrue enough,” Woodend agreed. “You know what’s really got me foxed, Sergeant?”
    â€œNo. What?”
    â€œThis whole Dark Lady business.”
    â€œYou mean you think there really might be a ghost?”
    â€œNo, course I don’t think that. But what I want to know is why even the mention of this particular spook should have put the wind up Gerhard Schultz.”
    â€œMaybe he did believe in ghosts,” Rutter suggested. “Maybe he was scared to death of