Recent Titles by Sally Spencer from Severn House
THE BUTCHER BEYOND
DANGEROUS GAMES
THE DARK LADY
THE DEAD HAND OF HISTORY
DEAD ON CUE
DEATH OF A CAVE DWELLER
DEATH OF AN INNOCENT
A DEATH LEFT HANGING
DEATH WATCH
DYING IN THE DARK
A DYING FALL
THE ENEMY WITHIN
FATAL QUEST
GOLDEN MILE TO MURDER
A LONG TIME DEAD
MURDER AT SWANNS LAKE
THE PARADISE JOB
THE RED HERRING
THE SALTON KILLINGS
SINS OF THE FATHERS
STONE KILLER
THE WITCH MAKER
THE DEAD HANDOF HISTORYA DCI Monika Paniatowski MysterySally Spencer
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This first world edition published 2009
in Great Britain and in the USA by
SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD of
915 High Street, Sutton, Surrey, England, SM1 1DF.
Copyright 2009 by Alan Rustage.
All rights reserved.
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data
Spencer, Sally.
The Dead Hand of History.
1. Woodend, Charlie (Fictitious character) Fiction.
2. Police England Fiction. 3. Polish people England Fiction. 4. Detective and mystery stories.
I. Title
823.914-dc22
ISBN-13: 978-1-78010-032-6 (ePub)
ISBN-13: 978-0-7278-6805-3 (cased)
ISBN-13: 978-1-84751-170-6 (trade paper)
Except where actual historical events and characters are being described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental.
This ebook produced by
Palimpsest Book Production Limited,
Falkirk, Stirlingshire, Scotland.
For Lanna
PROLOGUE
S he was in a dark, dark place.
She suspected that she was inside, rather than out, because the air was still and musty. But if she was inside, in some kind of room, she had no idea how large or small that room might be.
Concentrate! she ordered her fuzzy brain.
The first thing to consider, she decided, was not where she was, but how she had got there.
She had been at home.
She was sure of that.
It had been the evening, and she had been at home.
Was it still evening?
That didnt matter! What had happened next?
Shed had a fight with her husband! It had been a God-awful one, and hed been angrier and braver than shed ever seen him before.
And then?
And then nothing!
She didnt know how the fight had ended, or what had happened after it.
Focus on the present, then.
She was in this room which might be as small as a cupboard or as large as an auditorium and she was standing up.
But she couldnt move! Why couldnt she move?
She couldnt move because she was tied to something.
A workbench, perhaps?
Could be.
At any rate, whoever had tied her up had made a good job of it. Her ankles were bound together, and fastened to the leg of the bench if thats what it was and there were more bonds mooring her waist to the flat top.
But it was what had been done to her hands which was the real mystery. They had been bound in such a way that her arms were spread to their maximum, and so that the hands themselves were palm-down on a cold metal surface.
She should be more frightened, she told herself.
And perhaps, when the fuzziness had cleared from her head, she would be.
But for the moment, the important thing was to work out exactly what was going on.
Somewhere in the middle distance a door opened, allowing a chink of light to leak into the room just enough for her to realize where she was.
But knowing where she was only raised more questions, didnt it?
She still had no idea why she was there, or who had brought her there.
The door closed again. The only thing she could now see was the blinding light of a powerful torch, the only thing she could hear was the soft footfalls as her captor approached her.
It was the steadiness of the light the sure nature of the footfalls which finally brought on the fear.
Who are you? she heard herself croak. What do you want?
The light drew ever closer, and though she closed her eyes she could still feel the dazzle burning into her retinas.
Is it money youre after? she asked, as a rising panic threatened to drown her. Is it? Because if it is, Ive got plenty.
There was no response, though the footsteps kept on coming.
Youll never get away with it, you know, she said, changing tack. Ive got influence in this town. Ill have you tracked down wherever you try to hide.
Her kidnapper had walked past her, and was standing at the edge of the bench.
No, not bench she knew exactly what it was now.
Why dont you say something? she sobbed. Why dont you tell me why Im here?
You already know why youre here, said a voice.
And it wasnt just any voice! It was a voice she recognized a voice she knew very well.
Oh God, no! she thought. It isnt... it cant be...!
She was sure the torch was still shining directly in her eyes, and that when she opened them it would hurt.
But she had to open them.
Because how could she make her appeal for mercy with them closed?
She forced herself to do it. At first all she could see was the blinding glare, but then, by moving her head to one side, she regained a little of her peripheral vision.
And that was when she saw the meat cleaver, raised high in the air.
Please, no! she screamed.
And she was still screaming when the cleaver reached its target slicing through flesh, crushing and splintering bone.
ONE
T he River Darne was too shallow for any but the smallest craft to navigate, and too narrow to require one of those mighty arched stone bridges which spanned more substantial rivers. But that said, it was pleasant enough, in its own quiet way. Swans glided majestically along its course, and bulrushes grew in abundance along its banks. Weeping willows overhung and were reflected in its water, and on warm summer days the path that ran alongside it was popular with both strollers and picnickers. But there were no strollers or picnickers on the river bank that early June morning in 1973. Instead, it had been invaded and then occupied by a dozen men with an official purpose.
Ten of the men were uniformed, had established themselves in fixed positions and now stood scanning the near distance for any sign of the sensation-seekers who always appeared almost by magic whenever a grisly incident like this one occurred. The men in plain clothes, on the other hand, strode back and forth along the path, as if by this action alone they were achieving something of significance.
Not that we can do much of anything until she gets here, Detective Sergeant Walker complained. After all, we dont want to go treading on her toes on her first day in her shiny new job, now do we?
