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the killer hanged Pugh as a way of humiliating him, do you?’ Paniatowski asked.
    â€˜It’s a possibility,’ Woodend told her.
    â€˜Does that also mean that you think the decapitation was intentional?’
    â€˜No, I wouldn’t say that. If the killer had wanted to cut Pugh’s head off, he could have done it with an axe, somewhere there was no chance of his being spotted. Going on the bridge was a risk – we’re all agreed on that – however much he minimized that risk by choosing the
right
bridge. The actual process of hanging was what he was interested in, though not knowing anything about the mechanics of a successful hanging, the decapitation probably came as a surprise to him.’
    â€˜Then I still don’t understand why he did it,’ Paniatowski persisted. ‘Bradley Pine’s mutilation could have been regarded as humiliating. Leaving the victim’s body naked in the main square – like in that case in Yorkshire – is humiliating. But hanging’s no more of a humiliation than having your head bashed in. In fact, there’s something almost clinical – almost
judicial
– about hanging.’
    She was right, of course, Woodend thought.
    â€˜We’re chasin’ our own tails here,’ he said. ‘Let’s set aside the question of the unnecessary hanging for a while, and concentrate on how we go about catchin’ the bastard who did it. Any suggestions?’
    â€˜Post a team on the bridge,’ Rutter said crisply. ‘Have them display a large placard which asks anyone who crossed the bridge between the hours of midnight and five a.m. to pull over and give their details to the officers.’
    â€˜You’d use the uniformed branch for that particular job, I take it,’ Woodend said.
    Rutter nodded. ‘I doubt they’ll come up with anything useful, since, as I’ve already pointed out, it’s unlikely anybody
did
cross the bridge within those hours – but I’d rather be safe than sorry.’
    â€˜Right, so that’s covered,’ Woodend said. ‘But what should us smart-as-paint detectives be doin’ while the uniforms are handlin’ our donkey work for us?’ He looked straight at Colin Beresford. ‘What do
you
think we should be doing, Constable?’
    Beresford felt his temperature shoot up – as it always did when he suddenly became the centre of attention at one of these meetings – but at least now he had his blushing under control. Or
hoped
he had.
    â€˜We need to establish when the victim was last seen alive, sir,’ the constable said.
    â€˜Quite right,’ Woodend agreed. ‘We
do
need to know exactly where an’ when he was last seen alive. So me an’ Sergeant Paniatowski will go an’ talk to the widow, because it’s more than likely she’ll have some idea of where he was supposed to be last night. Meanwhile, you an’ Inspector Rutter can pay a visit to the place where Pugh worked. You know where that is, do you, Bob?’
    â€˜Yes,’ Rutter agreed. ‘I know where that is.’
    â€˜Young Beresford can talk to the workers, since, based on the evidence of the results he got at Bradley Pine’s mattress factory, he’s rapidly developin’ the common touch,’ Woodend said.
    â€˜Thank you, sir,’ said Beresford, not entirely sure whether it had been intended as a compliment or not.
    â€˜An’ Inspector Rutter will talk to the management, because he looks as if he’s one of them himself.’
    Beresford and Paniatowski grinned, since it was undoubtedly true that the Inspector had always looked more like a rising young executive than a street-level policeman.
    Rutter himself continued to look serious – almost preoccupied.
    â€˜Is that all right, Bob?’ Woodend asked.
    â€˜Fine,’ Rutter told him. ‘But I’m going to have to slip away for a couple of hours in