Dutch Courage (20 page)

Sucking the end of a pen Connie reviewed Collier's words before effectively getting rid of her.
There'll be nothing more
.
It's over
.
They've made their point
.
I've got the message
. What message?

While she made a cup of tea and selected two chocolate marshmallows from the comfort food tin, Connie's thoughts returned to the possibility of Margot's baby being fathered by one of her theatre friends. Doc Clarkson's comment about the fourteen-week period, if true, made the possibility fact. Despite his present problems, Connie did not believe he would make an error of six or seven weeks.

Walking back to her desk she considered the idea of Margot being generally promiscuous, having had lovers closer to home. Lovers humiliated enough at being ditched to beat up the man she now publicly claimed to be so crazy about. Could three of them have joined forces for the punishment? It was possible. When their manhood was questioned men acted in ways inexplicable to most women. Flogging a man because his wife had made fools of them? Connie had come across more curious cases.

Munching marshmallows thoughtfully, she recalled Sherilie Fox calling her neighbour a nympho. Claimed it was universally known. Then Connie remembered what else the loud-mouthed woman had said.

Derek Beeny had talked to Ray Fox on the first day of the investigation concerning the harassment of Margot, but the pilot had not been interviewed after the attack on Collier. Why? Feeling the buzz that came at the start of a fresh line of enquiry, Connie brought up on her computer screen all known facts on the man whose wife had caught him watching Margot Collier through binoculars.

Ray Fox had entered the Army Air Corps straight from school and had excelled on the pilot training course. After gaining his wings he had been retained at Middle Wallop as an instructor. Six months ago he had joined 678 Squadron following an incident with a female student pilot. SIB had prepared to mount an investigation, but the complaint had been withdrawn. Connie frowned. Another instance of a woman allowing a man to get away with an offence in order to protect her career. It happened too often for her liking.

She then accessed all the reports and found John Fraeme's statement that Fox and Andy Richards were temperamentally and professionally incompatible in the air, so Fraeme flew with Fox and Richards with Sam Collier.

The wounded Richards had been awarded a DFC for the Afghan rescue. Was there resentment from Fox on that score? But why flog Sam? Because he had made that award possible?

Abandoning that line of thought, Connie reverted to Fox's voyeurism when Margot was gardening in tight shorts. Could she have had a fling with him at some time? They were neighbours. Easy enough for Fox to vault the fence when both partners were absent. Had Margot's pregnancy, and her public adoration of her hero husband, driven Fox to enrol two pals to hold Sam while he vented pent-up fury on a man who appeared to have everything? Growing interested, Connie took up her car keys. Second Lieutenant Raymond Peter Fox was due for another interview.

Connie tracked her subject down at home, relaxing after a two-day night-flying exercise at a nearby NATO base. The reason why he had not been available for interview after the attack. He answered her knock dressed in tracksuit trousers and a T-shirt bearing the words WELSHMEN SING WHILE THEY DO IT. In the first five seconds he had mentally removed Connie's dark trouser suit and white blouse, and was down to her knickers and bra before she could advise him who she was.

Giving a sly smile, he murmured, ‘Policemen not only getting younger, bach, they're going in for sex change.'

The flippant words did not cover the signs of unease on a face deeply bronzed by the Afghan sun and ruddy from alcohol. Connie returned his smile. ‘And policemen do it with restraints. I'd like a few words with you, sir. Can we go indoors?'

He stood back with a theatrical sweep of his arm. ‘Come in to my parlour, said the spider.'

Connie entered the room still cluttered with unironed clothes, chocolate boxes and bottles of nail varnish in rainbow colours. The number of beer cans had increased. Ray Fox looked to be on a bender. She smiled inwardly. If he tried anything he would find himself on the floor before he knew it.

‘Your wife out?' she asked, turning as he came up behind her.

He indicated the nail varnish. ‘Beauty salon. Mud bath, massage, facial, manicure, pedicure, hairdo. The lot!'

‘Expensive afternoon.'

‘Tell me about it. Spend, spend, spend!'

‘Have trouble settling mess bills?' she probed experimentally.

His eyes narrowed. ‘If you've come here to be nasty you can go straight out again,
Sergeant
.'

‘I'd like to talk to you about Lieutenant Collier, get your opinion of him. You know he was badly beaten two nights ago?'

‘God, yes.' He dropped heavily on the sofa and picked up an open can. ‘Can't believe it. Who'd want to . . .?'

‘Please don't drink while I'm conducting this interview, sir.'

‘Interview? You said a few words,' he protested loudly. ‘Look, I don't know anything about that so why pester me?'

‘We're interviewing everyone again, trying to find a reason for such a brutal attack. Can you throw any light on it?'

‘No. I already told you that.'

‘Do you get on well with him?'

‘Yes.'

‘But not with Staff Richards?'

His blunt features took on an affronted expression. ‘What's the bastard been saying?'

‘Your flight commander won't crew you with him. He mentioned a clash of temperaments. Is that right?'

Fox lifted the beer can and drank defiantly before saying, ‘He's too slow. Questions everything I say. Shows no damn respect.' He glared up at Connie. ‘It's my
life
on the line up there, you know!

‘And his.' She got down to his level by perching on a footstool. ‘You think he's dangerous?'

He nodded vigorously. ‘
Bloody
dangerous.'

‘Yet Captain Fraeme is happy to let him fly.' There was silence. ‘And he's recently been decorated for that daring rescue in Kandahar.'

That clearly touched a nerve. ‘A gong for getting shot-up? Passed out, didn't he? Sam had to fly them back. Told you he was bloody dangerous. Set down right where the snipers were hiding. Could've got them all killed or captured.' His glazed eyes stared into space. ‘Know what they do to prisoners?'

‘So Sam Collier was truly the hero?' Connie probed.

‘Had to be, hadn't he? S'what Margot ordered.' His words were growing slurred, his Welsh accent more pronounced. ‘Can't blame him for doing anything to keep her happy, can you? What man wouldn't?' He appeared to have forgotten who Connie was and aired his thoughts. ‘
She
doesn't need mud baths and pummelling with oils.
She's
got it all quite natural, like. And she's got the dosh. Thousands and
thousands
. Sam never has to worry about mess bills, does he? Asks nicely and gets a handout.' He grinned drunkenly. ‘Asks
very
nicely, lucky sod. So why can't he share it around, eh? Not asking for much, is it?'

Tardily realizing how very inebriated he was, Connie said encouragingly, ‘Just a small loan to tide you over?'

Fox wagged his head slowly. ‘A gift, bach, a
gift
. Know his little secret, don't I?'

Connie schooled her voice to remain casual. ‘And what's that?'

‘If I told you, wouldn't be a secret, would it?' he mumbled with another sly grin. Then he patted the sofa. ‘Come over here, be nice to me, and I might whisper in your ear.'

Connie went out to her car and called Tom Black to report a breakthrough in the Collier case.

Max finally located Charles Clarkson at the Rifle Club bar, contemplating a double whisky. The doctor regarded him with caution. ‘Have they rightly concluded that she's lying?'

‘It's too early for that.' Max perched on the neighbouring stool. ‘You've damaged your case by sending your family away. It's likely to be regarded as a sign of guilt by the Joint Response Team.'

‘Balls to how they regard it!' he replied explosively. ‘I'm not having my kids put through the mangle until they believe their father is a perverted monster. Who do those bloody people think they are? What right have they to ask my innocent children if they're being sexually abused by their father, merely on the strength of the fantasy of an overweight fourteen-year-old in the grips of a feverish virus?'

‘All too often it's not fantasy. We have to investigate.'

Clarkson's mouth twisted. ‘You can all relax in the knowledge that four badly damaged kids are now safely out of reach of my criminal acts of depravity.'

Although Max sympathized, he ignored the outburst. Not being a father he could not fully appreciate the man's anguish. ‘Let's talk about Sam Collier . . . in the corner where we can't be overheard.' Max walked there leaving Clarkson to join him at a small table. When they were both seated he said, ‘Sergeant Bush interviewed your patient. Her feminine approach brought no more success than my Nazi tactics. He's still claiming amnesia, which we know is feigned.'

‘Not necessarily. His head was heftily beaten. The lashes to his back would add to the total shock to his system. Involuntary amnesia could act as a defensive mechanism.'

Max did not argue. He could tell when a man was lying, and Collier had apparently betrayed himself to Connie Bush by vowing they had made their point and he had got the message.

‘Has he talked to you about his injuries? If he remembers nothing of the attack he's surely bombarded you with questions. I'd be bloody worried and anxious to find myself in such a state without knowing why.'

Clarkson's hard, penetrating glare did not surprise Max, nor did his assertion that he and his female sergeant were the detectives; he was simply a medical practitioner dispensing palliatives and cures.

‘It's your job to discover who put him in my sick bay. Mine is to ease his discomfort. Between molesting young girls, of course.'

Ignoring that last comment, Max said, ‘His wife just told me Collier has never fully recovered from captivity in Sierra Leone. He has nightmares, bursts of violent temper, periods of withdrawal when she can't get through to him. It's been going on for three years. During that period you must have . . .' He held up his hands. ‘No, I'm not asking for confidential data, just tell me if he has come to you for help or advice on the problem.'

After some thought, Clarkson said harshly, ‘I've seen Collier for his annual medical check, and once for a broken toe.' Again a twist of his lips. ‘I've read through his case notes recently otherwise I wouldn't know that. I didn't recognize him when he was brought in by the paramedics.'

‘So you've no knowledge of his hang-up over Sierra Leone?'

‘No.'

‘Can you tell me who debriefed the hostages? You'll surely have a report by one of the psycho brigade certifying his fitness to return to duty.'

‘Details of that debrief won't be with the standard case notes. They're highly confidential.'

Max felt it was like communicating through a bowl of porridge trying to get useful responses from this man. ‘But there will be a document with a signature on it, clearing Collier for duty.'

‘Yes.'

‘I need to see it.'

Clarkson drank the whisky remaining in his glass. ‘David Culdrow is at the Medical Centre now. He'll find it for you.'

Max stood and took a few steps towards the door, but was halted by Clarkson. ‘Why the sudden interest in events of three years ago?'

Max turned to face the hostile doctor. ‘It's your job to ease your patients' discomfort; mine is to discover why that's necessary.' Nodding at the empty glass in Clarkson's hand, he added, ‘Go easy on that stuff if you mean to get in a car to drive home.'

He looked a mess. Tousled hair, what trendy guys would call ‘designer stubble', and a crumpled T-shirt claiming Welshmen sang while they did it. Max regarded him coldly. In the manner of old Hollywood gangster films, Ray Fox was certainly going to ‘sing' before the day was out.

They had brought him in, plied him with black coffee and put him in an interview room with enough bombast to drive away any idea he might have that they were not serious. Connie Bush thought him pathetic, but that was her opinion of most men she came across in her job. Full of hot air until SIB inserted the pin that burst the balloon. She was presently tingling with anticipation and glowing from a sense of satisfaction that she had picked up on evidence no one else had found significant. A comment of ‘sharp thinking' from Tom Black, and similar words from their boss turned the afternoon golden although the sun was not out.

Max had decided to conduct the interview himself, along with Connie. This case had got under his skin. Members of 678 Squadron had closed ranks when questioned, and Margot Collier had made fools of SIB. Tom's call had come as he was driving to the Medical Centre irritated by Clarkson, with whom he privately sympathized. That Connie had apparently made nonsense of the Sierra Leone theory was something of a relief. It would have taken days to prove a connection there. Getting the truth from Ray Fox would enable them to close the case before Easter.

Fox began by denying any knowledge of a secret connected with Sam Collier; claimed ‘the woman' had made it up. Yes, he believed he might have mentioned that Margot had stacks of dosh, but it was just a figure of speech. Everyone knew she was loaded. Flaunted it, didn't she? Flash car, designer clothes, holidays in the Seychelles.

‘And her husband could get a hand-out whenever he asked for one?' asked Max.

‘Stands to reason, doesn't it?'

‘So Sam's riding high. Beautiful wife, as much money as he wants, influential father-in-law and headlines describing his courage. What more could he need?'