Dutch Courage (23 page)

The case was getting bogged down. Ray Fox had a proven alibi for Monday night and, although he had been squeezing money from Collier, Max believed his claim that he had told no one about the secret drinking. Earlier this evening the theory involving fellow hostages from Sierra Leone had been debunked, partly by Fox's confession and partly by evidence that the men held with Collier three years ago were all in the UK.

He pulled up before the inn, but stayed in the car with his thoughts. Two had left the Army since that drama. Both had a UK address, but they could have come to Germany. Impossible to keep tabs on men who had become civilians. It might be worth having a word with their local police about their present jobs and family situations. Locking the car and crossing to the welcome lights of
Der Bauer
, Max admitted he was now clutching at straws. The manner of Collier's punishment was a clue he had not yet recognized. If and when he did, the solution would surely follow.

A plate filled with veal fricassée and buttered potatoes, with a large salad and a carafe of Mosel wine went a long way to easing his tension. He needed Livya on the other side of the table, sharing his meal, to bring full relaxation. How good it would be to go home each evening to her, to talk things through, hear her reasoning. How good it would be to slip into bed every night and hold her close. How good it would be to have a child, or two, to run in to the bedroom at first light and snuggle in the bed with them.

The waiter came and Max ordered plum strudel with whipped cream. Drinking the last of the wine Max reflected that Tom was a very lucky man. Then he frowned. There was presently an obvious problem with that fifteen-year-old marriage. Caused by Margot Collier, or by Tom's recent illness? If the former, hopefully the rosy-tinted lenses had cleared to show his friend the flawed woman beneath the glamour.

As for the supposed golden couple, beneath the gilded surface decay was fast spreading. Remembering how he had felt on hearing rumours of Susan's affair with a good-looking, audacious corporal, Max empathized with Collier tonight. He understood the pain of betrayal, of vows broken. Max would never know if the unborn boy killed with Susan was his, but there could be no doubt about Margot's baby. Sam had that additional betrayal yet to face.

Driving back to his single room, Max decided he might be better off as things stood. He would have a long, intimate telephone conversation with Livya, make plans for their next meeting, then disconnect and look forward to the same pleasure tomorrow. So he would not hold her in his arms, make love before falling languorously asleep, but he would not be risking silence and a turned back because he had somehow erred. Or because another man had taken his place.

Bright moonlight flooded the room, emphasizing its clinical austereness with sharp contrasts of light and shade. The night duty nurse could see the patient clearly without using her small torch. Two a.m. and he was still awake. She was about to enter and offer a sleeping pill when she noticed the tears standing on his bruised cheeks. She left as silently as she had arrived.

Charles Clarkson left his bed with the intention of making tea. It was pointless to toss and turn any longer. He had had a long telephone conversation with Ria which had been badly unsettling. She was naturally distressed over the sudden departure, and the children were scared and upset. Even being with their much-loved grandparents failed to cheer them. Ria had found it difficult to explain the situation to her parents. They were now tight-lipped and angry, bringing out their familiar comments about the folly of marrying a soldier doctor.

Maybe she should return to Germany, leaving the children in Portugal, she had said. She should have put them on the aircraft and stayed with him. People would think she believed him guilty by running off at a moment's notice, taking the kids beyond his reach. It had been a mistake, but he had given her no time to think of the consequences. Had he yet heard the result of the interview with Stacey? When would he join them? She missed him dreadfully and was sick with worry.

Charles had felt exhausted when the call ended, and he then doubted his wisdom in sending them all away so precipitately. Yet he could not have allowed his loving children's minds to be poisoned by insidious questioning. He
could
not. He yearned to be with them all, offering comfort and reassurance. Small wonder he could not sleep.

Starting down the stairs he became aware of a terrible smell. He soon identified the source. On the doormat was a pile of faeces.

On Thursday there was no new evidence or even new thoughts on the Collier case, so the team faced the prospect of re-interviewing everyone linked to 678 Squadron in the hope of winkling-out something that would bring some enlightenment. Tom took on the task of garnering information and evidence to consolidate the charges against Ray Fox, who had been suspended from duty.

Max visited the staff sergeant heading the team checking the validity of Stacey Laine's claim of sexual assault. Jean Maximus was a shrewd woman with wide experience of handling the abuse of minors. She would not commit herself to a verdict.

‘Too early, sir. The girl is unwell and feverish. She's also suffering the usual sense of shame, along with the fear of being the subject of gossip and curiosity as well as the distress of losing her friends. We have to work slowly, build up her trust in us and confidence in herself. This unique military community exacerbates the problems. Every pupil at the school knows every other one, their parents live and work in close proximity so news travels faster than in civilian communities.' She frowned. ‘It's a serious charge, and if he
is
using his professional standing to touch and fondle young girls' bodies, it's also despicable. If Stacey is telling the truth, someone must check out the Major's children who are at serious risk. Removing them before they could be questioned damages his claim of innocence, but they are at least safe from harm at his hands, for now.'

Max made no comment. He kept an open mind about Stacey's accusation but, knowing Clarkson's devotion to his family, he did not seriously believe those four were in any danger of abuse. Men who committed crimes against women and children were frequently gentle and loving with their own family. It was tricky to track them down, because all who knew them swore they would never harm a soul.

The subject of these thoughts was at the Medical Centre when Max walked in. Clarkson looked pale and drawn and extremely hostile.

‘What do
you
want?'

‘I was diverted yesterday on my way to pick up that info about Collier's debrief after Sierra Leone. A signature, a name I can start with and follow up on.'

‘Haven't you done enough to hamper the man's recovery? He's deeply depressed after your bully-boy tactics last night.'

‘Don't you mean
Nazi
tactics?' Max countered. ‘We have to discover who put him in here. His assumed amnesia magically cleared, but he has no idea who attacked him, or why.'

Clarkson's stony gaze bored into Max. ‘Which is no different from when he feigned loss of memory, so you're no wiser and my patient's recovery has been set back. Bravo!'

‘I'd like that name, please.'

Max thought for a moment that Clarkson was going to refuse, but he eventually got to his feet and went to the filing cabinet. Selecting a thick envelope, he studied the contents with his back turned. Then he meticulously re-filed Collier's medical notes and returned to his desk to write on a scrap of paper which he held out.

Max glanced at the name on it as Clarkson said, ‘He won't tell you anything. His patients are guaranteed confidentiality.'

‘As it happens, we can tell him something he probably doesn't know. Collier needs further help. That initial debrief didn't completely erase the effects of what happened to him three years ago, and the pressure of his marital demands is putting him under too much stress to cope with his fears.'

Max made to leave, then halted at the doorway. ‘You're the medic. I suggest you have a quiet chat with him when the time's right. He's in need of someone on his side just now. His wife broke faith with him last night. It was that, not our questioning, that's heralded depression today.' He leaned further in to the office to add quietly, ‘You mentioned that her pregnancy is at the dangerous fourteen-week period. Collier returned from Afghanistan
eight
weeks ago. Think on that, Major.'

Max held the briefing well before supper time. Developments had demanded three late nights, so he decided they all deserved a free evening after hours of interviewing people even more uncooperative the second time around. The case was growing cold now Ray Fox was out of the running.

There was, however, one interesting report. Heather Johnson had tackled Margot Collier while she was still disturbed by the events of the previous evening; events which had spilled over to morning when Sam had feigned sleep throughout her visit. Heather had taken advantage of the woman's volatile mood to get some straight answers.

‘She admitted there had not been smashed eggs on the doorstep, deflated tyres or any mysterious resiting of her parked car,' Heather said with a touch of disdain. ‘These were not
lies
, you understand, just little touches to bolster her appeal for help in tracing the sender of those letters. The only truth in her statement was the attempt to run her off the road. That had scared her so much she came straight to us before telling her husband, something she later regretted.

‘She broke down and condemned herself for having now alienated darling Sam. She had only acted to
protect
him. That's all she's
ever
wanted to do. Oh, and to protect the baby,' Heather quoted. ‘It's
so
important for this pregnancy to run full term.' She grimaced. ‘It was quite a performance, sir.'

‘Everything she does is a performance,' Max agreed. ‘She most probably is passionate about her husband, but only in respect of fashioning him into her ideal. One hopes he will accept a lie about a premature birth, especially if the baby strongly resembles one of her theatre cronies. We can charge her with wasting police time on checking out her false claims, but we'll wait until this bizarre affair is completely unravelled. There could be further charges to lay against her.'

The only other offering came from Phil Piercey, who had pursued the sex angle which he felt was behind the beating. All he could come up with was evidence of widespread admiration for Margot Collier from the men, and as much vituperation from the wives. As for his probing into possible sexual adventures in Afghanistan, the best he could offer was that everyone said there wasn't time for anything like that.

‘I'll follow up on it tomorrow, when they've had time to think it over. If it's there, I'll get at it.'

‘I'm sure you will,' said Max, humouring the maverick Piercey. ‘Fresh input is welcome, however debatable, Sergeant. Let's all take a break this evening and approach the case with fresh enthusiasm tomorrow.'

Dinner in the Mess was a possibility tonight that Max took advantage of. He was weary and slightly depressed. Tired of Margot's play-acting, he disparaged her attitude towards the man who had clearly loved her for herself, not for her wealth or her influential father. It had all been in that look on realizing she had informed against him, knowing it would result in his being barred from doing the one thing he loved best: flying. There had been no suggestion or hint that she had at any time tackled him about his need for alcohol, had attempted to talk him through his fears and offer her support. Her much vaunted passion for darling Sam had not extended to the in sickness and health vow.

She had given SIB the runaround, too. Poor old Tom must be feeling let down and embarrassed. Max had thought him too hardened by experience to have fallen for her wiles, but she was undoubtedly the embodiment of many men's fancies, and it was spring time when gullible males were known to surrender to headstrong sexual temptation.

Max's own mating instincts were centred on Livya. He had never been a man to play the field. In the three years following Susan's death there had been no woman in his life until Livya had come on the scene last December. Just four months of knowing and loving her, with no more than six meetings since that heady Christmas leave in her company. He longed for her now as he showered and changed in the small room he still could not regard as home. After he had eaten, he would call her and perform a metaphorical mating ritual over the phone lines.

His mobile rang as he was combing his hair. Thinking it would be a police matter, he was surprised to see that the caller was Livya.

‘Hi, darling, don't disappoint me by saying we can't have our usual hour tonight. I need it after the day I've had.'

‘I can't say too much. I'm not alone.' She sounded tense. Angry, even.

‘What's the problem? Are you all right?'

‘We're hoping to keep it quiet, but if the press get hold of it, it'll make headlines. I just want to tell you before you read about it over breakfast.'

‘Livya,
what's wrong
?'

‘Andrew was mugged and robbed of his briefcase this afternoon. It contains highly confidential info.'

‘Christ!' Max was totally unprepared for such news. ‘Why did he have it with him?'

‘Can't go into that,' she whispered fiercely. ‘He was taken to A and E by a passing motorist, but they sent him home with plasters and painkillers. There's a huge flap on here to check what's actually missing. I'll be working until the early hours. Sorry to give you this, but I thought you should be prepared to see your father's name plastered all over the tabloids. I'll call you when I can.'

She was gone before he could question her further. He sat heavily on his bed, trying to accept what he had just heard. Throughout his career Andrew Rydal had met danger head-on, taken risks with cool courage, led men with authority and charmed women effortlessly. Like the buccaneer he undoubtedly was, he had sailed successfully through rock-strewn waters for many years, but he had now hit a reef. Sink or swim, the vessel was certain to be damaged.