Dutch Courage (26 page)

‘You've always been the lucky sod who invariably lands on his feet, Andrew,' Phipps said without preamble. Then he noticed Max and narrowed his eyes. ‘Who's this?' It was snapped out in commanding manner.

There was momentary silence, which Max decided to end to save any embarrassment for his father and Livya. ‘Max Rydal, SIB, sir.'

‘And who the hell authorized
you
to meddle in this business?' he challenged after absorbing that information.

Oh, yes, definitely a man to use the word
besmirch
, thought Max. ‘I'm in the UK to interview several possible witnesses in a case we're investigating, so I cadged a bed for the night. I'm on the point of leaving.'

Phipps's eyes narrowed further. ‘Not yet! I want to talk to you.' He turned back to Andrew. ‘You haven't made him aware of this, have you?'

‘I heard about it through police lines of communication,' Max said swiftly, carefully avoiding Livya's gaze. ‘A supplementary reason for coming here last night instead of booking in a hotel.'

Andrew now stepped into the breach. ‘A lucky sod, you said, Preston. You've brought good news?'

Phipps glanced at Livya and Max, then nodded. ‘We're all in the know, but
this
goes no further than this room.' He walked forward to sit on one of the high stools and pushed the fruit bowl aside as if clearing a space, yet he did not fill it with anything. He fixed his attention on Andrew.

‘There are still a few of our compatriots with honesty and integrity. One of them, at five this morning, handed in to his local police station a folder containing documents he thought could not possibly have been discarded in the small skip outside the end house by anyone living in his street. They were marked HIGHLY CONFIDENTIAL and bore a fancy badge heading. He felt they must be important to someone.'

Max heard an involuntary cry of delight from Livya, before Andrew, looking slightly dazed asked, ‘Photocopied?'

‘Bert Philpotts, ticket dispenser at Elephant and Castle tube station, isn't the type to own a photocopier or any kind of sophisticated camera as shown in TV spy junkets. One has to assume your druggie hadn't enough nous to realize a tabloid would buy those fifty pages for the price of a fix every month this year, so he chucked them in a nearby skip and progressed to a pub to sell the expensive briefcase, pigskin gloves and Mont Blanc pen.' He drew in his breath. ‘As I said, a lucky sod who invariably lands on his feet. But, by God, you came very close to disaster this time, man!'

Still registering awed relief, Andrew said, ‘
Two
worthy citizens. Someone at the cop shop could have seen the potential Bert Philpotts and my mugger missed.'

‘I was told a stalwart cockney sergeant recognized our logo and guarded the folder until it was collected by one of our couriers.' The tight lips relaxed into the semblance of a smile. ‘Demanded his credentials, then phoned Barker for a description before agreeing to hand the stuff over. We should recruit him. He's wasted down there at the E and C.'

Livya broke into the two-sided conversation to say she would head for her office if she was no longer needed. ‘Will you be along later, sir?' she asked Andrew very correctly. ‘If not, I'll attend the meeting with Rex Ingram and deliver my report this evening for you to go over and mark for action.'

‘Yes, do that,' ruled Phipps before Andrew could speak. ‘The Brigadier needs to recoup at home today.' He turned on Max. ‘Now then, give me a sitrep on your progress in the case of grievous assault on my daughter's husband.'

Max swiftly considered what to do about Livya, who had been peremptorily dismissed. He was fully prepared to excuse himself from answering until he had had a private word with her, but would she resent his bringing her personal relations into what had become an official situation? Deciding that she would, he silently watched her walk from the kitchen towards the main entrance.

‘Well?' demanded the authoritative voice with a touch of impatience, but Max was watching Livya's pantomime with her mobile phone telling him to call her in an hour's time, and unconsciously smiled.

‘Something amusing about a hero being beaten senseless, Captain?'

‘No, sir.' Choosing his words carefully, Max outlined the difficulties they were facing because Collier was unable to give descriptions of his assailants, and so far the possible suspects all had alibis.

‘We have DNA and fingerprints, but they're only of use once we have enough evidence to pull someone in on the charge.'

‘You've been at it for five days, man. It
has
to be someone on that base. Not too hard to find who bears him a grudge, surely. How much experience have you had at handling serious cases?'

Before Max could respond to the insulting comment, Andrew said, ‘Preston, he knows his profession as well as we know ours. He'll get the bastards, take my word.'

Momentarily thrown by this unlooked-for defence from his father, Max was subjected to further attack from the man who reportedly had once dubbed the victim weak and unworthy of the role he played in military service.

‘Who are these witnesses you've come over to interview?'

Obliged to support his earlier lie, Max said off the top of his head, ‘The men your son-in-law rescued in Kandahar. They might throw some light on the situation out there.'

‘
No!
' It was as sharp as the crack of a rifle. ‘Taboo! D'you hear that? Leave well alone.'

It was not advice, it was an order. One that took Max aback, despite the fact that he had no intention of tracking down the injured men. ‘Can I ask why, sir?'

As Phipps opened his mouth, Andrew spoke swiftly. ‘The Colonel of the Royal Cumberland Rifles has been outspoken about the paucity of equipment for his men serving in the Middle East, so the families of the men rescued by Lieutenant Collier are preparing a court action against the MoD because the protective jackets they should have been wearing had been given to a foot patrol tasked to take out a rocket site.'

‘Hence why one was ablaze when Collier reached them?'

‘He died on Tuesday from burns that failed to respond to treatment. The whole of his back became suppurated due to some defect in his immune system. His young wife and parents are whipping up support against the MoD.'

‘How are the other men he rescued?' asked Max.

His father continued to respond. ‘One is still at Headley Court rehabilitation centre. Shattered kneecap.'

‘The remaining two are in Norway,' Phipps interceded brusquely. ‘Not as a means of getting them out of the limelight, as their wives are claiming. They're due to go this year and it's an opportunity for them gradually to ease themselves back to the demands of normal duty before the rest of the detachment arrives there in May.'

Max frowned. ‘We've heard nothing of this.'

‘Why should you expect to be privy to such info? It's not an SIB matter,' Phipps replied with some disdain. ‘And you haven't heard it now. You understand me, I trust?'

‘Perfectly, sir. Is it permitted for me not to hear the grounds these families think they have for bringing a case? Out of interest in the legal aspect.'

With a glance at Phipps, Andrew said, ‘You'll read about it in the tabloids once they contact the press. Soon, no doubt. They're claiming their men were inadequately protected against enemy attack. Your colleagues in Kandahar are investigating and compiling a report which you'll have access to, eventually. It's pretty certain to uphold their claims.'

‘That's all very well, Andrew, but what these women don't realize is that the available funds have to be spent, and equipment distributed, where it will be most effective,' said Phipps, rapping his knuckles on the breakfast bar to emphasize his point. ‘When I was out there on that fact-finding tour I was canvassed on all sides by men wanting extra equipment, more ammo, better gear, better food, better facilities. You name it, they said they needed it! The fact that the American troops have it all, and more, doesn't help.

‘The Cumberland Rifles officers bombarded me with requests for upgraded body armour, tougher boots and more men to do the tasks they were expected to carry out. I told them I'd list their needs as a priority. When I spoke to other groups, they had their demands, too, and I told them I'd note them as a priority.

‘Trouble is, as you're well aware, there's only so much finance available, and we have troops in too many hostile zones to equip them all to the hilt. But you can't lower morale by stating bald facts when men are under extreme stress. I told Collier that when we had our brief private pow-wow during my visit.'

Max picked up on that interesting fact in a diatribe he had heard all too often. ‘You were in Kandahar during Lieutenant Collier's tour of duty, sir?'

Phipps turned in surprise, proving he had forgotten about Max over by the refrigerator. ‘I was, yes. Before his bold rescue of those very men whose wives are kicking up the deuce of a fuss. Their husbands could have been captured and murdered. They've forgotten that, haven't they? Forgotten how damned important it is to maintain air cover in desert areas where aircraft are the vital lifeline for men on the ground. They move troops swiftly, they ferry essential supplies to vulnerable outposts, they pick up the sick and wounded to transfer them pronto to the medics, they overfly convoys, make invaluable reconnaisance forays and, not least of their tasks, attack from above when ground troops are pinned down. Yes, aircraft
must
be kept fully operational, which is why I rated them top priority on my list of recommendations. I'm glad to say my findings were acted upon and Six Seven Eight Squadron got their spares and upgraded night vision goggles well before they returned to Germany.'

Although Max was aware of that commanding voice continuing as the speaker rode a hobby horse at a brisk trot, his attention was elsewhere. He had chased wilder geese than this one, but it was flapping its wings enticing him to follow, and he had nowhere better to go.

Twelve

T
he sun had set two hours ago, but he made no attempt to put on any lights. Darkness epitomized what his life had become. It would stay that way far into the future. Suspended from duty, metaphorically under house arrest in a hostile community, the night was his only friend.
Wrong!
His other friend stood half empty on the table beside him. It would be totally empty soon.

Ria had phoned an hour ago. Was there any news? Oh, yes,
was
there! But he had bluffed through her concerned questions, giving the reassurances she sought because he could not bring himself to tell her the truth.

Gulping more whisky, he pictured Anneka Chorley and Kylie Stokes; the first tall and willowy with knowing brown eyes, and Kylie too flirty for her own good. At the kids' Christmas party in this house, both had worn such brief skirts it was possible to see a flash of lacy knickers when they bent over. Knickers so small their buttocks had swelled beneath them. Asking for trouble. And those close-fitting T-shirts bearing suggestive slogans!

The girl-women today thought nothing of blatant sexuality. Ria was a good Catholic reared in the less permissive Portugal, so she kept their two respectably clad and well-behaved. Ginny and Zoe grumbled, but the family bond was strong and they were nevertheless popular at school.

The real teaser, of course, was Maeve O'Halloran. Smokey dark hair, deep-blue eyes, breasts as prominent as a pair of peaches, skintight hipster jeans leaving three inches of bare golden flesh between them and a low-cut top. She had followed him into the bedroom pretending she thought it was Gina's, but making the lie pretty obvious. Ria had seen her and swiftly sent her packing. When a man eventually took Maeve as a partner, he would be getting more than second-hand goods.

He thought of his own two girls. They would surely grow into elegant, bewitching women like their mother. The others would look old and well-worn by the age of thirty or so. He was only thirty-nine. The past few days had put years on him. He felt like an old man; an
ancient
.

After today's double charge by SIB he had contacted his own medical protection society again, informing them of the new development. They had advised him to behave with great circumspection until the girls' accusations had been fully investigated and a case mounted. He had phoned a legal friend for advice, but Derek had sounded cautious. The original charge might have been contested successfully, but three such accusations would be more difficult to dismiss.

That pronouncement, and Ria's distress, had sent him to that eternal antidote to misery: alcohol. He had been drinking steadily since that first sundowner. There was a full bottle in the cabinet for when this one ran dry.

As time passed, a series of dream memories flitted through his mind. Ria young, vital and irresistible. Wild, unprotected sex. Baby after baby, until energy and bank balance were at an all-time low. Reason had then battled with religious dictates and won. No more children; cautious sex.

Family scenes faded beneath dark, violent images of suffering. Bosnia. Physical exhaustion, emotional turmoil. The children had been the worst cause of his ethical torment. Innocent victims of their elders' savagery. He had been restricted by the same doctrine as the peace-keeping force forbidden to step outside their neutral role, forced to watch atrocities being committed by both sides and do nothing.

Suddenly, dreams seemed to have become reality. The crash of breaking glass, missiles raining down. A heavy blow to the side of his head, shooting lights in darkness until only darkness remained.

Max had expressed regret over the further charges against Charles Clarkson when Tom had called this morning, but he had not revealed his reason for taking off for the UK so urgently. If Tom was honest, he welcomed Max's absence in order to get a few things straight in his mind.