Dutch Courage (3 page)

Back in his room in the Officers' Mess he unpacked his bag, then dressed in a white shirt, a dark suit and a tie sober enough to match his mood. Lacking Livya's zest for getting to work, he drove slowly around the perimeter road to where 26 Section Special Investigation Branch had moved in to new premises four months ago prior to Christmas. The heating system was still playing up. From past experience Max guessed it would be an ongoing problem.

A glance at the clock on the wall of the Incident Room showed that Livya's aircraft should be nearing Southampton. Was she counting the hours until she could get behind her desk ready to do Andrew Rydal's bidding? Why had she lied about revealing their relationship to his father?

‘Good morning, sir.'

Max came from his thoughts to see Tom Black emerging from his office. His second-in-command looked serious, which explained why he had not bidden him good afternoon with his usual sly reference to a late start to the day.

‘Good morning, Mr Black,' he responded formally. ‘Something I should know about?'

Tom followed Max in to the Section Commander's office and shut the door. ‘We've a tricky one here.'

‘Oh? In what way tricky?'

‘Harassment that began with moving the car from place to place, increased to incapacitating the vehicle, then putting threatening images under the wipers. Today he tried to run her off the road.'

‘Sit down, Tom,' said Max, trying to concentrate. ‘Who
her
?'

‘Wife of Lieutenant Sam Collier, Army Air Corps.'

‘The hero pilot?'

‘The same.'

‘Nothing tricky about that. We've come across it before when a guy gets a gong. There's always someone who resents it, has to demonstrate the fact by creating aggro. Has to get it out of his system. Picking on the wife is easier. Doesn't usually last long.'

‘
He tried to drive her off the road,
' Tom repeated emphatically. ‘That's bloody dangerous kind of aggro, sir.'

Max was surprised by the other man's passion, and his use of sir when they were alone. They were friends as close as their respective ranks allowed them to be.

‘She probably exaggerated, Tom, shaken up by the earlier intimidation. Someone drove a little closer than advisable and she imagined the rest. Give the gen to George Maddox. It's a job for Uniform, not us.'

‘No, sir,' said Tom with determination. ‘Mrs Collier's not the kind of woman to imagine something like that. She asked for our help and I said we'll investigate.'

Max leaned back in his chair and studied Tom's face, which now bore the scar from an attack by a crazed killer. Aside from the deep cut in his cheek, the blows had inflicted serious damage to his skull which kept him under medical supervision for a considerable time. He had been cleared as fit for duty five weeks ago, but Max now wondered if Tom was truly back to the man he was before the injury. It was unlike him to be so fiery over something that had occurred several times in their careers.

‘What kind of woman is she?' Max asked quietly.

With slightly heightened colour, Tom said, ‘She's suffered from dedicated harassment ranging from deflated car tyres, to smashed eggs on the doorstep, to death's head posters on the car – all that without telling her husband because she didn't want to add to the stress he's under as an operational pilot. Told me if he makes an error when flying it endangers his passengers' lives as well as his own.' He paused for breath. ‘She could have been killed or injured this morning if she hadn't kept her head, and used her obvious intelligence by making a sudden sharp turn on to that track leading to the pumping station. She reckons the guy who tried to force her off the road is a member of Collier's squadron.'

‘It's always one of the victim's colleagues, if you recall.' Further study of Tom's expression made him add, ‘Doesn't this obviously intelligent woman realize her stressed husband will have to be told all if we do as she wants?'

‘I made that very clear, but this morning's attack has left her afraid it wouldn't stop at that. She believes someone means to kill her next time . . . and she's pregnant.'

They stared at each other across the desk. It was a direct goad and they both knew it. Max was disappointed that his old friend should employ such a tactic, but it was to good effect.

‘Then you had better keep your word and investigate, Sar'nt Major.'

There was an uneasy pause before Tom said, ‘Sorry, that was a bit below the belt, sir. It's her fear of miscarrying a third time that has led her to act now. I do honestly believe this is more serious than cases we've come across before, because she revealed that her husband has also been receiving anonymous threatening letters. I'm confident this is a case for SIB not Uniform.'

Max gave a nod and turned pointedly to the paperwork in his tray. ‘Collier doesn't sound much of a hero if he lets his missus fight his battles for him.'

Tom walked to his car feeling uncomfortable about the conversation with his boss, with whom he had a long-standing, warm relationship. They had served together in the past and both had welcomed the chance to do so again when Max was sent out to command 26 Section after double tragedy struck the former OC. The reference to the pregnant Margot Collier perhaps meeting death in a road accident had been out of order, Tom knew, but it had been born of his eagerness to chase up a situation he found highly intriguing. Besides, he had assured the victim SIB would act on her information.

678 Squadron, Army Air Corps had its hangars, workshops and operational pad way out on the furthest extremity of the base. Pulling up outside the Admin offices, Tom went in to ask the present whereabouts of Lieutenant Collier.

The blonde lance-corporal at the desk gave this apparent civilian in a dark-blue suit a straight look. ‘Not another reporter! There can't be anything more to be squeezed from that story. Don't you people realize the lads are doing things like that all the time on active service – except they aren't married to bloody generals' daughters.'

So the resentment was pretty widespread, was it? Tom followed up on her words. ‘You think that's the only reason Collier's being hailed as a hero so extensively?'

‘Stands to reason,' she agreed with a nod. ‘He's being pushed to the top by “Daddy” so he'll be worthy enough for the family. Feel a bit sorry for him, really. He's basically a nice guy. But he
must
have seen the writing on the wall before they got hitched, and he still went ahead.'

‘Probably couldn't help himself,' mused Tom, thinking of the impact of the woman he had met a few hours ago.

‘You can say that again. She homed in on him and marched him up the aisle before he knew what had hit him. Daft sod!'

Tom swiftly held up his SIB identification. ‘If I was from the press you'd have just committed a chargeable offence, you brainless individual.'

The girl paled and got to her feet. ‘Sorry, sir, I didn't know . . . I just thought . . .'

‘That's exactly what you
didn't
do! Blabbing to press or media is strictly not on. When it concerns a person of higher rank it's insubordination. The tabloids would have made a meal of your inane gossip. I'll report you to the Squadron Commander and ask that you work in future in a small back room. Now, where will I find Lieutenant Collier?'

Shaken by the ferocity of this attack and by the truth of his accusation, she pointed at the window. ‘That's his Lynx coming down now, sir.'

A helicopter was approaching and losing height, so Tom went out to his car and drove across to park near the Control Tower. That stupid girl's comment gave him food for thought. He could not wait to meet the pilot who had been marched up the aisle by the gorgeous, cultured woman who had been in the office this morning. Tom could not imagine any man having to be dragooned into marriage with her.

The two pilots eventually climbed from the cockpit and walked to the Ops Centre deep in conversation. Tom watched them enter, gave them a good ten minutes, then crossed to seek his quarry, who should have cleared the debrief by then. It must have been swift. There was no sign of the pair. Introducing himself, Tom stated his business to the corporal on duty and was told Lieutenant Collier had gone to the crew room for a coffee.

‘First right along the corridor, sir,' the man added helpfully. ‘He's just got in from a patrol.'

The small airless room was full of noisy aircrew holding mugs of coffee and putting the world to rights in the way of men when they assemble. A sergeant pilot glanced across at the intruder and asked if he could be of help.

‘Yes. I'd like a word with Lieutenant Collier.'

‘Sure thing. That's him by the window.' He turned back to his voluble group. Next minute, one of them, wearing the single pip of a second-lieutenant, called out, ‘Sam! Another guy here to chat up the conquering hero.'

Tom was a six-footer and sturdily built, but the unsmiling man who approached was six-four, at least, and impressively muscular. He was also deeply tanned, with crisp hair bleached almost white by the Afghan sun, which made his dark-brown eyes seem all the more arresting. He looked like a man who could fight any battle totally unaided. So why was his wife so afraid he could not?

Two

S
am Collier jammed his foot on the brake and came to a halt at the roadside where he sat staring ahead and breathing heavily, his hands gripping the wheel so tightly his knuckles were white.

‘Calm it! Calm it!' he muttered through clenched teeth.

It was impossible. Rage surged through his body and senses. He had just been utterly humiliated. Not only by the scar-faced Redcap, but because the bastard had turned the screw of Margot's betrayal.

Sam could still picture the disdain almost amounting to contempt in the man's eyes as he had listed what she had suffered in silence over the past few weeks. How
could
she have kept him in ignorance? Worse still, how could she have run to some other man for help? Sam heard again the caustic tone of Black's comment that she had not wanted to stress her husband. As if he was a total wimp!

Fresh anger and humiliation washed over him. How could she have allowed herself to be subjected to that catalogue of persecution, and the suggested threat it carried, without giving him the opportunity to defend her? He had a shrewd idea who might be behind it; the writer of those bloody letters. While he could ride out that situation perfectly well, attacks on his wife had to be countered with action.

Resting his forehead on his hands still gripping the wheel, pain formed a lump in his chest. Not only the supercilious detective, but Margot's tormentor must believe he was not man enough to face up to and deal with any threat to his wife's safety . . . and she must also believe that. Dear God, whoever tried to drive her off the road this morning could have killed her, and their unborn child. Yet she had appealed to a stranger. It was a public denial of her husband of three years.

With an unsteady hand Sam took from the glove box the flask he kept there, and drank deeply. Vodka, undetectable on the breath, would counteract the familiar shakes. Tilting his head back he closed his eyes. He was on a roundabout whirling faster and faster, out of control. One day his grip on the handrail would slip and he would be flung out into a dark void.

He had stepped on it with eyes wide open, because they had seen only a girl so dazzling he was blind to all else. An international air show: Sergeant Collier had performed aerobatics with the Blue Eagles team. Back on the ground he was walking to the marquee where he could shower and change on this sweltering day, when he turned to acknowledge a colleague's shouted message then turned back to collide with something very soft and very voluble. His hefty boot had landed four-square on a small foot shod with a pale-lemon strappy sandal. The exposed gold-tipped toes began immediately to bleed.

The girl was clearly in pain, but she was so stunning Sam's normal self-assurance deserted him. The first-aid tent was all of five hundred yards away. His victim could not possibly walk that far, yet he could not leave her there bleeding profusely while he fetched medical help. He stood mumbling apologies until he acted on the only solution he could come up with. Picking her up in his arms, he strode purposefully while demanding ease of progress through the milling crowd.

The incident should have ended when he handed responsibility to St John Ambulance staff, mumbled another apology, and went off for the much needed shower. However, fresh and spruced-up, he could not resist returning to check on the most tantalizing girl he had ever encountered. Having been bewitched into obeying her command to carry her to the VIP enclosure, young Sergeant Collier immediately realized that he should have bowed out after that first meeting.

Coming face-to-face with a handsome military man wearing red tabs and a major general's badges of rank, he was introduced to ‘Daddy' by the enchanting creature still happily in his arms. Sam had been given a cool, optical head-to-boots assessment; had been told to set Miss Phipps on one of the upholstered chairs. Then, with a toneless but meticulously polite word of thanks, he had been dismissed. Obliged to straighten and salute, Sam was further discomposed by the sight of the girl smilingly blowing him kisses from behind her father's back.

Margot Phipps was used to getting what she wanted, so she soon traced the blond pilot who had taken her by storm. Unable to resist her, Sam embarked on a passionate affair, ignoring his alter ego who warned of hazards ahead.

Sir Preston Phipps took his daughter aside to persuade her that an NCO with a broad Yorkshire accent, son of fish-and-chip shop parents was not the right partner for her. As usual, she had disarmed him with persuasive affection and told him she would never be happy again if she could not have the man she adored.

He then talked to Sam, but it was soon apparent that it was impossible for a major general to have a man-to-man discussion about his daughter with a sergeant. Sam responded to everything with a crisp ‘Yes, sir' or ‘No, sir', which stole the older man's thunder and increased his dislike of someone he regarded a social climber.