Indian Summer (24 page)

Max broke the ensuing silence by congratulating the maverick sergeant on some very sharp investigating, adding, ‘So your conclusion is that whoever visited the Keanes' quarter on Saturday was after those pots?'

‘Exactly, sir.'

‘So why leave them there and instead take the body he'd unexpectedly found and put him in the water with a synthetic jellyfish round his neck?'

Piercey was unusually lost for words, but he had had his moment in exposing an international operation for Interpol to pursue, and he had also effectively checked a drug problem on the base. Brownie points galore!

Olly Simpson suddenly entered the lists. ‘Is it possible to force a person to swallow a bee?'

Nobody appeared enthusiastic about this input. After their concentrated work attempting to trace a murderer there was a general sense of anti-climax. The more exhilarating task of working out the connection between the killing and the subsequent treatment of the body had had them all on their toes. Piercey's investigative triumph added a sense of having had the flesh of the case stripped away leaving them with just a few bones to gnaw.

‘Yes,' Beeny said eventually. ‘If someone had held Keane's nose and made him drink. Has anyone ever used a bee as a murder weapon?'

Tom frowned. ‘We're entering very deep waters, but there have been cases where victims were forced by that method to drink poison, acid, aviation fuel, anything obnoxious, with the purpose of killing or seriously disabling. In those cases the perpetrators had the substance with them, but who would have a convenient bee?'

Heather then offered her findings, such as they were. At the end of her statement that the midnight knight had probably been either Jo Carstairs or Peter Saunders, Tom said, ‘So there's no evidence to support your suspicions of Mel Dunstan?'

‘No, sir,' she agreed heavily.

‘Any to tie either of the other two to the business at the water tank?'

‘I haven't found any.'

Max got to his feet and looked at them all. ‘Pointless to invent suspects. In view of the present state of play, I suggest we take a well-deserved day off and come back tomorrow for a fresh look at the facts we have now. Thanks, everyone.'

After Max had handed the baton to him at the start of the meeting, Tom felt it had been snatched back with the granting of a day off for the team without reference to him first. Because of that he walked in silence to collect the keys to his own car that were in his office.

Max was in the doorway as he took them from the hook and turned to leave. ‘Everything all right?'

‘Fine.'

‘I didn't want to spoil your evening by giving you the p.m. findings right away.'

That added to his resentment. ‘You knew last night?'

‘The Doc gave it to me when she arrived home.'

‘I hope it didn't spoil
your
evening,' he said, then regretted it. Max was trying to deal with a broken relationship instead of enjoying two romantic weeks with a woman he had been hoping to marry. The ties of friendship overrode irritation. ‘Let's have coffee and decide where the case stands.'

Max nodded; said as they walked to where the kettle stood, ‘It's a different case entirely now. In fact, if whoever found Keane had immediately alerted George Maddox, there'd be no case at all, but he went to that house for a definite purpose, which I'm pretty certain was to do Keane some harm. We could possibly have “intent to murder”.'

‘Difficult to prove.' Tom filled and switched on the kettle, then put sugar in two mugs.

‘Ever since Clare Goodey gave me that report I've been wondering if the intention all along was to strangle him at the water tank. Deprived of the satisfaction of doing that, a mock-up of the murder had to substitute for the planned crime. Yet, why not use rope, a chain, a belt?'

He's worrying at that symbolic notion again, thought Tom with irritation returning. He needed to go home to Nora. ‘He wanted the body found first thing on Sunday. The water tank was set to be emptied that morning, so that's where it was dumped. The jellyfish was handy, that's all.'

‘Who knew the water tank wouldn't be drained until Sunday morning?' asked Max significantly.

‘The REs.'

‘On the orders of Lieutenant Sears, who was in Afghanistan for a period at the same time as the Cumberland Rifles.'

This wild goose was well and truly tamed. Tom sighed. ‘We checked him out twice.'

‘I know. I checked him out last night. He was also in Iraq at the time of that night patrol that never was, Tom.'

That did get his full attention. ‘Serving in the same area as the Cumberland Rifles?'

‘That very same area.'

The kettle boiled and switched itself off while they stood developing the significance of that, unaware of steam issuing from the spout.

‘I spent yesterday p.m. very fruitfully. Ben Steele confirmed details of that aborted patrol and was in the process of giving me the names of all its members when George called him to help with the Walpoles. I then contacted everyone I knew, to no avail. When I eventually went right to the top I was ordered to leave well alone.'

‘So that's the end of that!'

‘Tom, there were others on that patrol led by our friend Ben Steele. If, as I suspect, the business with the water tank is indicative of a real desire to harm Keane, we might not have seen the last of chummy with the jellyfish. All but three soldiers on that patrol are presently off-base on leave. I suggest that trio should be watched as unobtrusively as poss. while the rest of the team follows up Piercey's discovery of those pots containing coke. There'll be other pots around and, if it's an all-girls syndicate, kids will be at risk.'

He looked at his watch. ‘I'm getting a flight to the UK in two hours. An old friend has agreed to meet me at Heathrow. I'll endeavour to return on the late plane and I'll want an early meeting with you tomorrow. Keep your schedule clear.'

Max gripped his shoulder, then went out to his car and drove away leaving Tom frowning beside the empty mugs. Was he now suggesting there was a plan to take out every member of that patrol two years ago? Surely the wildest of geese. If he had been ordered by the Provost Marshal's office to drop it, Max was surely risking his career by ignoring that absolute command. Was he so damaged by Livya Cordwell's departure he was recklessly prepared to destroy his future with
SIB
?

Leaving the boiled water and the prepared mugs where they stood, Tom drove home deeply concerned on several counts.

The Lufthansa flight arrived on schedule, but was directed to circle for twenty-five minutes because of storm conditions over Heathrow. Max was never a happy flier. Racing across the sky in a tubular vehicle packed with people strapped in their seats was not his favourite means of travel. This additional period in the air, during which passengers grew restive and several babies began to scream from the atmospheric pressure on their tiny eardrums, made Max more than usually keen to land. Jim Collingwood had been extremely reluctant to have this meeting and too much delay might lead him to think better of it and cry off.

He was there beside the Information Desk, however. They shook hands solemnly and walked through to the Departures Hall, where they headed for one of the restaurants. Once settled with their respective meals, Max studied his friend from university days who had pursued a very different course in the Army. Jim's close-cropped hair had silver threads already, and his fresh undergrad features were now scarred and weatherbeaten. Those devil-may-care eyes that had been many a maiden's downfall had become hard and confrontational. Those years in the
SAS
had added twice as many to Jim's life experience.

‘Thanks for coming,' Max said at last.

‘As you said, I owe you one.'

‘From a long way back, Jim. I'm only calling it in now because there's no other way I can get the info.'

Jim's eyes narrowed. ‘What happened to the Brig?'

‘He's on his honeymoon.'

‘Game old dog! What about you, married again?'

‘No.' Max did not add that his failure in that area made success in another so essential. ‘You?'

Jim shook his head. ‘Cindy left me because of the job. Now I'm out of it I'm working as a night security guard. What woman would want to take on a husband then sleep alone?'

‘Couldn't you work days?'

‘Huh! Wander around the local shopping centre chasing pre-teen hoodies who snatch old dears' handbags? There's more action going down during the hours of darkness on an industrial estate.'

‘What made you leave?' Max asked with genuine interest.

His companion slurped some beer, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘You get to the stage when you've had enough, no longer see the point of it all. That's the time to go. If you're not firing on all cylinders you're of no use to your mates, so you pack it in. That's when you realize it's the only thing you know. Authorized thuggery.'

‘You could become another Andy McNab.'

Jim's expression told Max his opinion of that option. ‘I'm considering moving on. Spain, Cyprus, Oz. Sunshine and a free and easy lifestyle. Open a bar, a club, a fitness centre.'

‘Contact me when you've set it up. I might then be ready to take up a partnership,' Max said with a grin.

‘Bring a wad of dosh and you'll be in, no questions asked.'

After a short silence as they enjoyed their food, Max broached the reason for their meeting. ‘Did you manage to track down what I wanted?'

‘Didn't have to. I knew already. The Regiment's a small, close-knit unit. When any of our guys are killed we know the full details. When it's through friendly fire, we get very angry.'

Max then knew his suspicions had been spot on. Ben Steele's night patrol had crossed the path of an
SAS
mission. It was known throughout the Army that Special Forces acted with the utmost secrecy. To that end, they were notified of any units active in the same area and avoided them. Death or injury due to friendly fire meant someone along the chain of communication had slipped up. Badly.

Jim gave Max a look so penetrating he could have been interrogating a prisoner for information. ‘When you called you said you wanted this to help with a murder investigation. Was the victim named Keane?'

Max was not too surprised. The
SAS
had access to everything. ‘So it
was
one of yours he killed!'

‘Scudo. A Portuguese guy who'd been with us a long time and was one of the best. We all rated him; never put a foot wrong. Officially posted as killed in action, but the truth is known throughout the Regiment. As I said, it caused a deal of anger.'

After digesting this information Max decided against revealing that there was not, after all, an actual murder involved in his bid for the truth. ‘I believe someone linked to that tragic accident decided it was time Keane paid for what he'd done, albeit in ignorance, but I've been stymied by the total cover-up of the incident. Even our own records have been wiped. I've only known that to happen once before; during the Cold War. Before my time, but like your close-knit unit things like that are known in mine.'

‘Did the truth ever emerge?'

Max drew in his breath. ‘No, Jim.'

‘Because it was too dangerous to be made public. Like this is, Max. I may be out of the game, but the rules still apply. No way can I tell you what was under way that night two years ago.'

‘I didn't expect you to, but you've confirmed my belief that it was what the Americans call a blue on blue – an attack by Allied troops – thereby promoting grounds for reprisal.' He frowned. ‘I suppose there's no way I can learn the identity of the other three on that oppo with Scudo.'

‘No.'

‘Fair enough. I accept the rules in force on that. Let's try another angle. How about next of kin?'

Jim leaned back and exhaled noisily. ‘The same persistent guy I knew at Uni. And every time we've met since those days. Right, the
NOK
details are available to anyone who knows the poor bastard's real name, so I checked them out for you. English mother, Portuguese father. Both now living in retirement in Madeira. Eight kids. Five male. Two girls work in tourist hotels in the Lake District, one is a model for toothpaste ads.' He leered. ‘Along with other modelling jobs, no doubt.'

Max waited patiently, allowing Jim his moment of revelation. He had given up his daytime sleep to come there. He deserved an appreciative audience.

‘The eldest son was killed when a dockside crane collapsed on him; the youngest is a Downs kid still living with the parents.'

‘And the other two lads?' asked Max, already sensing what the answer would be.

‘They all joined the Army.'

Tom's concerns over what had transpired at the briefing did not abate as he covered the miles. What had begun as a high-profile investigation into a bizarre murder, and the alarming disappearance of a woman and two children, had evolved into a drug-induced fatal road accident and a death from ingesting a bee. He could not forget Piercey's mocking recitation about the old lady who swallowed a fly, nor the fact that that same maverick sergeant had produced his discovery of the source of the drug supply like a magician pulling a rabbit from a hat.

Passing through the main gate, Tom headed for the house he rented on the outskirts of the town telling himself he had personally achieved damn-all on the Keane case.
Connie
had coaxed Ryan Moore to reveal the re-emergence of Brenda;
Jakes
had traced her with an intelligent guess that she might have changed her name for the benefit of the baby. The
Polizei
had found Starr.
Piercey
had investigated those herbal remedies and fingered the Walpole heavies.
Clare Goodey
was behind the truth about Keane's death.
Max
was presently on a crusade to clear the mystery surrounding a night patrol when Keane had or had not killed an ally. Sergeant Major Black had been superfluous throughout.