Indian Summer (6 page)

‘The wife and children haven't been sighted anywhere?'

‘Not so far.'

‘Every effort is being made to track them down?'

‘Maddox has instigated a search for possible bodies on-base and the normal all-points notification has gone out. I have my doubts about Keane killing them, then being topped by his wife's lover. What I've heard so far suggests he would have dished out violence to her long ago, if he'd been that type.'

‘Frank Priest told you Keane had been deeply affected by whatever happened in Iraq? We need to look into that asap.'

‘I'm in the process of doing that. Then I plan to speak to our old friend Captain Ben Steele, who defended Keane.'

Max grinned. ‘For God's sake don't let him mount a private investigation again. Have you considered the possibility that Keane had got into something dodgy prior to going to Afghanistan? Owed money, had double-crossed someone, and that someone made heavy demands that Keane refused to meet when he got back here?'

Tom sounded slightly irritable when he reminded Max that the body was discovered only twelve hours ago. ‘I've called a meeting at eighteen hundred when there'll be more evidence to work on.'

Max persevered, however. ‘I think that theory has strong possibilities. After waiting six months, the guy wants what he's due and gets nasty. What if it went too far; Keane wasn't meant to die?'

‘Hence the decision to dunk the body in the tank ten hours later, shifting the focus?'

‘Mmm,' mused Max. ‘I can't wait to solve the significance of that jellyfish.'

A chuckle greeted that. ‘By the time you return from your two week touring jaunt we'll have wrapped up the case and have the answer to that for you.'

Max became aware of his companion once more, so merely nodded. ‘Yes. Well, keep me up to speed on it, Tom.'

When he replaced the receiver, Livya got to her feet. ‘I don't know about you, but I'm ready for a substantial lunch.'

‘Oh! Yes, a long time since breakfast at your place.'

‘That wasn't breakfast, darling. Coffee and a pot of yoghurt isn't enough for a tough hunk like you.' She smiled as she reached up to kiss him, her eyes dark with the promise of passion.

Max recognized the olive branch despite his mind being busy with the intriguing facts Tom had just disclosed. He took up his wallet and car keys. ‘The inn by the river suit you?'

‘Sounds lovely.' She linked her arm through his. ‘Feed the beast first and what comes later will be all the better.'

‘Girly wisdom?' he teased.

‘
Cordwell
wisdom. It never fails.'

He led the way down the steps, wondering who else she might have used it on before he came along. Clare's sporty car was not beside his, so he guessed she had driven to the base to oversee the collection of Keane's body. Why would his killer hide his victim for ten hours, then strangle the dead body with a synthetic jellyfish and dump it in the water tank? Max's agile mind was fascinated by the quirks of human behaviour. He revelled in uncovering the legacy behind them, which then made sense of what had initially seemed bizarre. Keane would have been murdered for a straightforward reason – revenge, resentment, betrayal, greed – but behind that basic emotion a more aberrant one had been simmering. That jellyfish was saying something. He longed to know what.

When he pulled up in the inn's carpark Max realized he had no memory of driving there. It had been one of those ‘autopilot' occasions when his mind had been so occupied he had taken the familiar route automatically. He glanced apologetically at Livya.

‘Sorry about the lack of tourist guide chatter.'

‘I was busy looking at the scenery,' she said, ‘but I'd like you to be mentally as well as physically present while we eat lunch. You'd better talk it out of your system before we find a table. I gather Tom told you he has a murder case of some complexity on his hands . . . and you don't feel he can handle it without you.'

He twisted to face her. ‘No, no, he's intelligent and experienced enough to deal with anything that comes up.'

‘So it's envy. You want to be in on the investigation?'

He smiled with contrition and took her hand. ‘You know what it is that I want . . . and I have two weeks with you in which to work out how I can get it. Let's go and eat.'

‘Just the two of us? No metaphorical third person?'

‘Just us. Promise.' He kissed her and got out to lead her to a garden table where gentle sunshine highlighted the profusion of flowers and sparkled the gliding water beyond the low bank, and immediately there was a third presence with them.

Herr Blomfeld greeted Max as a friend, and so did Friedl the waitress – proof of how frequently he ate there. Blomfeld gave a small Germanic bow on being introduced to Livya, and instantly muddied the waters with his eager account of Max's rescue of a local girl who had almost drowned during a drunken student frolic in the river.

‘Max went directly into the water and pulled her out. Captain Goodey did the life-saving for to rid the water. She is the very good doctor, eh Max?' He laughed gustily. ‘You both had to have the drying of your clothes in the kitchens. I am honoured that you both continue to come to my establishment.'

Left in peace to study the menu, Livya asked what Max would recommend. ‘What do you usually have when you come with the good doctor?'

He played it cool. ‘On the first occasion during that terrible heatwave, the place was crowded and we were drawn into a middle-aged group celebrating a birthday and a wedding anniversary who plied us with slices of sausage and plates of salad as if we were also guests. Then some students jumped in the river and began larking about until a girl was accidentally knocked off her feet and went under. Her friends didn't notice, so I fished her out. Clare dispersed the water in her lungs and called an ambulance. It wasn't much of a meal.'

‘And the other times?'

Still cool, he said, ‘The one other time was to celebrate her acquisition of that apartment. She'd asked me to view it with her and offer my advice, so she bought me dinner by way of thanks. I really can't recall what I ate.'

He did recall walking afterwards along the riverbank softly lit by tree lights, and being beguiled into confessing the problems of his relationship with Livya. Something he had deeply regretted the next morning. He regretted it even more right now. It seemed to smack of betrayal.

The afternoon was not a success in spite of their efforts to adopt a holiday mood. The two week trial of personal and professional compatability had got off to a rocky start. Max cursed his idiocy in taking her to a place where he was well-known, not only because of that river incident but because he rowed on the river every Sunday morning and breakfasted at the inn afterwards. A faint sensation of guilt over having used Clare as a kind of agony aunt, and lingering interest in the case being handled by his team without him at its head, curbed his natural warmth towards this woman he loved. Livya sensed his distraction and acted on it when they arrived back at the apartment.

She held his arm as he made to get from behind the wheel. ‘Let's write off today as a non-starter, Max. I'm tired after the run up to the wedding and the effort of ensuring everything ran smoothly yesterday. We didn't have much sleep last night and we set off at six this morning. I need a quiet period on my own, and you need to see Tom Black. Your mind's been on the job all through the meal. For God's sake go and put your oar in before we leave tomorrow or you'll be a very dull companion on our make-or-break fortnight.'

Max watched her walk to the steps with the key to his apartment, then he fired the engine and backed on to the road leading to the base. She was probably right. They were both tired, and keyed-up over the outcome of the next two weeks. Better to make a fresh start tomorrow. After an in-depth discussion with Tom he would be able to put aside all thoughts of a missing wife and children, a murder by strangulation and a dead body with a jellyfish fastened tightly around its neck. That really was intriguing.

Phil Piercey was conscious of a strange smell in the Keanes' house. He could not identify it, but felt instinctively that it should be telling him something significant. The downstairs area was surprisingly tidy. Toys were stacked in a cardboard box, cushions were plumped up and arranged on the large sofa, washed dishes were in the drainer, cereal boxes were neatly arranged on the worktop. No signs of a struggle or any kind of violence, no evidence of the row the neighbour reported overhearing.

He climbed the stairs. The smell grew stronger, so he approached each room cautiously. The small front bedroom contained a cot and a child's bed. Both had covers with cartoon characters splashed over them. Piercey opened the drawers of a small chest. Practically empty. On a hook at the back of the bedroom door hung a small blue dressing gown and an even smaller pink one. They bothered the tough, experience-hardened sergeant. What had befallen these children of a soldier bizarrely murdered yesterday?

In the larger bedroom he found the root of the smell. On one wall was a stain where liquid had splashed and run down to the carpet. Piercey squatted to examine a broken bottle lying there. Turning it over with a pencil in order to read the label he saw that it was some kind of herbal mixture guaranteed to remove blemishes. He thought it smelled like perfumed paint-stripper. The bottle must have been thrown at the wall during a row that had resulted in one of the wardrobe doors being yanked from its upper hinges to hang lopsided.

The yellow duvet also showed signs of being spattered with the stuff, and the base of the bedside lamp was chipped. He righted it but could not see the missing fragment. Perhaps it was long-standing damage. The clothes in the wardrobe were mostly Starr's, with a couple of posh frocks at one end. There were two pairs of jeans, some cheap T-shirts and a couple of fancy blouses, all rather large. Starr was apparently a big woman. A glance in the chest of drawers confirmed that. Two outsized bras and large knickers, but surely not enough to suggest she was still in residence.

On the short wall a wooden rail had been fixed to take Keane's clothes. The usual mix of uniform and leisure garments was there in abundance. No way of telling if anything was missing, so Piercey looked for the obvious in vain.

Hearing Beeny, who had been knocking on doors, enter the house, Piercey called to him. ‘What d'you make of this?'

Beeny studied the room. ‘A real ding-dong.
She
threw the bottle – women throw, men slap. One of them slammed the wardrobe door hard enough to break it, or they had a fight over removing clothes from it. She says she's leaving, he says she's not, and in the struggle they pull it off its hinges.'

‘Conclusion?' asked Piercey.

‘She walked out with the kids after he left the house yesterday morning.'

‘But she tidied the place first and left some of their clothes.'

‘Toys, too.'

‘So she intended to come back.'

‘Exactly,' Beeny agreed. ‘There's no evidence here of killing.'

‘Which leads to the near certainty that Keane went from here alive and fully-dressed. I've not found a wallet, loose change, keys or a mobile phone. I checked his kit items, and I'd lay a bet he didn't go in uniform.'

‘Mmm, let's rate that as just a possibility. One of them took the car. Soon as George, or Krenkel's lot, find it we'll have the answer to that one, but we need to find Keane's clothes.'

‘Difficult, difficult,' tutted Piercey. ‘Whoever stripped him will have disposed of them. There must be some significance there. If you had a clothed dead body would you bother stripping him down to his pants before dropping him in a tank of water? I mean, it wouldn't matter if his shirt and trousers got wet, would it?'

Beeny stared at the broken wardrobe. ‘Maybe he was wearing only pants when he was killed.'

‘Caught
in flagrante
with some other guy's woman?'

‘After the row with his missus he might've needed some. He'd been in a combat zone for six months. A long time without!'

They inspected the bathroom. Apart from the usual items there were a number of bottles and pots bearing labels similar to the one on the smashed container. Starr Keane apparently needed an entire shelfful of herbal remedies for every female problem. Was there a clue there? Piercey asked.

‘Not unless one of them contains jellyfish ink, or whatever the creatures squirt at their prey,' said Beeny, ‘but the bees seem to fancy the stuff. Look at all these dead ones.'

‘Maybe Keane used some of it, with the same result,' joked Piercey.

On hearing Connie Bush arrive from the house next door they started down the stairs. ‘Get anything from your door-to-door?' Piercey asked his friend as they descended.

‘Guess.'

‘Nobody saw or heard anything suspicious.'

‘Right on the button, which proves that the best time to commit murder here is when there's an Open Day.'

After thirty minutes of intense computer searching, Tom called Frank Priest's number only to be invited to leave a message. Frustrated, he decided to pursue another avenue in his bid to get on top of this case from the outset. Having delegated himself, Simpson and Heather Johnson to concentrate on the actual murder he went out to his car to chase up a fact Sergeant Figgis had told him about the water tank.

Lieutenant Sears RE was in his garden pushing a chubby toddler on a swing when his wife led Tom through the house to the patio. The grass was scattered with several brightly coloured balls, some soft toys and a baby-walker spilling alphabet blocks. Mrs Sears laughed.

‘Julie has not only taken over the house but also my lovely garden, as you can see. We've had to drain and cover the lily pond, and put protective barriers everywhere. When you start a family you have no idea it will make such an impact on your whole life. Do you have children?'