Innocent Blood (16 page)

Paul huddled in the corner of the toilet trying to keep his feet up off the floor while holding the door closed with his back at the same time. It was a useless hiding place but the only one that he’d been able to find after running away from the men outside. He had assumed there would be a back door that he could slip out of and away into the woods. Instead he was trapped in a dead end, terrified and alone. He pressed himself harder into the corner against the hinge and wedged his feet against the back wall but they kept slipping.

When they’d pulled his clothes off and thrown him into the pool he’d panicked but he was a good swimmer, particularly under water, and he had managed to slip through their legs and reach the steps at the other side while they were still laughing at their sick joke. As he’d leapt away from the pool he’d heard Alec swear and shout out his name. The man’s tone had sent a shot of fear through him that added speed to his feet and he’d made it to the pool house in seconds. Only when he was inside did he realise that there was no way out but back to the pool.

So he huddled against the door, shivering with fear and cold. His ears were straining to hear the slightest sound and when the whisper of a man’s soft breathing filled the room, he went rigid with fear. His wet feet slipped down the wall again and he strained his legs to try and hold them. His toes splayed, grasping desperately for purchase.

The breathing came closer. He could sense bare feet padding on the white tiles and screwed his eyes shut tight. He started to cry ever so softly so that no one should hear.

‘Paul?’

It was Bryan’s voice, gentle not angry but that was no comfort. He knew that Bryan couldn’t protect him from the men outside, had never intended to. It was all about money; Bryan had only pretended to care for him. If only he had his knife with him he’d leap out and stick him through and through until he was dead. But the knife was with the rest of his things by the side of the pool, far away and of no use.

‘Paul, I know where you are, don’t mess about. Don’t you realise that wet feet leave tracks?’

Paul looked down with horror at the splashes that had puddled on the floor beneath him and failed to stifle a sob.

‘There, there, don’t cry; there’s no need to. No harm will come to you if you’re a good boy. Come on back with me.’ Bryan’s voice grew louder and his face appeared over the door.

Paul let out a wail of dismay and slid to the floor in a heap, sobbing helplessly.

‘Come on, my dear. Crying spoils your pretty face and they won’t like that.’

Bryan bent down to lift him up. Paul brought his head up suddenly and connected so hard with Bryan’s chin that both sets of teeth crunched together loud enough to hear. Bryan stumbled backwards and Paul scuttled around his legs, bolting for the outside without looking back.

‘You little bastard!’ Bryan cried. ‘Get him, Alec. Catch the little prick, he’s coming your way.’ He lumbered after Paul but the boy had already left the building and was haring towards the woods at the edge of the property as if the hounds of hell were after him.

Behind him he could hear shouts, swearing and the thump of running feet but he didn’t care. He was only little; if he could make the fence he’d be able to squeeze over it and hide. He’d almost made it when a massive hand clamped his shoulder fast, making him miss his step. He
lashed out and had the satisfaction of feeling his fingernails slash flesh, but the movement made him lose his balance and he fell to the ground. A fist descended and hit him in the side of his head so hard that he saw stars. The hand rose again but before it could fall someone else grabbed it from behind.

‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Alec?’ It was Nathan’s voice, angrier than Paul had ever heard it. ‘No bruises, remember?’

‘If you think this little bugger’s going back home after what he’s just done to me, you’ve got another think coming!’ Alec hit Paul again to prove he meant it, earning a clout round the face himself from Nathan with something hard enough to raise a long red weal.

‘I said enough. Now get off him, I mean it.’

Something in Nathan’s tone sobered Alec and he lifted his knees off Paul’s chest. He gulped air gratefully. Out of the corner of his eye Paul saw something silver in Nathan’s hand and with a shock of pure terror realised it was a revolver. He rolled on his side, his stomach heaving, his head on fire.

‘Bring him,’ Nathan instructed and he felt hands lift him as easily as if he were a side of meat. His head swung low over someone’s back and he recognised Bryan. He moaned.

‘Please, please, Bryan, let me go.’ He pleaded. ‘I want to go home. I won’t say anything, I promise.’

Bryan ignored him.

‘Bryan!’ he cried, desperate now, ‘don’t take me back, they’ll hurt me, I know it. Please!’ He was sobbing, his tears splattering the small of Bryan’s naked back.

‘You should never have run away, kid. I can’t help you now.’

‘But you’re my friend. Help me please.’

Bryan swung him upright and stood him on his feet. Paul swayed a little as the blood rushed from his head but he kept his balance and threw his arms about Bryan’s waist, begging him to protect him from the others. His cries were so pathetic that Bryan pulled him close to his body so that their skins touched, his warm from exertion, Paul’s icy cold.

‘Listen, love,’ he whispered, ‘be a good boy now and I’ll get you out of here. You’ve got to do what they say – and make as if you enjoy it so that they start to like you again. When it’s all over I’ll make sure you reach home.’

Paul pulled away from him again, his eyes full of hope and fear.

‘You promise?’ he asked tentatively.

Bryan took a deep breath and held Paul’s hands tight.

‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I promise.’

‘Really?’

‘Have I ever lied to you?’ he replied with a smile.

Paul shook his head automatically and followed his friend back to the pool. It wasn’t until much, much later that he realised his whole friendship with Bryan had been a lie.

Something had changed. Maidment sensed it as soon as the new detective entered the room. He radiated authority. Attractive blighter, probably had women falling all over him. Fenwick he called himself, a good North Country name. He looked as if he came from strong stock and in other circumstances he would have appreciated the straightforward intelligence he thought he saw in him. But if Fenwick was now in charge of his interrogation it would become more difficult to hold the line.

No further mention was made of the evidence they had against him. Apart from during his caution, which was repeated yet again for the benefit of the tapes, Paul Hill wasn’t mentioned. Instead Fenwick appeared to be curious about his life history from childhood through his service days.

He was courteous, interested and above all patient but the major knew that he was merely trying to establish rapport. A bond of trust was meant to be woven from the threads of his shared life story. Had he not been trained to withstand hostile interrogation while in the army Maidment thought that he might have been fooled.

As it was, he preserved his detachment behind a polite façade but that didn’t stop him studying the pair of detectives – his interrogators – exactly as he had been taught to do. Maidment picked up tension between them as if they were husband and wife and had just had a row. The thought made him smile.

‘Was that a happy memory?’

Maidment frowned at Fenwick’s enquiry.

‘You smiled.’

‘Oh…just thinking of arguments between husbands and wives.’

‘Ah,’ it was Fenwick’s turn to smile, ‘did you have many with Hilary?’

At the mention of his wife’s name Maidment felt the familiar blade twist in his gut.

‘No more than the average couple…and probably no less.’

‘You were married for thirty-five years – a long time.’

‘Thirty-six. I suppose it seems long but a happy marriage can’t be measured in years. It becomes a form of joint existence. You wait, you’ll find out, particularly when the children leave home.’

‘I’m a widower.’

Fenwick coughed and looked down at his notes, turning pages as if searching for something but Maidment wasn’t deceived. He recognised grief from personal experience and felt a rush of sympathy for the man.

‘I’m sorry, I had no idea. You’re too young.’

Fenwick laughed without humour.

‘You should know better than anybody, Jeremy, that death is no respecter of age. Even young boys die before their appointed time.’

Maidment felt as if he’d been struck by a friend. The implied accusation hung in the air between them. Stenning looked distressed, Nightingale as lean and hungry as Cassius. Only Fenwick’s expression was unchanged as he looked up.

‘I was referring, of course, to your experience in the army. You must have seen men die in combat.’

Maidment could only nod in reply, unable to trust his voice.

‘What’s death like close up? I’ve rarely seen it happen, only the bodies afterwards. What’s it like to see the eyes glaze and hear the last breath?’

Maidment couldn’t answer. The question sounded sinister despite its context and he was concerned that however he replied he might incriminate himself.

‘It’s not something I talk about, Miss Nightingale.’

‘But you have killed, have you not?’

‘In the line of duty, yes; in Borneo, defending a gun emplacement and…later.’

The woman leant forward.

‘How did it make you feel?’ she asked.

‘Feel?’ He scratched his head. ‘It’s…hard to describe…’

‘You don’t need to answer this, Jeremy.’ His solicitor glared at Nightingale.

‘It’s all right, Stenning, I have nothing to hide.’

He was feeling tired suddenly and glanced at Fenwick’s watch. Stenning had explained his rights to him. They would have to apply to a magistrate for remand or release him. So far they’d gained nothing from the interviews. If he could keep them diverted he might yet be allowed home. At least so he rationalised but deep down he didn’t trust this sudden desire to talk, which he suspected might be motivated by the need for them to see him as the man he had once been and to realise that such a person was incapable of killing a boy of fourteen.

It was inevitable that he should feel this way but any desire, even one as self-serving as this, was dangerous in an interrogation. He would just have to be careful. Perhaps he could turn the whole thing into a history lesson; that would serve her right.

‘I don’t mind telling you of my army experiences. My years of active service fell in the late Fifties and Sixties, a strange time for Britain. Your generation is too young to remember the impact of the break-up of what remained of the British Empire. We were determined not to abandon our colonies despite what is said today.

‘Oh don’t shake your head like that,’ he said to Nightingale. ‘Colony isn’t a dirty word, it’s a statement of fact. I accept that sometimes our attempts at handover fell short of what was required but that wasn’t a matter of policy, it was usually due to human failure.

‘Great Britain had been a global super-power. At one time our empire was the envy of the developed world. Oh good grief, grow up, Inspector Nightingale!’ he burst out suddenly. ‘That wince reminds me of my son.’

Nightingale could no longer contain herself.

‘You mean Britain grew rich on the systematic exploitation and rape of weaker nations.’

‘Socialist propaganda!’

‘Nonsense. In the nineteenth century Britain sent gunboats to China to defend our right to pay the labourers their pathetic wages in opium! We created a generation of addicts and used our might to defend the practice. I call that disgusting.’

For the first time the major faltered, then he nodded slowly.

‘I accept that power corrupts and I cannot excuse some of the excesses of the Victorians but most of what we did was good. We built a valuable legacy and that’s what soldiers such as I strove hard to preserve as Britain withdrew control. We had an enduring sense of responsibility towards our Commonwealth.’

‘Rubbish…’

‘Enough, Nightingale.’ Fenwick leant forward with the first trace of impatience. ‘You were going to tell us about your experience in Borneo, Major. We don’t have time for a history lesson.’

He glared at Nightingale in an open instruction to keep her mouth shut.

‘Very well. The British had been a power in South-East Asia for centuries. We were committed to the introduction of self-governance by the terms we agreed with the League of Nations but our goal was to go beyond that to full independence. Now in Malaya and Burma, independence happened quickly as a result of the war…’

‘Because the Japanese threw us out and set up sympathetic nationalist regimes!’
Nightingale muttered under her breath but Maidment didn’t catch it and Fenwick kicked her foot under the table hard enough for her to shut up.

‘…but afterwards there was a lot of manoeuvring. Indonesia started to get ideas that it should control all Malay-speaking areas. I say, you do know the area I’m talking about, don’t you, my dear?’ he asked Nightingale. ‘It’s a large group of islands that lies south of Vietnam and China. The vast southern part of the island of Borneo was under Indonesian control; the strip along the north was made up of three separate states: Sarawak, Brunei and—’

‘Sabatan, yes thank you so much.’ Nightingale almost spat out the words.

‘Well, well.’ He looked at her in surprise and then nodded. ‘The head of Indonesia, a chap called Sukarno, started to get ideas. He tried to assume control of the whole area and create a pan-Indonesian confederation of states. We couldn’t stand for that so troops were sent in. What followed was one of the most successful British campaigns ever.

‘Sukarno never declared war so technically we never went to war. He used what today would be called terrorism: stirring up trouble in Brunei, backing armed rebels who attacked the oilfields, taking hostages and beheading some of the poor blighters.’

‘I had no idea. The parallels with Iraq…’

‘Exactly, Mr Fenwick, and if only the British Army now had been allowed to use the tactics we did back then, things would be very different. Anyway, the trouble in Brunei spread to Sarawak.’ He saw Fenwick’s confused look. ‘Remember it was part of the northern coast of Borneo; General Waller was made Commander of British Forces, Borneo.

‘He was an inspiring leader; he decided to run everything from a joint headquarters – army, navy, air force and the local police. It was a brilliant decision.

‘Problem was we couldn’t attack Sukarno’s insurgents, even though they were free to raid the north whenever they wanted.’

‘That sounds an impossible situation; very demoralising I would have thought.’

Maidment detected real interest in Fenwick’s comment and warmed to his theme.

‘Not with Waller in charge. He had previously established and commanded the Jungle Warfare School in Malaya and was a better tactician in that terrain than the natives. He negotiated with the British Government – Healy it was then – that we could cross the border provided we were in hot pursuit of the rebels for a distance of up to three thousand yards.’

‘About two miles, not far.’

‘Far enough at first. He also set about winning the confidence of the natives. British servicemen and medics befriended the Dyak villagers whose lands straddled the border with Indonesian Borneo. They received food and medical aid and quickly saw us Brits as friendly and their Indonesian neighbours as dangerous aggressors. As a result we received excellent information and the rebels were denied assistance by the villagers.

‘Then Sukarno was stupid enough to attempt an invasion of Malaya and Waller was allowed to undertake proper cross-border operations. Eventually, in retaliation for raids we were allowed to go in twenty thousand yards.’

‘Did you use guerrilla tactics?’ Nightingale asked.

‘A pretty accurate assumption,’ Maidment conceded. ‘At first it was only the SAS that penetrated enemy territory but when Waller started what he called his “Claret” operations he needed more men. These were top-secret missions, personally authorised by him and very risky.

‘He only used tried and tested troops; civilian lives were not to be put at risk – very important that. We went in without air support and the planning was immaculate; knowledge of any attack was restricted to a few people; and…’ he paused to wipe his forehead, hoping they hadn’t picked up his distress, ‘on absolutely no account could any soldier involved be captured by the enemy, dead or alive.’

‘Pretty dodgy; you could have been accused of spying.’ Fenwick seemed impressed by their daring.

‘Only if they caught us and they never did.’

His throat closed up preventing further speech. Emotions he’d thought buried for years surfaced without warning and he was taken aback by their strength.

‘I’m rather tired; can we call it a day, do you think?’

Stenning nodded vigorously.

‘We’ve only interviewed you for two and a half hours including a break for coffee. There’s plenty of time for you to conclude your story.’

Maidment took a deep breath. Really, he told himself, there’s nothing to worry about. It was all dead history.

‘Very well. My battalion had benefited from General Waller’s jungle training so when we arrived we were moved to the front line. Once there we received guidance from the members of twenty-two SAS who’d been sending out four-man patrols for months. I participated in many incursions during my tour there.’

He stopped abruptly.

‘Go on.’

‘I’ve already said that these missions were top secret. I’m not sure that it’s right to say more.’

‘Come, Major, the Borneo conflict was resolved forty years ago and has been written and talked about widely since. I appreciate that some memories are difficult…’

‘Especially guilty ones,’ Nightingale interjected, ignoring Fenwick’s glare. ‘I thought you said you had nothing to be ashamed of. Prove it.’

Maidment was irritated by her aggression but took care that it shouldn’t show.

‘A man doesn’t need to prove his innocence in Britain. It is one of the things that keeps our country Great.’

‘I’m sensitive to that,’ Fenwick’s tone was relaxed, almost friendly, ‘but you’ve captured my imagination and General Waller sounds like a man under whom I would have been proud to serve. Please, complete the picture for me. What was it like in the jungle, at night, undertaking an operation that wasn’t even supposed to be happening but upon which the stability of the region depended?’

Maidment warmed to Fenwick’s obvious respect. He angled his body towards him and tried to blot out Nightingale’s presence.

‘One is terrified beforehand, naturally. Any man who says he isn’t is either a liar or a fool. It’s not necessarily fear for one’s own survival, although that’s there of course. For me it was more fear of failure, that it would be the patrol I commanded that was captured.’

‘But that never happened.’

‘My patrols didn’t fail but we were almost captured…once.’ He paused but their silence spurred him on.

‘All raids were undertaken by small parties, typically four men like an SAS patrol. We’d picked up news that the enemy was establishing a new base near the border and were moving in heavy armament. Our job was to infiltrate the base and set explosives to destroy the weapons before they could be used.

‘It was a very hot night as always. Our hands slipped on our rifles and the mosquitoes found any bare skin. We didn’t use repellent because the smell could give one away but we plastered on mud and that slowed the blighters down a bit. It was cloudy, which was good for us, with a quarter moon. We set out as soon as it was dark because it would take up to six hours to find the camp. One of the Dyaks we were working with met us at the edge of his land about a mile behind the Indonesian line. He said he’d take us the rest of the way, which was brave of him as he didn’t need to do more than give us directions.

‘About one in the morning we heard the sound of someone spitting. It was a guard on their camp. He was less than fifty feet in front of us but he hadn’t heard a thing. Jimmy went forward and dealt with him, then we all moved on. I sent the Dyak back. He was a decent fellow but unarmed and not in uniform and there was a danger that he might get hurt by accident. We circled around to the south side of their installation where there was a pile of munitions. Jimmy kept watch while the rest of us, Stan, Archie and I, set the charges. It took us less than twenty minutes and we were about to leave when Jim ran back to say that a dozen men were coming up the track into camp.