Dutch Courage (5 page)

‘When Mrs Laine left the bedroom why did you stay there?'

‘I was writing the prescription.'

‘That could have been done downstairs. Why stay alone with a young girl in her nightclothes?' probed Max.

‘I was in a room with a
patient
,' he said, thoroughly rattled. ‘I'm a happily married man with four kids, not a closet paedophile! Why, in God's name, have they invented such a damaging story?
Why?
'

Hiding his personal conclusions, Max asked neutrally, ‘Has there been any bad blood between your family and the Laines? Has your daughter fallen out with Stacey? Perhaps the little coterie of friends you mentioned has ostracized the girl for some reason.'

Clarkson sank back in his chair, saying bitterly, ‘Does it matter? The blow has been struck, for whatever reason.'

Max got to his feet. ‘My two female sergeants are presently interviewing the girl and her mother in depth. When they report back I'll decide what action is necessary. Meanwhile, we'd like the clothes you wore yesterday for forensic examination, and there'll be a brief personal one.'

‘
What!
'

‘If you had gone downstairs with Mrs Laine you'd not have left yourself open to these charges. I'll inform you of what action will be taken after discussing your professional duties with the Garrison Commander. Until a decision has been reached I suggest you go home and break the news to your wife.'

Connie Bush and Heather Johnson were friends who enjoyed pairing up on investigations. They sat on chairs in Stacey Laine's bedroom where the walls were covered in posters of pop stars and five-minute-wonder ‘celebrities'. On a shelf alongside the bed were a family of teddy bears, a panda, a giraffe and an elephant, all well-cuddled judging by their condition. Signs of emerging adolescence still clinging to the comfort of childhood.

Stacey looked flushed and belligerent; her mother was bristling with anger one minute and fussing over her daughter the next. Both woman and girl were badly overweight; they had similar podgy features and pale eyes. There appeared to be a good mother–daughter bond between them.

Having opened the interview with comments on the obvious subjects of the fourteen-year-old's admiration, and shown fond interest in the stuffed toys, the SIB sergeants determined Stacey's exact age, her favourite subjects at school, and who her friends were. Connie carefully picked up on the mention of Virginia Clarkson.

‘The Medical Officer's daughter?' At Stacey's nod, she asked, ‘How long have you two been friends?'

‘All the time we've been in Germany.'

‘Which is?' put in Heather.

Jean Laine said harshly, ‘Two years, but that's the end of it. Stacey's been in his house often, had invites to Ginny's parties. When I think he could have taken Stacey in one of the bedrooms and done God knows what to her! He should be struck off the medical list and kicked out of the army. I hope you're going to lock him up meanwhile. He's two girls of his own, you know. They're not safe.'

Better at keeping her cool than Heather, Connie said quietly, ‘We're here to establish exactly what happened last night, Mrs Laine. Perhaps you'd let Stacey tell us in her own words.' She smiled at the girl well hidden beneath a red and black patterned duvet. ‘Take your time, Stacey. Try to remember the details as clearly as possible.'

The girl gazed at the ceiling for a moment or two before answering. ‘I trusted him. He's my best friend's dad, so I never expected him to be so beastly. I've seen him lots of times at Ginny's, and he's been all right. Mrs Clarkson's been around then, of course, so I s'pose he had to be nice . . . except . . .'

‘Yes?' prompted Heather gently.

Stacey brought her hands from beneath the duvet and concentrated on them as she mumbled, ‘He . . . well, he once patted my bottom as I went past his chair.'

‘
What?
' cried her mother. ‘Why didn't you tell me? I'd have sorted him then and this would never have happened.'

‘How did he pat your bottom?' asked Connie. ‘Was it a fatherly gesture from someone you know well?'

Stacey's head rolled a negative on the black pillow. ‘It was sexy.'

Against Jean Laine's snort of disgust, Heather probed further. ‘It was more than a light pat?'

‘More of a grope, really. And he touched my breast at their Christmas party.'

‘
What?
' cried her mother again.

Connie intervened swiftly. ‘In what circumstances did he touch you, Stacey?'

‘We were playing charades and dressing up. He made an excuse to help me put on an old feather scarf and he brushed his hand over my breast. He smiled and said, “That's nice, Stacey.”'

‘And you didn't mind that he'd touched you?' asked Heather.

The girl looked up from her twisting hands to meet their eyes. ‘Of course I minded. It was disgusting. But I couldn't say or do anything, could I? Mrs Clarkson was there. So were Ginny, Zoe, James and Daniel. They wouldn't have believed me, anyway. And
he
would have denied it. He only does things to me when no one can see what he's up to.'

With her pen poised over her notebook, Connie said urgently, ‘There were other occasions like that? Was there any time when Major Clarkson suggested you went with him to another room, or met him somewhere on your own?'

Again a shake of her head. ‘He knew I'd never do that. But he made it plain it's what he wanted.'

‘How?'

‘You know. Secret smiles, always looking at my breasts, trying to get me in the front seat when he ran a group of us home, so he could touch my leg when he changed gears.'

It was too much for Mrs Laine. ‘
Stacey!
Stacey, love, how could you have kept all that from me?'

‘I just told you. He would have said I was making it up. Nobody would have believed me. Besides, Ginny would have turned them all at school against me and the whole base would think I'd encouraged him. I couldn't face that, Mum.' She began to cry and her mother gathered her up to rock her comfortingly.

The sergeants looked at each other expressively, then Connie explained the situation. ‘You'll have to face a great deal of gossip now, Stacey. It's inevitable, and your friendship with the Clarkson children will be over. You do understand that?'

The sick girl emerged from her mother's embrace, red-eyed and tear-streaked. ‘He put his fingers there. He
felt
me there. Tickled between my legs,' she confessed in a rush. ‘He said he wanted to see me naked, touch me all over. He said he wanted
me
to touch
him
where it would excite him the most. He said he thought all the time about making me his slave who would do anything he wanted.'

Jean Laine was now crying, saying over and over, ‘Jeff'll
kill
him when he hears about this.'

‘Neither you nor your husband must do anything, Mrs Laine. We will handle it from now on,' Heather told her sternly. ‘Stacey, are you willing to repeat all you have just told us during an official recorded interview?'

The girl looked wildly at her mother. ‘I don't feel well, Mum. I can't answer any more questions.'

‘Someone else will come to see you tomorrow,' Connie told her reassuringly. ‘Stop worrying and concentrate on recovering from the nasty bug you have.'

‘I won't have to see
him
, will I? He'll say I'm lying.'

‘You won't have to see Major Clarkson or any of his family while the case is being investigated.'

They left Stacey burrowing under her duvet with a teddy bear clutched against her, and walked out to sunshine and fresh air. Seated in their car they exchanged impressions.

‘Can you imagine the Doc doing that?' Heather asked.

‘He's a bit of a cold fish, but that doesn't mean anything,' Connie said frankly. ‘Men of his age can get indecent urges that shock even themselves. Let's
assume
he's going through a mid-life crisis. Married eighteen years ago; sired four kids. Life now seems to revolve around them and their occupations. His free time is spent driving them to ballet lessons, football practice, swimming, tennis, youth club, parties. The house is constantly swarming with their friends who invade every room and play pop music in conflicting styles at full volume. His wife is forever preparing food for the horde, washing football gear, sewing sequins on tutus or helping them rehearse their lines for a school play. She has no time or energy for sex. He's fast losing his libido, so he gives himself some stuff from his surgery to pep it up. Result: the nearness of tender young female flesh drives his inhibitions away. He's tormented by his daughters' schoolfriends; can't stop himself from touching them and dreaming of initiating them to the pleasures he rarely gets these days.'

‘Mm, add to that the fact that he spends his working days dealing with sickness and injury, listening to the moans of young, virile lads who have sex as often as they have weekends, and you have a man bursting to break out from the sober, responsible guy he's always been.'

‘So why doesn't he go to a brothel in town where girls are willing to act as a sex slave?'

Heather shook her head. ‘Not the same. It would lack the excitement of tasting forbidden fruit. However, I'd guess if he found himself alone with a teen virgin, he'd back off.'

‘You don't see him as a potential rapist?'

‘Do you?'

‘No. If what Stacey says is true, he's probably just using her as stimulation before slinking off somewhere quiet to masturbate. A pathetic bid to console himself his virility isn't on the wane.'

‘OK, let's pursue that theme,' said Heather. ‘Why that lumpy girl we've just seen? She's not looking her best right now, of course, but there are others around her age, slim, gorgeous and flirty, who would inspire a great many men to fantasize about making them their sex slave.'

‘Sure there are. Teen teasers who encourage middle-aged admiration just for kicks, and the Doc's quite a dish to look at.'

‘But a cold fish,' Heather reminded her with a grin.

‘Adds to the challenge for some.'

‘But not for Stacey?'

‘She's lying.'

‘I think so, too.' Heather switched on the ignition. ‘The test will come when we ask her to record her damning evidence.'

‘Even if she backs off then, it'll be too late for Clarkson. His name'll be mud before the sun sets tonight.'

Three

A
t the briefing late that afternoon, Tom led off by detailing his interview with Sam Collier. ‘On the surface, he's what you'd expect of a guy who's twice distinguished himself. I checked his record. Three years ago, on detachment in Sierra Leone, he and three others were captured by trigger-happy teen mercenaries high on some kind of opiate. Our guys were subjected to sadistic humiliation and semi-starved for a week, until Sergeant Collier conceived and led an escape.

‘We've all read about his recent rescue of four wounded men at risk to his own life. Action his colleagues should surely applaud, yet it appears that one of them resents the public acclaim and has mounted a campaign of harassment against Mrs Collier that culminated in attempting to drive her off the road this morning.

‘She identified the rogue car as a light-blue Audi. Beeny found one parked outside an accommodation block. The owner is on UK leave, so anyone could have borrowed it. That means a hell of a lot of questioning. The anonymous letters sent to Lieutenant Collier threatening to “tell the truth, remove the blinkers from everyone's eyes” he shredded. They were printed in red felt-tip and couched in text-speak. So no clues there to aid us.'

Tom glanced at the faces watching him and saw a leer on Phil Piercey's. It put a bite in his tone. ‘I want this given top priority. Four months ago, before Christmas, we had to deal with two murders. We can be quick off the mark on this opportunity to prevent a tragedy by removing the threat as soon as possible. Mrs Collier was composed enough to escape danger today. I want this sorted before the worst happens.' Giving Max a swift glance, he added, ‘This isn't merely a case of a person expressing resentment. Someone out there intends to harm the Colliers, perhaps fatally. I've asked Sergeant Maddox to mount a guard on their house and, first thing tomorrow, I want you all out questioning the whole squadron.'

‘Question them on what, sir?' asked Piercey with feigned innocence.

Tom countered his taunt deliberately. ‘Not on how much they fancy Margot Collier, Piercey. We need to pinpoint anyone with a more than understandable resentment or dislike of her husband. A person eaten up with jealousy of his high-ranking father-in-law's influence which brought swift commissioned rank, and whose money probably paid for the Jag the Colliers drive around in together. Someone like you, Sergeant.'

They all laughed, and Tom continued. ‘That any number of men envy Lieutenant Collier for having such a beautiful, wealthy wife doesn't come into the equation. If the attacks were solely on him I'd include it, but they've been aimed at her. The intention being to make him pay for his golden-boy status, and pay as dearly as possible.'

Sergeant Olly Simpson, idly doodling on a scratch-pad, glanced up as Tom fell silent. ‘The anonymous letters, sir. Did you discover from Lieutenant Collier what they referred to? What was the truth that should be told? Whose eyes must be cleared of blinkers? It suggests to me that the writer believes him to have done something that's been hushed up. By the top-brass dad-in-law?'

‘That was my first thought,' Tom said. ‘I don't think there's any doubt Sir Preston Phipps raised his daughter's husband to an acceptable rank by plenty of arm-twisting, although that promotion would surely have come in the normal way soon after. But I don't see a distinguished general covering up a military transgression serious enough to set in motion a lethal campaign.'