Dutch Courage (7 page)

Max drank more wine. Did Livya fantasize about the charismatic Andrew Rydal? Pulling out his mobile he looked hopefully for a text message. Blank! He would try her home number again when he got to his room. The situation must not be left as it was. Livya Cordwell had put light in his life again. He needed that light. Without it his days would return to the bleakness following Susan's death. All work and no play.

Already he had found today totally lacklustre. The Clarkson business was very negative, and Tom Black was making a meal of a commonplace example of regimental resentment. Max could not fathom why he should be treating it with such determined priority. Was the man losing his touch?

Sudden desire to return to base and at least leave a placatory message for Livya led Max to wave away Yevgeny's eulogy on nut and red berry pancakes, and ask for his bill. He drove fast along the straight stretch of road where Sam Collier's wife alleged she had been fazed by a blue Audi. He kept a lookout for the
Polizei
. Although he was completely in control, he had imbibed freely. A two-man German patrol would doubtless be delighted to pick up a senior British Redcap and haul him in.

Reaching the main gate without incident, Max turned on to the perimeter road. It was that time of evening when the base seemed quiet. Supper was over and the troops were either in the various leisure facilities, or relaxing in their quarters. It was a moonless night with a rising wind that lowered the temperature enough for Max to have the heater on as he drove. His thoughts were so concentrated on what he would say to Livya, he was almost on the lump in the road before he stamped on the brake.

Peering through the windscreen at the dark mound, he realized it was a human body bunched in a tight ball. Turning the headlights to full beam, he clambered out to approach the motionless man. Squatting beside him, Max searched for a pulse and found one. It was faint, but regular. He rang for an ambulance, explaining that the victim was alive, but that there was a lot of blood around his head and his body was excessively chilled.

Returning to his car he took from the back seat the sheepskin rug kept there in case he was ever stranded overnight in winter conditions. Throwing the rug over the injured man and tucking it as close to him as he thought wise, Max spoke urgently in an attempt to raise a response. He was still trying when the ambulance came up.

A man and a woman crossed to where he squatted. ‘Hit and run, sir?' asked the man, also squatting with his partner to feel the pulse.

‘Looks like it. I'll have men checking every car on the base in the morning. It must have sustained some damage.'

The paramedics pulled aside the rug and began their careful assessment of the situation, all the while vocally trying to get a response from the huddled man. After checking for dangerous injuries they fetched a stretcher and carefully lifted the patient, whose head they had immobilized in a clamp. Max walked beside them to the ambulance, noting that the man barely fitted on the stretcher. His large feet in safari boots projected over the end of it.

‘How bad is it?'

‘Difficult to say until we get him to the sick bay,' the girl replied. ‘He's in shock and slightly hypothermic, which is our first concern.'

‘Right. I'll follow you and get his ID when you remove his clothes.'

It took ten minutes to reach the base Medical Centre. When Max entered, the patient was under several blankets and receiving an injection. It was now possible to see that the areas of his face visible through the congealed blood were very tanned. They still had not succeeded in breaking through his unconscious state.

Max picked up the slacks they had removed and searched the pockets. In an expensive-looking wallet containing a wad of Euros there was a service identity card. Max gazed at the photograph of a broad uncompromising face with brown eyes and crisp blond hair, and at the name Samuel Frank Collier.

He was drawn from his sober contemplation of what had actually happened to this publicized hero by a noisy entry, and he turned to see Charles Clarkson standing hollow-eyed at the foot of the examination couch.

The male paramedic said, ‘We brought him in as a hit and run, sir, but we think there's some doubt. We thought you should be called.' He then added a mouthful of medical jargon that meant nothing to Max. Probably details of what they had done and given to the injured man.

Clarkson moved to the far end of the couch to examine the head still held immobile, and then caught sight of Max. ‘Come to see fair play?' he snapped.

‘I found him in the road,' Max answered quietly, as unhappy to see Clarkson as the doctor was to see him.

Silence fell while a full and careful examination of the unconscious pilot's injuries was carried out. During this procedure Max did some positive thinking. What was the man doing taking a lone walk so far from the junior officers' quarters on a gloomy evening like this one? The accident had occurred near the Armoury and the REME workshops. Not a much-frequented spot at ten thirty p.m. He was in civvies, so there was no question of his performing some late duty. Anyway, Max had not noticed a car parked anywhere near that spot. In view of the supposed harassment of his wife, and the threat to run her off the road this morning, surely he should be at home with her tonight.

The facts produced at the briefing a few hours ago began to take on new meaning for Max. Maybe Tom was right; there was a real threat to the Colliers. Had this hit and run been deliberate, not the result of a driver with too much booze under his belt? Which prospect brought back the question of why Sam Collier was walking alone around the perimeter road, and also of how the driver of the car had known his target would be there at that time. No, it surely had to be an accident; a coincidental one, to be sure. When the car was traced by George Maddox's team things would become clearer. It seemed unlikely that Collier would be fit for questioning tonight. He looked to be in a very gory state right now.

It was almost eleven thirty before Clarkson stripped off his sterile gloves, murmured instructions to his staff, then crossed to Max who had been waiting on a hard chair. Rising at his approach, Max smelled whisky on the other's breath. It was so strong, he wondered at the steadiness of Clarkson's hands during the examination.

‘Something
undeniable
to occupy yourself with here,' he said in colder than usual manner. ‘I'm not an expert, but I'd say the injuries were not caused by collision with a car. More likely from an extremely brutal beating. I'll reassess that opinion in the morning. He's a big, strong guy who'd not be easily overpowered by a single assailant, so you'll be looking for a couple or group who decided to punish him. There are signs that he was restrained while the beating took place. Dark bruising on the upper arms.' Clarkson's mouth twisted. ‘If you'll accept the conjecture of a condemned man, I'll offer it.'

Max met that jibe with a straight answer. ‘You're the medical expert and I'm the man who has to seek justice. Go ahead.'

‘The attack would have been prolonged and noisy, which leads to the supposition that it is unlikely to have been inflicted on the road where you found him. Too public.' He began removing his blood-smeared white coat. ‘I'll keep a twenty-four-hour watch for signs of intracranial bleeding. If that occurs, he'll be rushed to the hospital for immediate surgery.'

Max frowned. ‘Please inform me if that happens, whatever the hour. I'll now contact the Duty Officer and go with him to inform Mrs Collier that her husband has met with an accident.'

‘Won't she be alarmed by the presence of someone from SIB?'

‘Not as much as if you went smelling like a distillery.'

Their eyes met and held. ‘If this had happened to a young girl it wouldn't matter. I'd have stayed at home, and she could have bled to death waiting for a replacement doctor to attend.'

The Duty Officer was Ben Steele of the Royal Cumberland Rifles, who had involved himself in a complex case concerning his regiment last year. A likeable young man who fancied himself a private detective, which strengthened Max's decision to represent the situation as a hit and run to both him and Mrs Collier. Safer to wait for the victim's account of what happened before spreading alarm.

Lieutenant Steele was waiting in a Land Rover outside the Collier house, and greeted Max like an old friend. ‘I knew you had moved to the base at Christmas, but our paths haven't crossed until now. Is he seriously hurt?'

‘He's certainly not walking wounded.'

‘Give the bastard who drove off and left him the works. Those were four of our guys Collier rescued in Kandahar, so the regiment owes him a big debt. If I can be of help . . .'

‘Thanks, but no,' Max said with a grin. ‘Not learned a lesson from your last foray into detection?'

Ben grinned back. ‘I did help, though, didn't I?'

‘And put yourself in danger.'

‘Not half as much as Sam Collier risked to lift our men to safety. As I said, if I can . . .'

Max laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘Let's break the news to the lady.'

Just before midnight and lights were still on on the ground floor. So, if they had quarrelled and he had walked out to cool his temper, she had not gone to bed in a huff. This husband would not have returned to a house in darkness and his pyjamas on the floor outside their bedroom door. Interesting!

Margot Collier opened the door seconds after Max knocked. She was still fully dressed in midnight-blue trousers and a matching sweater. Large, apprehensive eyes took in the sight of the uniformed Ben beside Max before she collapsed in a faint on the hall carpet.

Instructing the dumbstruck Ben to fetch a glass of water, Max picked up the unconscious woman and carried her through to a sofa in the sitting room. Setting her down on it, with a cushion beneath her head, he switched off all the lights save what he judged to be a Wedgwood table lamp beside the sofa.

In the soft glow, Max then grew aware of the disturbing beauty of Margot Collier. Long black eyelashes curled against golden skin, apricot-tinted lips were enticingly full, her throat was slender and her tan continued down to the full swell of her cleavage visible at the base of the sweater's low vee neckline. She must have sunbathed topless to get that unbroken colour. Unable to stop himself, Max let his gaze absorb the seductive curves of waist, hips and thighs in the snug-fitting trousers. A goddess fit for a hero?

Ben, still looking bemused, arrived with the water as Margot's eyes opened. The impact of their dark lustre on Max's heightened senses gave him the cause for Tom's keenness to pursue this woman's claim of persecution. Surely only a man of stone could refuse to help her.

‘It's Sam, isn't it?' she whispered. ‘Is he . . .?'

Max denied her assumption. ‘I'm not a padre, Mrs Collier. Your husband is receiving treatment in the base sick bay.' He nodded to Ben to offer the glass. ‘Please drink some water. It'll help to revive you.' He paused while she drank, then said, ‘I'm Max Rydal, SIB. I found your husband lying in the road as I returned from dining out. He appeared to have been the victim of a hit and run accident.'

‘Oh, God!'

‘Because I actually found him, and in view of your disclosures to Sar'nt Major Black this morning, I've come with the Duty Officer to get some information about what might have happened tonight. Then, Lieutenant Steele will take you to see your husband, if that's what you'd like to do, although he won't be aware of your visit and you won't be allowed to stay long. It might be better to wait until morning.'

‘No, I
must
see him.'

‘Fair enough.'

‘You
are
going to investigate this situation, then?'

‘A situation you kept secret, I gather. Now Mr Black has made your husband aware of the campaign of harassment against you, surely only a very urgent reason could have led him to leave you alone this evening. Can you tell me what that was?'

She shook her head setting long, silky hair swinging. ‘It's all my fault.'

‘Explain, please.'

‘Sam was so angry.
So
angry. He has a hot temper. I've seen him in a rage several times, but never with me before. I wanted so much to help him, make things as easy as possible for him. Is that so wrong?' she appealed.

‘He's a fully trained soldier. He'd be competent to deal with most things. From all I've heard recently, he's dealt with rather more than many men would attempt.'

‘I know, I know.
That's
why I tried to spare him additional stress.' Her eyes grew bright with tears. ‘He said I'd made him a figure of ridicule and derision; caused him to be humiliated by the military police.'

‘I'm sure that wasn't Mr Black's intention,' said Max, resolving to have a word with Tom on that score.

‘I went to SIB because I knew I couldn't help Sam on my own any longer. I intended to tell him what I'd done, in a loving fashion, this evening. Then he'd be ready to talk to you about it. I didn't dream Mr Black would tackle him on his own, during working hours, before I'd had a chance to prepare Sam.'

‘Your account of the dangerous road encounter led him to act right away.' He smiled to soften her concern. ‘We don't hang about in cases like that.'

‘I didn't
think
, you see. He's been so uptight about all the publicity and fuss, I tried to . . . I just made things worse.'

Max frowned. ‘Your husband dislikes having
praise
heaped on him, as well?'

She avoided his eyes. ‘He wants to be . . . I think it's that he dislikes being in the limelight, for
any
reason.'

‘Because it creates resentment, envy in others?'

That brought her gaze up to meet his. ‘Sam never boasts, throws his weight around. He's just not like that, so why . . .?'