French Leave (18 page)

His handshake was firm as Edward expressed his thanks. ‘It's very good of you to come, Mr Rydal. People knock the police so often, but it's not always deserved.'

Stella hovered at Max's elbow. ‘I'm sure you could manage a cup of tea or coffee, couldn't you?'

‘Or something stronger,' said Edward.

‘Ted! He's on duty.'

‘No, he's not. He's come unofficial. We'll both have a beer, Stel.'

By now certain this pair had no idea their son had become the subject of an international police search, Max thought the news he would have to give them shortly would come more easily in a relaxed atmosphere.

‘He's been a wonderful son,' Edward said as his wife went to the kitchen. ‘No parents could ask for better. Since he went we've spoken about him every day. His room's just as he left it. His mother keeps it immaculate.' He gave a wry grin. ‘Not the way it was when he was here, mind you. But all lads are untidy and thoughtless, aren't they? No! John was
never
thoughtless. I shouldn't have said that.'

The man seemed excessively upset over a casual slip of the tongue. Maybe his medical condition made him emotional. ‘Half the time it's not thoughtlessness in its most frequently used sense,' Max said. ‘I've a friend with three girls who could be dubbed thoughtless, but it's more a case of children packing so much into their lives that their minds flit from subject to subject without giving them time to delve deeper.'

‘Do you have children, Mr Rydal?' asked Stella, catching the end of that comment as she handed Max a small glass tankard of beer. The Smiths were of the generation that did not dream of drinking from cans or bottles.

‘I hope to be a father one day,' he replied, with the slight twinge of grief he still felt whenever he was asked that question.

‘They're the Lord's greatest blessing,' she said, giving another tankard to her husband. ‘But whoever said our children are only loaned to us was right.'

‘But they're never forgotten,' murmured Edward gazing into his beer.

‘
Never
!'

‘Tell me about John,' invited Max, thinking it time to get to the business he must broach.

He was then treated to a flood of parental memories from a father and mother of a son they loved and were immensely proud of. Max began mentally to question such blind devotion of a boy whose unpleasant personality had set all his fellow squaddies disliking him intensely, until Edward outlined his son's scholastic achievements. John Smith's service record showed he had very mediocre GCSE results. These parents claimed he had gained As and Bs in his A levels. A deep suspicion began to form in Max's mind, and it was very soon borne out.

‘When he was offered a place at Bath University it was the proudest day of our lives,' Edward confessed with a break in his voice. ‘Our boy would have gone far and made us even prouder.'

Max knew he would have to hurt these good people further, for it was now certain they were talking about a son who had died. Certainly not the detested individual who had disappeared during a military exercise. Quietly, and as tactfully as he could, he explained that he was there because they had been named as next of kin by Private John Smith of the West Wiltshire Regiment, who had gone missing in Germany.

Stella stared at him accusingly. ‘I thought you were a policeman. I thought you'd come to follow up after the hit and run. See how we were coping.'

‘I am a policeman. A military one,' he corrected gently. ‘Believe me, I'm as upset as you over this misunderstanding. When I asked you to tell me about John, I had no idea your son had been killed in a road accident.'

It was too much for Stella. Pulling her apron up to her eyes she left the room and the two men who were facing up to the difficult situation.

Although visibly upset, Edward was eager to get to the bottom of the unpleasant facts. ‘You say there's a person in the German Army who claims to be my son?'

‘Not in the
German
army, Mr Smith; in our army out in Germany. He enlisted as John Smith and gave your name and this address when asked for details of his next of kin. I'm afraid it looks like a case of stolen identity.'

Pain shadowed the invalid's face. ‘Took our John's good name and dragged it through the mud? I'll never forgive him, whoever he is.'

‘He could have taken the details from some item your son lost, and applied for a replacement birth certificate to support his alias, or he could be someone who knows your family.' He took from his pocket the picture of John Smith and showed the man in the wheelchair. ‘Do you recognize this person?'

‘That's Jack!' he cried. ‘My bloody stepbrother's bastard. He's been taking our John's name in vain? I'll kill him!'

Max watched the older man's grief spill over, and waited until Edward Smith had gained sufficient composure to continue. He then heard a fairly familiar story about a womanizing drifter who thought the world owed him an easy living, and about the woman who became pregnant with his son and never saw him again after breaking that news.

‘I tried to help them out whenever I had a bit to spare,' he told Max thickly. ‘She's all right, just a bit too trusting. Believed everything Charlie told her. We felt sorry for her. But that brat of hers! A right chip off the old block. Creepy little bastard. Tried getting round Stella whenever we visited.' His eyes glazed again. ‘She's soft, is Stella. Felt kind of guilty because she had a husband and loving son, whereas Min . . . Stella tried to be fond of Jack, but even a motherly woman like her couldn't take his slyness. Several times after visiting them we suspected he had taken money from Stella's purse. Yes, and once it was a powder compact,' he added, remembering. ‘Mother of pearl lid. A birthday present from her sister. It was missing after our visit, and my wife swore she'd not lost it somewhere.'

‘When did you last see Jack, Mr Smith?'

‘At John's funeral, a year ago today.' He gave a heavy sigh. ‘That's why we thought you were from the police. Checking on how we were coping. Stupid! As if they have time for things like that.' There was silence while he mulled that over, then he pulled his thoughts back to the subject under discussion. ‘After the accident, Min came to stay with Stella. If I'd been here I'd have sent them both packing, good intentions or not. As I told you, Stella's soft. She wasn't up to making decisions with our wonderful boy dead and me in hospital.'

Max frowned. ‘You were ill?'

‘I was hit by the car that took John from us. We were walking together when it mounted the pavement. Driver was drunk. He'll be out and driving again by Christmas,' he said with venom. ‘I'll never drive again, and Stella never learned. I suppose Min was very kind at that terrible time. Ran Stella around to make all the arrangements, but that left Jack alone in this house. God knows what he got up to.'

Overcome once more, he turned away to gaze from the window in silence. At that point, Stella came back rather red around the eyes, and began to apologize. Max stopped her as he got to his feet.

‘Your husband has told me details of the tragedy, Mrs Smith. I'm extremely sorry to have revived painful memories for you both. If you could give me the address of Jack's mother, I'll leave you in peace.'

Tom had spent the afternoon following up Corkhill's and White's confessions of their incitement of Smith, which had resulted in his act of theft from the Armoury. The staff all repeated what they had said at the first SIB interviews, but one of them must have been careless. However adept John Smith was at stealing, security should have been so tight it was impossible for arms or ammunition to be taken.

After his fruitless questioning Tom was back in his office, locking confidential papers away in the safe preparatory to heading for home, when his mobile rang. It was Max calling.

‘John Smith's disappearance is definitely a case for SIB, Tom. His real name is Jack Carr, and I'm pretty damn certain he is the man wanted for those thefts along the south coast of the UK.'

Tom's interest was immediate. ‘So we'll get him for enlisting under a false identity too.'

‘John Smith was his cousin, killed by a hit and run driver a year ago. Carr was in the Smiths' house alone during the run-up to the funeral, which must have been when he stole Smith's identity. Edward Smith has just told me Jack began thieving at a very young age. The poor guy was paralyzed in the hit and run, and neither of them has yet been able to accept the loss of their boy. They've been further devastated by what I told them.' A sigh preceeded Max's next words. ‘The real downside of our job, eh?'

‘All the more reason to catch the bastard.'

‘In old-fashioned terms that's what Carr is. Edward Smith's brother impregnated Ms Carr and vanished on hearing the news.'

‘Sounds familiar.'

‘I'm now en route to Acton where the mother lives. With luck, I'll find Carr hiding out there.'

‘Pity we can't copy the Yanks and put people like him in chains on apprehending them.'

‘He won't get an easy ride from us, or from the police of several coastal counties over here. Tom, any info on Dan Farley?'

‘Nothing. All we can be reasonably sure of is that he's still in the UK. We've posted details on HOLMES so it's out of our hands.'

‘Pity.'

‘You don't think there's a link between him and Jack Carr?'

‘No. Farley's disappearance is involuntary.'

‘I agree.'

‘Keep in touch. I should be back some time tomorrow.'

Tom sat for a long moment, deep in thought. The discovery of Smith's real identity would mean an investigation into how he was processed during enlistment. It would not be the first time a man had joined one of the services under false colours to escape a scandal or arrest, but this one appeared to have left his chosen safe haven to escape once more from discovery and arrest. Once a thief, always a thief.

Deciding tomorrow morning was soon enough to reveal Carr's duplicity to the team, Tom drove home relishing the thought of a long, relaxing evening with his family. He was surprised to hear Nora's sewing machine racing in an otherwise silent house. He walked through to the dining room, where she usually did her dressmaking.

She glanced up at his entry and smiled. ‘Hallo, love. Coming home at a reasonable hour is getting to be a habit with you.'

‘Where are the brats?'

‘On their way.' She tilted her face up for his kiss and grinned wickedly. ‘So no time for what you probably have in mind.'

‘When is there ever? I swear they have antennae that twang whenever we're here together, telling them to rush back before we can get started.'

Nora laughed. ‘That crack on the head at Easter not only gave you concussion, it also turned you into the male equi-valent of a nympho.'

‘I've always been one. You've just been too busy to notice,' he chaffed in return. ‘What's that you're making?'

‘D'you like the colour?'

He ran his eye over the cascade of pale green silky mat-erial on the table, and the small piece she was stitching. ‘Not a bride's dress, is it? Someone wants a swish outfit to wear at a wedding or a christening?'

‘
I
want a swish outfit to wear to the Sergeants' Mess Christmas do.' She got to her feet and showed him the image on the paper pattern. ‘The summer wedding panic is over and the Christmas and New Year orders will soon flood in. I never have time to make anything for myself to wear, on the off chance that you'll be free to take me to parties, so I'm taking advantage of this quiet period.' She dug him in the ribs. ‘Well,
say
something.'

‘Put a long zip up the back. I found the last one you made, with rows of fancy buttons, a hell of a job for a male nympho to take off you in a hurry.'

Her eyes sparkled. ‘You're pushing your luck, chum. There's plenty of beefcake on this base to choose from.'

A sound like a gunshot, followed by excited young voices, sent Tom swiftly to the front door with a racing heartbeat. Outside was a brightly-painted jalopy, which had just backfired. It was disgorging the three Black sisters, leaving two boys and the driver in the vehicle. All six were in laughing high spirits until they spotted Tom approaching.

Maggie anticipated his wrath. ‘Jake's got a licence, Dad. He's been driving for six months,' she said, standing in Tom's path. ‘He gave us a lift from the base.'

Tom circled his daughter to reach the car. ‘D'you realize what would have happened if the
Polizei
had seen you carrying five passengers in this old banger?' he demanded grimly.

Jake, a knowing-looking lad in his late teens, said defiantly, ‘They never patrol this area.'

‘You've had that info from their headquarters, have you, sonny?'

Bristling at the ‘sonny', as Tom knew he would, Jake continued to argue. ‘It's a well-known fact.'

‘One not apparently known by squaddies caught by them as they return to base on Saturday nights.'

‘I'm not pissed,' he retaliated.

‘You're breaking the law by overloading a vehicle.'

‘
Dad!
' cried his daughters in unified protest.

He turned to them, saying quietly, ‘Go indoors. Mum's preparing supper.'

They knew him well enough to recognize when he was in no mood to listen, so they went sullenly to the house as Tom demanded to see Jake's driving licence. He could not produce it, saying he never bothered to carry it when he was just driving locally.