Indian Summer (18 page)

Tom gave a brief nod, then changed the subject abruptly. ‘How did it go with the Veterinary Officer?'

‘How did what go?'

‘You were going to question him about the ownership of horses re the wandering knight.'

Max had forgotten that task, and rather than bluster through a pack of lies, said, ‘Didn't have time.'

‘Right. I'll go now.' Tom tossed back the remainder of his coffee and walked to collect his car keys.

Max knew him well enough to accept that he was annoyed. Fair enough. He had expected to be in command of 26 Section for two weeks, but because his boss's love life had suffered he had had that responsibility taken from him halfway through a demanding, serious case. He was professional enough to handle it, but Max sensed there was something else on Tom's mind as well. Trouble at home?

There was certainly something additional on his own mind. It was probably one of what his team called his WGs, but he needed to pursue it to its roost. In his office he switched on his computer and accessed SIB records to reassure himself he had not been mistaken. No, he had not been. He then accessed the personnel file and saw a name he knew well. Steven Cartwright, present location Catterick Camp. A few minutes later he was talking to the man.

‘Hi, Steve, how are things up in Yorkshire?'

Steven laughed. ‘Business is thriving. Three reported sightings on the premises of the large cat that reputedly roams the moors. A corporal's wife saw it crossing her backyard. Massive black thing with enormous yellow eyes! A squaddie met it along the perimeter road late at night and scared it off by waving his arms and shouting, and a female medical orderly saw it on the roof of her accommodation and called the
RMP
post.' He laughed again. ‘They turned out in force, but it had gone.'

‘Heard the Redcaps were coming. We're as unpopular with overgrown cats as we are with everyone. Ah, well!'

‘So what have I got that you want, Max? I take it this isn't purely a social call after . . . how long? Three years?'

‘Probably longer. We have a case concerning a guy who was in Iraq when you were
OC
in the area covered by the Cumberland Rifles. Seems he was involved in an incident when he shot and killed a man while on night patrol. The apparent hostiles immediately flashed the day's identification signal and the patrol was called in. Lance Corporal Keane was hauled off by your guys and kept incommunicado on suspicion of killing one of our own. The subaltern and the members of the patrol were held for the rest of that night and most of the following morning, until they were told an Iraqi who worked for the
UN
had provided details of the secret identifying signals for that week. The casualty
was
a hostile. Remember the case, Steve?'

After a moment's silence Cartwright said, ‘What's all this about?'

‘It's about a full corporal called Philip Keane, who was murdered here on Saturday. There's a probable link with a
TA
nurse who was out there at the time and helped him recover from the experience. Thing is, your report on the incident doesn't appear in our records.'

‘Then there couldn't have been an incident.'

Max let that hang in the air for some seconds before saying, ‘Fighting men don't imagine something as dramatic as that. Why is there no record of it, Steve?'

‘Because it never happened. That's the usual reason.'

‘No, the usual reason is because there's something havey-cavey or bloody embarrassing about the action that has to be kept quiet.'

‘What has that fairy tale to do with this man's murder?'

‘That's what I want you to enlighten me on.'

‘Ah, stuck for clues and suspects?' He laughed heartily. ‘Can't help you with that. Concentrate on what's going on in your neck of the woods and you'll eventually crack it. Got to go, Max. Just caught sight of a massive black cat with enormous yellow eyes. Cheers!' The line went dead.

After thirty minutes Max located Major Quail who had been in charge of Ops on the night in question and had aborted the patrol. He was now a lieutenant colonel at Sandhurst, so Max called him and was answered by Captain Morse, the
2IC
.

‘Good morning. Captain Max Rydal, SIB here. I wish to speak to Colonel Quail on a rather urgent matter.'

The crisp voice replied, ‘The Colonel is somewhat busy at the moment. Try again later.'

‘Perhaps you didn't hear me correctly,' Max said equally crisply. ‘I'm with the Special Investigation Branch in Germany, so this is a priority call. Kindly put me through to the Colonel.'

Within seconds Max heard a soft Scottish brogue in his ear. ‘Yes, Captain Rydal, what can I do for you?'

‘Good morning, sir. I'm investigating the murder in rather unusual circumstances of an
RCR
corporal. During the course of my enquiries I've been told both by his company commander and the sar'nt major that Keane was involved in a disturbing incident in Iraq two years ago. It concerned the killing while on night patrol of an apparent hostile, whose companions subsequently flashed the
UN
recognition signal for that twenty-four hour period. You were
OC
Ops at the time and called in the patrol to hold all the men incommunicado while the corporal was questioned by Steven Cartwright of SIB. By mid-morning of the following day it had been confirmed that the casualty was, indeed, a hostile.'

There was silence from Quail, so Max continued. ‘I'm sure you recall the incident. It's unlikely that you would forget something like that, sir.'

Still silence. ‘There were various repercussions for the corporal, which we think have some bearing on the motive for his murder. I've scanned through the action reports for that week in June 2007 and yours on that incident appears to have gone astray. What I require quite urgently is a written account of the patrol leader's radio contact with you regarding the unforeseen secret identification signal from men dressed as Arabs, your order to abort the patrol, and details of the subsequent police probe which cleared Keane of causing by reason of lack of information the death of a
UN
soldier.'

This time Max let the silence run on. The man would have to say something eventually, but he had a pretty good idea of what that would be. He proved to be not far wrong.

‘You say I'd be unlikely to forget something like that, Captain Rydal. Of course I would not. I'm afraid you've been badly misinformed. There was certainly no incident of that nature during my six-month deployment in Iraq, so I regret I'm unable to help with your investigation. Sorry about that.'

The line went dead, and Max was then certain this was no wild goose he was chasing. Before he could ponder deeply on this there was a call from the Incident Room.

‘Sir, I've traced Brenda. She lives a stone's throw from Mr Black.'

Max walked through to where Sergeant Jakes sat before his computer. He glanced up with a triumphant smile. ‘So simple it didn't occur to me until just now. She became Brenda Keane so her kid would have its father's name on the birth certificate.'

Reading what was on the screen, with a small inset map of where to find her, Max gripped the man's shoulder. ‘Gold star, Roy. Does Ingrid know she's marrying a genius?'

Jakes laughed. ‘I still haven't sorted the seating plan to her satisfaction. I'll be a genius if I achieve
that
.'

Now fully alert after several cups of black coffee, Max felt certain they would be able to advance this case. In an upbeat mood he took up his mobile. Tom deserved to participate in this breakthrough, even if it proved that he, himself, was completely wrong about this woman who had featured strongly in the murdered man's life.

NINE

I
t was a second floor flat in a small dingy block whose stucco needed attention, but the steps giving access to four freshly painted doors suggested the landlord was in the process of smartening his property. Max rang the bell on the door numbered 33.

‘This'll either be the breakthrough we need, or a big let down,' he said to his companion.

Tom merely raised his eyebrows. He had said little during the drive apart from revealing that the Veterinary Officer had not been in his office, yet Max sensed his quiet mood might have no connection with this case. Those girls of his were all of an age when rebellion and experimentation sets in and, despite the earlier onset of maturity these days, girls were more vulnerable than ever before. As they waited to discover if there was yet another child of Philip Keane's who was now fatherless, Max wondered if he was better off single without parental responsibilities.

The door opened halfway. He was unprepared for the reality of the woman who had been hard to track down. Even without make-up, and wearing a baggy grey T-shirt and jog pants, Brenda Nicholson Keane was a stunner. Blonde, with violet-blue eyes, she looked too slender to have given birth just days ago. How had Keane ever forsaken this beauty to marry the overlarge, overbearing Starr, even under pressure from her family? Had he actually been the wimp Starr's friends had called him?

Seeing the two tall men, she said swiftly that she was too busy to discuss religion with them. Before she could close the door Max showed her his identity.

‘Captain Rydal and Sar'nt Major Black, Special Investigation Branch. We need to talk to you about Corporal Philip Keane. May we come in?'

She grew pale. ‘
Special Investigation Branch?
Oh, my God, something's happened to him! Is it that wife's ghastly family?'

‘It would be better to talk inside,' Max said quietly, knowing instinctively that she had no idea what they were about to tell her. This was no vengeful woman such as he had described to Tom.

‘He didn't come back on Saturday; didn't call to tell me why,' she said, wide-eyed and still not moving. ‘I've been trying to contact him, but he's not answering my emails and his mobile's on voice mail. What's happened?'

Tom took command by stepping in to the small hall and gently turning her to lead the way to an L-shaped room where a baby slept in a wooden rocking-cradle of old Germanic design. As Max followed he correctly interpreted the I-told-you-so glance over Tom's shoulder. Apart from the usual needs of an infant, the room revealed the occupant's taste. It was unlikely that the landlord had supplied the Wedgwood ornaments and two beautiful tiffany lamps.

Brenda crossed to the cradle and clutched the side of it as if to protect her child from harm. ‘Something's happened to him; something bad.'

‘We've been told you were in a relationship with Corporal Keane. Is that correct?' asked Max, knowing he was about to deal this woman a terrible blow.

‘Yes.' It was little more than a whisper.

‘Was he the father of this child?'

Tears began to slide down her cheeks as she then guessed why they were there. ‘
Was
he! You've come to tell me he's dead?'

‘I'm sorry.' He indicated the sofa. ‘Perhaps you'd like to sit down.'

Her grip on the cradle tightened. ‘I read about that pile-up on the autobahn. Was it that?'

Max crossed to her. ‘It really will be better if you sit down, Ms Keane. We have some questions for you. Perhaps Mr Black could make you a cup of tea.'

She gave a ghastly smile through the sliding tears. ‘The number of times I've said that to bereaved relatives. How stupid! As if a cup of tea could possibly deaden the loss of a loved one.' Walking unsteadily to the large amber sofa, she sat and stared at a desert sunset picture on the opposite wall. ‘He bought that for me when he left Iraq; said he never wanted to see another desert but he knew it had got under my skin.'

Max occupied the chair facing her while Tom sought the kitchen. Tea would not deaden the loss of her lover, but it was a source of comfort if only by giving her something to do with her hands.

‘When did you last see Philip?' Max asked.

‘
Flip
! He was known as Flip from childhood.' It seemed she had not fully registered the question until she eventually said, ‘He arrived early on Saturday morning full of excitement. He'd told Starr there was no question of leaving the Army, and she'd flown into a rage and demanded a divorce. She threatened to ensure that he never saw the children. Not
ever
. If he tried to, her brothers would break both his legs. Thugs, the pair of them!'

‘Didn't that bother him? Not seeing his children?'

‘Of course, although he said a court would give him access. He loves those kids, but he now has little Micky.' The tears streaking her cheeks now ran down her throat as she added, ‘When he first saw me with him he
cried
. It's very moving to see a man you love cry.'

‘So Flip came here early on Saturday? What time did he leave?' She gazed silently at the desert picture. ‘Ms Keane!'

‘Oh . . . about eleven thirty, I suppose. But he never returned.'

‘He had planned to do so?'

‘Yes. Starr was to have the car. He had agreed to that because she was going home to the UK. With Prince and Melody, plus all their stuff, she needed it more than Flip. After giving her time to pack enough for a couple of days with a friend, Flip went back to collect his own gear. He was on leave so he was going to stay with me until he had to report back, by which time she would have cleared the place of her things and left for good.' She frowned. ‘Flip took a taxi back. What was it doing on the autobahn?'

‘It wasn't. He arrived back at the base. Ms Keane, at around noon on Saturday Flip was murdered. It was Starr who died in the autobahn pile-up.'

She seemed unable or unwilling to take in these facts, staring at Max, at the desert picture, then back at him. He said, ‘The children weren't in the car. They're safe and being cared for.'