(1995) By Any Name (14 page)

‘These are a particularly shoddy lot, but what they lack in quality they make up for in quantity. Their prime merit is their expendability. There are plenty more where they came from.’ With a sly look at Simmonds, the sergeant glanced at a row of headstones set against the wall of a hut opposite.

Simmonds began reading.

BILLY MISE, HE DIDN’T PRACTISE, HERE HE

LIES.

FRANK HOE, FOOLS MAY COME, FOOLS MAY

GO, THIS ONE WENT HE WAS TOO SLOW.

‘That’s my favourite,’ Chaloner pointed to one.

UNDER THIS SOD, LIES MORTIMER TODD, HE PUT HIS TRUST IN A RUSTY ROD.

‘I wouldn’t have thought this is the best way to boost the morale of candidates,’ Simmonds commented.

‘They give would-be recruits to the Regiment an indication of the rigours that lie ahead,’ Chaloner winked at the sergeant when Simmonds turned away.

Chaloner led the way into the building. Heading purposefully down a long central corridor, he opened a door at the far end. They entered a large conference room, spartanly furnished with standard army-issue grey furniture designed with economy and durability, not comfort, in mind. A dozen officers and senior NCOs were grouped around the table studying an ordnance survey map of Brecon.

‘Chaloner.’ A man in colonel’s uniform nodded to the captain.

‘Sir, this is Major Simmonds, psychiatrist.’

Chaloner managed to make the last word sound like an insult.

‘You think John West could be in our area, Major Simmonds?’ The colonel asked.

‘It’s a long shot, sir, but the only one we have at the moment.’

‘We’ve sent half our men out on hill patrols.

We’ve shown them the man’s photograph. If you have anything to add, we can contact them by radio.’

‘There’s nothing to add,’ Chaloner answered. ‘But there’s a possibility our target might be in Brecon town.’

‘We’ll set up an urban undercover exercise. You have any more photographs that we can use in the briefings?’

‘This is all we have, sir.’ Chaloner laid a file on the table.

‘We’ll brief in five minutes. Send out in thirty.’

Simmonds stared in amazement. He’d never known decisions to be made so quickly.

‘You were close to him?’

After their search had ended fruitlessly, and there was nothing to do except sit, think and remember, Elizabeth’s tears had begun to fall for Dave Watson –

for the shock and trauma of yesterday – even for the loss of her husband Joseph two years before.

She struggled to compose herself. ‘I’ve worked for Dave for three years, long enough to value him as special, both as a man and a doctor. And I feel so desperately sorry for his wife. She’s just had twin girls.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘It’s not your fault. You didn’t kill him.’ She went to the bathroom, pulled a length of tissue from the roll, wiped her eyes, and blew her nose. When she returned to the living room West was looking through the window.

‘I thought I’d recognize something that would trigger total recall.’

‘You recognized the road, this flat… ’

‘But it’s not enough.’ He turned and faced her.

‘Like you said, I feel as though someone has pulled a thick veil over my mind. I can see the shapes, even recognize some of the things beneath the shroud, but I know there’s more. A world and a life more, if only I could tear a hole through that veil.’

‘I have some experience with cases like yours. Not as much as Dave Watson,’ she faltered when she spoke Dave’s name, ‘But I’m here and prepared to do what I can to help you.’

‘I’ll make us some more food.’ He picked up the plates of cold bacon and toast.

‘I’m not hungry.’

‘You have to eat. If you don’t, you’ll be ill, and then you’ll be no help to anyone.’

‘Appealing to my sense of duty?’

‘Old army adage, useful when dealing with stubborn team members, I think,’ he added.

‘If we wrote down everything that we do know about you, perhaps something other than old army adages might come to mind.’

‘You write, I’ll grill. Let’s go into the kitchen.’ He defrosted more bacon in the microwave while she fetched pen and paper from the living room.

She sat at the table and reflected that here, in this high-tech kitchen, he looked normal, civilized, domesticated even – totally different from the wild-eyed, grim-mouthed man who’d abducted her at gunpoint from the hospital. But there was something else… she suddenly realised what it was. He was reaching for things around him as though he’d worked in the kitchen all his life. He was obviously completely at home here.

‘On the skills I’ve exhibited so far, familiarity with weapons, stealing cars, money, food, clothes, would you say I’m a terrorist or a common criminal?’

‘Let’s begin with the first moment you do remember.’ If they’d been in the hospital, she would have tackled his rehabilitation slowly, one step at a time, a few fresh questions every day. And, if those questions hadn’t elicited a response, she might have resorted to hypnosis after a week or two. But the announcement of Dave and the paramedic’s death had left her with a sense of time running out. Low-key, gentle therapy sessions, spread out over days or even weeks, were a luxury they couldn’t afford. Not with four people dead. Who was going to be next? Her or John, or both of them.

‘I remember running down the motorway.’ The microwave shrilled and John removed the plate that held the pierced packet of bacon. Taking the kitchen scissors, he snipped through the plastic, and laid out the rashers on the grill pan.

‘Do you remember being covered in blood?’

‘I was cut. There was glass.’

‘Most of the blood wasn’t yours. You don’t remember how it got there?’

‘No.’ He pushed the pan beneath the grill.

‘I could try hypnosis,’ she suggested gingerly, not wanting to think about the possible consequences of further trauma.

‘Maybe, but after we’ve eaten.’ He lifted two slices of toast from the toaster. ‘Good thing about waiting is that the top of the butter is almost soft enough to spread. But I have to warn you, I’m not a good subject for hypnosis.’

‘You can’t be certain of that.’

‘Like I couldn’t know how to drive or steal cars?’

‘It has to be worth a try.’

‘Perhaps.’

‘I’ve used hypnosis successfully with other patients.’

‘And I need to prove my innocence, without resorting to weird methods.’

‘Hypnosis isn’t weird, and for what it’s worth I know that you didn’t kill Dave or the paramedic.’

‘That doesn’t mean I haven’t killed someone else.’

She didn’t dare tell him that three distinct and separate blood groups were found on him including a young child’s. ‘Have you any recollection of anyone being injured before you were picked up on that motorway?’

‘None.’

‘You found this place. You knew how to get in.

Someone in the town must have seen you before.’

‘You suggesting we should take to the streets and ask around with one of the country’s biggest manhunts in progress, so whoever wants me dead can get a clear shot.’

‘Of course not. But if we disguised ourselves we could walk around to see if you recognize anything else?’

He looked through the window; the sky was darkening again. ‘Doesn’t it do anything in this damned country except rain?’

‘You live abroad?’

‘This weather doesn’t seem familiar.’

‘I could say the same, and I haven’t left the country in over two years.’

‘I can’t go out there with my photograph plastered all over the television, and the newspapers, but maybe you could get away with it.’

‘I’m not the one who needs my memory jolted.’

‘You could buy some things.’

‘What kind of things?’ she asked suspiciously.

He thought rapidly. ‘Hair dye, tattoo transfers…

I’ll write a list.’

‘And if someone recognizes me?’

‘We’ll have to make sure they don’t.’

‘I can hardly camouflage my face.’

‘No, but,’ he glanced at her bundled into the thick clothes that were several sizes too large. ‘You could wear a hooded jacket and we could do something different with your hair.’

‘I like my hair the way it is.’ She laid a protective hand on her head.

‘So do I. But that bun you tie it into is too distinctive.’

‘And the hypnosis?’ she persisted.

‘Can we leave it as a last resort?’

‘It might be as well,’ she agreed resignedly. ‘If I regress you into the trauma that induced you to attempt the four minute mile on that motorway, there’s no saying what you’ll do.’

‘If I am a murderer, I could murder again.’

‘Possibly,’ she hedged evasively.

A selection of photographs of John West had been blown up on a photocopier, and pinned to a board. An officer standing before them was overlaying the features with sheets of clear perspex on which were sketched various disguises for the benefit of the assembled troops.

‘Our man, bald.’ John West’s head of curly black hair was transformed to gleaming skin. ‘With spectacles.’ The officer flicked through a dozen pairs

– black, horn-rimmed, wire-framed, overlaying them one after another on the bald, balding and full-haired photographs of West. ‘Blond, red-head, brown. With beard and moustache, moustache only, beard only, scarred… ’

‘He can’t possibly have the resources to alter his looks to that degree,’ Simmonds whispered to Chaloner.

‘Whether he has or he hasn’t, it’s worth covering.’

‘You all have your own photographs of our man.

Use them as reference points. If you’re not sure about anyone,’ a major stepped in front of the board, ‘and I mean anyone, contact us immediately. Never forget our target may be a trained terrorist. If he is, he’ll be skilled at making himself invisible. Check out everyone in your frame of vision. Discount no one; not the road sweeper, the youth hosteller, the lager lout, the newspaper boy – no one. Work in pairs. If anyone spots him, make immediate contact giving time and location. If one of you has to leave the location for any reason, the other stays with the target, never taking his or her eyes off him for a moment.

You have ten minutes to change into civvies. When you reach the town, disperse. I don’t want any calls complaining about gangs of squaddies cluttering the streets.’

‘You going with them?’ Simmonds asked Chaloner.

‘No. The best place to direct this operation is from here.’

Simmonds studied the stern-faced young men and women as they left the room. Since the day he’d joined the army, he’d been sure of himself and his authority. But these were no ordinary personnel. They were clearly more used to working on their own than obeying orders. And, although he would never have admitted it to Chaloner, he felt threatened by their independence.

West returned to the basement while Elizabeth checked the suitcase again, only to decide she was already wearing the most suitable clothes. West brought up the smallest waterproof jacket he could find on the racks, and also collected the smallest pair of walking boots, and a pair of thick socks. At this time of year, he doubted that anyone would look twice at a girl in a wax jacket and jeans.

‘These trainers are like boats,’ Elizabeth complained when he joined her in the living room.

‘I’ll lose them before I go more than three yards.’

‘I’ve brought you the smallest boots and thickest socks I could find.’ He placed them at her feet.

She laced the boots on over the socks. ‘There’s no danger of me losing these.’

‘They’re too small?’

‘Could be I’m just not used to walking boots.’

He handed her the jacket and she slipped it on. The sleeves dangled inches below her hands, and the hem flapped around her thighs like a smock.

‘Give me some tent pegs. I’ll crouch down and make a marquee,’ she joked.

‘Pull up the hood.’

‘Given public opinion on Hoodies the police might stop me.’

‘You’re the wrong age. Now all we have to do is cut your hair.’

‘Can’t I just tie it back? No one will see it under the hood.’

Stepping back he eyed her critically. ‘I suppose you could pull it forward and plaster it over your face.

I doubt anyone will recognize Dr Elizabeth Santer beneath that scruffy hill walker look.’

‘I’ll need some money.’

He put his hand in his back pocket, pulled out the wallet, and peeled off five ten-pound notes.

‘Where did you get that?’

‘Same place I got the clothes and the French food.

Turn left when you leave the courtyard and left again when you reach the main road. Walk straight through the traffic lights, and you’ll see the shops. There’s a Boots and Woolworths. You should find everything on that list in one or the other.’

She hesitated as she took the paper from him. ‘I’ll be back.’

‘I’m relying on it.’ His mouth dried at the prospect of her going to the police.

She read the look on his face. ‘I’m as interested in seeing an end to this as you are.’

‘Let’s hope when it comes, it will be an end we can both live through.’ He took the keys from his pocket and he unlocked the door at the top of the stairs.

CHAPTER EIGHT

West closed the outside door behind Elizabeth, sat at the foot of the stairs and tried to analyze just why he trusted her. Did she really believe him innocent, not just of killing Dave Watson and the paramedic, but also the two soldiers? Would she return after he’d taken her hostage at gunpoint and carted her half-way across the country bound and gagged on the back seats of various cars?

Perhaps he should make plans now in case she did alert the police and half the army arrived to storm the flat. He looked at the keys in his hand and unlocked the door to the cellar. He lifted a couple of rucksacks from the racks and began to make up a survival kit.

Remembering the disguise he had in mind which would enable him to tour the town, he also took down the largest and the smallest sets of motorcycle leathers, boots and helmets. He ferried everything up the stairs.

He carried the largest suit of leathers into the bedroom and tried them on. Both trousers and jacket might have been tailor made for him. Perhaps they had been. After tugging on the boots he pulled the helmet over his face. A perfect disguise for his projected trip around the town, but a biking suit would be no good out on the open mountainside, and he’d already decided that if Elizabeth didn’t return, he’d take refuge on the Beacons. He couldn’t forget the dead soldiers lying on the floor of his room in the hospital, and he’d prefer to pit his wits and strength against the winter elements on the hills than whoever was after him.