Czech Mate (19 page)

It had been a mistake to say that, but he had wanted to get back at her for treating him like her baby. And she
had
touched him. Maybe it was accidental, but if she had not insisted on fussing with his knight's costume because he was doing it to the brats, it would never have happened. No way could he go home. He was too old to be kissed goodnight and tucked into bed, because ‘Dadda' was doing it to the brats. Next thing, she would be getting in there with him, because
he
was in bed with the brats.

His dumb act had prevented her coming to visit, and had stopped the Redcap officer asking awkward questions about who had attacked him. He had no idea who had, or why. All he remembered was smoking a cigarette and promising himself it would be a joint as soon as he got the chance, when something crashed against his head. It was useless to pretend he was not scared by it; worried about who could have it in for him and might try again. Another reason not to go home.

In the afternoons, the tinies were all settled for a nap and the ward was quiet. He supposed the nurses went for their lunch then. Only one stayed at the desk, and she busied herself a lot of the time in the room containing all the pills and equipment used for treatments. Today, he had waited for the right moment to slip past unnoticed. It was surprising how little attention people paid to a boy in a dressing-gown walking purposefully along corridors. Although he had never done it before, he discovered he was good at stealing.

In adult wards many of the patients sat in the day rooms at the far end with their visitors. Those too ill to get up slept through until tea was brought. At the foot of empty beds lay coats, scarves, gloves. In lockers there were purses, small piles of coins, underclothes, T-shirts, sweaters, socks and shoes. Kevin collected all he would need and, as if the gods were smiling on his endeavour, came upon a pair of winter boots temporarily discarded by a child with feet the same size as his own small ones.

Returning stealthily to his room, Kevin took one of the pillows from his bed, pulled off the cover and filled it with the clothes he had taken. Then he put the pillow on the top shelf of the cupboard containing spare bedding and medical aids like ring cushions, leg supports and back rests. Satisfied that he had done all he must, he lay on his bed to sleep. He needed to rest in readiness for what he knew would be the most difficult thing he had ever done.

There was a general air of despondency when they gathered to report their findings that day. The only significant news was the pathologist's verdict of Sudden Death Syndrome on Treeves, given with reluctance due to the lack of true medical understanding of the condition.

Roy Jakes had found nothing useful among Clegg's possessions. ‘No gay or porno mags to support a sexual motive for his murder, sir. No evidence of interest in drugs. He appears to have been totally wrapped up in his music. Lived for it, I'd say, which supports the theory of a musical link between the two attacks.'

‘If we're certain they are linked,' put in Piercey.

Tom said heavily, ‘Today's efforts were designed to establish or disprove that. I have the reports sent in by Beeny and Bush. Their interviews with members of the band are wholly inconclusive. None showed aggro towards Clegg as a person, or as a gifted musician. No suggestion that he had rated himself better than the rest, and certainly no hints he was interested in men. They were all disturbed by his murder, unanimously mystified about why he should be a victim. We can safely rule out a motive of professional or personal jealousy by one of his fellow musicians.'

‘That doesn't negate a musical link,' Jakes insisted. ‘It's what singularly motivated both victims.'

Heather Johnson nodded agreement. ‘I talked to Kevin's classmates, and particularly in depth with the Swinga Kat three in the class above his. They're older and more mature than the kid I interviewed in the hospital, yet they willingly acknowledged him as their inspiration and the leader of the group. Again, no hint of drugs or homosexuality, but those three reinforced what they said earlier about his mother's petting really getting to Kevin.'

‘That could be exaggeration, like his claim that she clouted him around the head. We know she couldn't have done that,' said Tom.

‘And she denied ever knowing Tony Clegg, which I believe,' put in Max.

Olly Simpson and Bob Prentiss reported on their investigations into the general drug and gay scenes. This had proved as fruitless as the rest.

‘So we're no further forward,' concluded Tom.

‘I do have one piece of interesting information.' That was Piercey, who enjoyed throwing pebbles into a still pond. ‘I first went for the key to the Recreation Centre so that I could do a trial run through the storeroom, round to the front entrance, and up to the toilets.' He gave a satisfied smile. ‘Key had already been collected by Sapper Rowe. Seems our friend who's good with tinies is also handy at fixing strobes and turning a basic hall into a dim and sexy pseudo disco for teens. He's volunteered to help out tomorrow.'

Max leaned forward as something clicked into place. ‘What time was this, Sergeant?'

‘Around ten thirty, sir. Rowe packed it in soon after. Said he had to go to town to fetch something. I then did the time check. It
is
possible for someone involved in clearing the hall ready for the fancy-dress parade to slip out through the rear door, hit Kevin, then return the same way before the parade began.' He gave another satisfied smile. ‘My money's on Rowe. I checked his whereabouts last night. He claimed he was in his room working on his plans for the hall, and admits to being alone the whole time. When I questioned others in his section none could give him an alibi for the time of Clegg's murder. I'm not happy with his interest in young people. Why would a good-looking young guy like him want to spend two Saturday nights at Christmas time helping to organize kids' parties, when his mates are all in town creating double hell?'

‘Because Lieutenant Farmer is doing the same,' said Tom thoughtfully. ‘That phone call to “Alan” was made to him, as I suspected. Those two are in league in some way.'

‘But she was sitting next to the Boss at dinner when Clegg was murdered,' Heather Johnson objected.

Max had moved to one of the computers and was bringing up on screen Sapper Rowe's details. The photograph showed the curly haired man who had been with Lucy Farmer in the hotel at lunchtime. Those two were certainly up to something, but he found it hard to believe she would condone violence and death. Saying nothing about what he had seen, Max then advised that George Maddox be asked to send one of his men who could pass as late teens, dressed in suitable gear, to keep an eye on Sapper Rowe the whole evening.

‘Rowe will be the active partner if they have something planned,' he said. ‘She's probably the driving force in their collusion.'

They broke off shortly after that, no one but Piercey feeling gratified after a long day of painstaking investigation. All across the base Friday evening parties were underway, but the members of 26 Section were heading for early bedtime. They were not in the mood for frivolity, hung over as they were by a black cloud of responsibility. In all their minds was the dread of another tragedy before they identified the perpetrator. The key they sought was a motive. They were all experienced enough to know they would have seen it long ago if it was a simple one. Even their boss's famous ‘guts' had not done their stuff this time. He admitted being as baffled as they.

Max repeated this to Tom as they prepared to lock their new headquarters, which still were not fully organized after the move. ‘Maybe we're looking at the whole business arse over apex. Are we stuck in a rut with the sex or drugs theories?'

‘We've no evidence to support either,' Tom agreed, setting the alarm on the main door. ‘Yet I still find it tricky to go along with murder over music. As we've said before, where's the gain?' They began walking to their cars. ‘After intensive investigation we've reached stalemate.'

‘Our chess competitors would call it checkmate.'

Tom eyed Max speculatively over the roof of his car. ‘Growing interested?'

‘In the game? No. They can sit for hours pondering their next move. I'd ask them to lend their devious skill to our complex case, but they'd still be at it at Easter.'

‘By the way, sir, I meant to tell you Clegg's parents are flying in this evening. As the Bandmaster is unable to meet and take them to their hotel, Padre Robinson and his wife are standing in. A churchman is possibly better suited to the sad duty, but I'm not sure how Mrs Padre will cope with a tragic situation. The general consensus is that she wears a permanent smile.'

Max had not yet met Estelle Robinson, but he had heard about her sunny disposition. ‘I'm still waiting for someone to confess and make her prophecy come true!'

‘If only!'

They said goodnight and went their separate ways. Although it was past ten, Max decided to drive via the church hall in case Livya was engaged in erudite battle with the winner of the game he had disturbed. It was another clear night, with a sky full of stars and a new moon. Max recalled his mother warning not to look at a new moon through glass because it brought ill luck, and he wound his window down. Ridiculous, because he had just viewed it through his windscreen, but it was one of very few memories he had of her and the gesture seemed appropriate. The snow was firmly frozen still, the glistening white coating giving even a functional military base a kind of beauty in the pale light.

The church hall was in darkness, so he continued to the Officers' Mess. The dining-room was deserted at that late hour, of course, but in the ante-room several eager subalterns were rehearsing their foolery for the upcoming ‘entertainment'. Max hurried past and up to his room to make coffee. As he drank it, thoughts of his mother lingered, and he recalled Livya telling him something astonishing – that his father carried everywhere with him her photograph. A sign of devotion Max had no knowledge of. The marriage had lasted only eight years, but his lost wife had clearly remained a cherished memory for Andrew Rydal despite the discreet liaisons that had cheered his later years.

Thinking of lost years and lost loves, Max impulsively picked up the telephone receiver and dialled Livya's room number. It was a while before she answered sleepily.

‘Did I wake you?' he asked softly.

‘Yes. Is something wrong?'

‘I'm afraid so. I had this yearning to make contact and couldn't fight it.'

She gave a soft laugh. ‘A big, tough policeman like you?'

‘We have yearnings like everyone else.'

‘Thank God for that! There's hope for tomorrow in that case.'

‘Very definitely. Did you win your game?'

‘No time. The one you rudely interrupted didn't end until late this evening. I play first thing tomorrow.'

‘It won't go on until midnight, will it?' he asked, fearing the ruin of their plans.

She laughed again, softly and seductively. ‘They need the hall for a dinner-dance. We have to vacate it by teatime.'

‘Good. If I don't see you at breakfast, good luck.'

‘Thanks.'

‘Sorry I disturbed you.'

A short pause. ‘You've done that from the moment we met. Goodnight, Max. Sleep well.'

After that declaration it was not surprising that an hour or more passed before Max sank into the depths of slumber. He was dragged up from them by a ringing in his ears. Reaching for his mobile on the bedside table, he saw that it was two a.m. He answered the call, dreading he would learn of another vicious attack.

The girls were asleep when Tom got home; Nora was still working on the evening dress. With a grimace she told him Mrs Harper had decided the vertical frill made the style too strongly resemble an overall, so wanted it removed and replaced with diamanté.

‘Far more elegant than that blasted frill.'

‘But a hell of a lot more work for you,' Tom complained.

‘That'll be reflected in the bill I send her. I need to go to town tomorrow to buy the diamanté, so the girls and I plan on completing our Christmas shopping and having lunch at Bertrum's. Any chance of your coming with us, or even meeting us for the eats?'

He frowned. ‘You girls are better on your own for shopping. No way am I prepared to sit outside changing booths with other bored males, but I might manage lunch. As of now we're clean out of ideas on this case. We've checked every possibility and got nowhere. Until we hit on a new lead we're as productive as that turkey in the deep freeze.'

Nora put aside her needles and scissors. ‘How about a glass of wine?'

‘Or two.' He slung an arm around her shoulders as they walked through to the kitchen. ‘We'll have guys posted outside the Recreation Centre and one inside mixing with the kids during the disco tomorrow. So why do I have this sinking feeling that there's going to be another tragedy before the night's out?'

‘Because you're tired and more than usually stressed-out due to the youth of the victims. One of the things I love about you is your concern for the welfare of other kids along with your own.' She poured generous amounts of red wine in two glasses and handed him one. ‘
Prosit
!'

They sipped, then went to the settee in the sitting-room and made themselves comfortable in their customary fashion. With her head against his shoulder, Nora said quietly, ‘You haven't forgotten about the Graumanns' invitation tomorrow, have you?'

He came from thoughts of a grimmer nature. ‘It's naturally on top of my list of priorities.'

There was a brief silence, then she said, ‘I feel sorry for Max. He returns to a chaste room in the Mess and broods on those things you've just told me, but there's no woman to listen and sympathize. No lover to cuddle and drink a comforting glass of wine with. No children who think he's the best dad in the world and want, quite desperately, his approval of things that are important to them.'