Czech Mate (22 page)

‘No, no,' protested Estelle Robinson, still smiling consolingly. ‘He will already be repenting his sin. We must find it in our hearts to understand and forgive.'

‘Sanctimonious claptrap,' stormed Clegg, rising from his chair. ‘I'd like to hear you say that if it was
your
son been battered to death.'

‘Norm!' cried his wife through her sodden handkerchief.

The Bandmaster got to his feet, upset and embarrassed by Clegg's grief-stricken outburst to people doing their best to help him cope with his traumatic loss. ‘Perhaps you'd like to collect Tony's personal things from the rehearsal rooms before returning to your hotel.'

Tom's mobile rang, giving him an excuse to step out to the hall away from the emotional tension. As he did, he noticed that the smile had finally been wiped off Estelle Robinson's face as she sat stiff as a statue beside the weeping Phyllis. Stupid woman, he thought. To quote pious nonsense at a time when these loving parents had lost all belief in God and humanity was almost an insult.

The call was from Roy Jakes with the news that Kevin had been found, unharmed, and was being returned to the hospital. ‘Major Clarkson has been informed, sir. He says he'll confer with the German psychiatrist about the boy's treatment and report back.'

‘That's not our concern, apart from knowing when we can question Kevin. Have his parents been told?'

‘Yes, sir. Connie Bush drove there. She's just phoned in. The mother's been left on her own while he takes the girls for their usual Saturday shopping spree and lunch-time treat.'

‘That fits. No concern over his missing son.'

‘Connie says Mavis McRitchie seemed less than grateful for the news, just relieved the boy won't be going home.'

As Tom disconnected he grew aware of the Cleggs leaving with Christopher Booth through the side-door. Devoted, caring parents robbed of the great light of their lives, while the selfish, perverted McRitchies had their talented, unwanted son restored to them. Where is the justice in that? Tom thought grimly. Small wonder Clegg lashed out on being told to understand and forgive. Tom did not understand it, and if anyone ever harmed one of his girls he would
never
forgive. He would have to be restrained from taking physical revenge. And if that smiling fool quoted religious forbearance at him, he would have to be restrained from attacking her, as well.

The Padre came to the sitting-room doorway looking strained. Tom could see the room was now empty. Coffee cups and plates of mince pies were abandoned around the room. Estelle was probably seeking righteous solace with her Bible, Tom thought with lack of charity.

‘I'm sorry about that. When we met them at the airport last evening they were calm and polite. Still in shock, of course. We invited them here to talk with Christopher because we felt a meeting in the band's headquarters might prove too upsetting.' He sighed. ‘Talking about their son's musical gift broke through their numbness and . . .' He spread his hands. ‘Well, you saw for yourself. Good, hard-working, honest souls who can't accept this terrible blow.'

Tom nodded. ‘I wish I could have given them something more positive to hold on to, but we have no real leads as yet. I'm sure they're asking the same questions we're asking. Why him? What could he have done to prompt violence? Who would want to kill such a blameless lad? Nothing adds up.'

The Padre began edging towards the front door. ‘You don't think it
could
have been a squaddie high on crack, or pissed out of his skull?'

Tom took the hint and moved with his host, taking his car keys from his coat pocket. ‘As I said, we have no leads, but both those hypotheses would have created greater disturbance at the crime scene. Men driven by drugs or alcohol are vocally noisy and unsteady on their feet. The snow would have been churned up enough to be still visible beneath the fresh fall. And someone might have heard voices. Apart from that, all the signs point to Clegg being totally unprepared for the attack. He didn't struggle or try to run. Evidence so far suggests that he met with someone he knew, they fell out, and Clegg was hit during a sudden fit of rage.'

Robinson grew thoughtful as he opened the door. ‘Why arrange to meet in a deserted spot when it was snowing?'

‘You see our problem, sir?'

‘I do, indeed. Thank you for coming. You and I are inured to the toils of the bereaved, hasty words forced out by unbearable inner pain. My wife has been with me in this work for only six months. She still takes things to heart. She asked me to say her goodbyes.'

‘Of course,' murmured Tom, wondering why she did not follow her own advice to understand and forgive.

Back in his car Tom was suddenly seized by an urgent need to see his family, to be with the children who were so precious to him. He felt a sharp pang at the undeniable truth that they were growing up fast. All too soon they would leave home and follow their own desired course, like Kevin McRitchie and Tony Clegg. Fearful for what might lie ahead for Maggie, Gina and little Beth, Tom knew he must cherish and protect them while he still could.

Setting the car in motion, he headed for the main gate. With the emergency over Kevin at an end, he was free to join his family for lunch at Bertrum's. There was a lump in his throat as he pictured their astonishment and pleasure when he appeared.

Ten

O
nly the regular top-notchers were on court at the Badminton Club that evening. A good ninety-five per cent of year-round attendees who played just for fun and exercise were at parties, dances, celebration dinners or the large Christmas market that came to colourful, vibrant life once darkness fell. The five per cent who had nothing better to do on that Saturday evening turned up to watch the matchplay.

Greg McRitchie was tipped to win the singles title, although those who did not know him well thought anxiety over his son might affect his normal canny tactics. Doubles were a different matter. Brilliant though he was, Greg was notorious for poaching shots from his partner, whose own play was adversely affected by the unorthodox juxtapositions on court.

Mavis sat with Shona and Julie in their usual places in the viewing gallery. Because there were so few spectators, and because silence was expected by the contestants, she found time dragging more than usual. It also seemed colder in the sparsely occupied upper floor of the hall as she waited for Greg's matches. It was a knockout contest, so he was frequently on one of the four courts.

Between those times Mavis went down to fetch herself some coffee, and hot chocolate for Dadda's pets. Greg was invariably in low-voiced conversation with others on the sidelines. She knew she must not go to him, but she lingered to watch him. He looked sensational in brief white shorts and a sports shirt that clung to his muscular chest. The dark hairs on his arms and legs showed starkly against the white clothes, perfectly emphasizing his masculinity. When he twisted to speak over his shoulder to another player, Mavis could see the significant bulge at the front of his shorts.

How thrilled she had been in those early days, when he had proudly displayed it before her at every opportunity. He had attributed siring a male child to having such a formidable reproductive organ, and as their boy had developed Greg had consistently checked the growth of what Kevin had named his ‘tiddley'.

As Mavis feasted her eyes on the body she had once been allowed to worship, Greg applauded the winners of the doubles title as they came off the court. He then glanced up at the gallery where his daughters' adoring faces gazed down. He waved and gave them the radiant smile Mavis still found breathtaking. They waved and blew kisses, which he returned.

Back in the gallery, Mavis saw nothing of the hard-fought final played by her man. She was recalling his disgust when first Shona then Julie was born. After Kevin, Greg had been so keen to produce more sons they had made love madly and often – on the floor, on the kitchen table, in the back of the car, in a field, in her father's potting shed. He had even tried copulation on a Lilo in the pool of a Spanish villa they had rented. It had been hilarious as he tried again and again, determined not to be defeated by the unstable inflatable.

When pregnancy remained elusive he insisted that she be tested. It had been humiliating, although she had been sure she must be to blame. The crazy coupling abruptly ceased, but many months passed before she realized it had resulted only in desire for further proof of his virility. Clearance from the specialist had set Greg off again, but there was a subtle difference. The thrill, the delight could not override his obvious creative lust.

Two girls! They had slept apart for an entire year. Greg's excuse; he had a demanding job and needed his sleep undisturbed by squalling babies. Then, as the girls developed into appealing little creatures who cooed ‘Dadda' and patted his cheeks with chubby hands, everything changed. Greg found a new role as the big, virile defender of these gorgeous, vulnerable toddlers and took them from Mavis as he had previously taken Kevin.

She found it difficult now to pick on exactly when Greg's interest in her had died completely, or when her own in Kevin had become a desperate bid for consolation. Oblivious to the excitement on court, Mavis thought of the Redcap who had come to tell her Kevin had been found and returned to hospital. The girl had explained sympathetically that doctors wanted to keep him under observation for a while, maybe a week or so. Mavis had rejoiced, hoped it would be longer. If she got rid of the girls as well, Greg would be hers once more. They would make love everywhere. Out on the front lawn, if he wanted to prove his virility to the neighbours. She would agree to anything he demanded, and he would see his mistake in abandoning her.

Screams brought Mavis back from the rosy prospect to discover the match was over. Shona and Julie, still shrieking with excitement, were heading for the stairs. She looked down. The top-notchers were crowding round Greg with congratulations. He was smiling that devastating smile. He had proved himself top man; a champion. His shirt stuck wetly to his back revealing his powerful shoulders and the line of his spine that she used to love to trace with her fingers. She would do it again.

As he walked to pick up his towel and drape it around his neck, two small figures in scarlet leggings and intricately knitted tunics rushed at him shrieking, ‘Dadda! Dadda!' Laughing, he scooped them up with each arm and swung them round and round in exultation. Mavis waited for him to glance upward. She waited in vain.

They drove home the usual way; Shona and Julie in the front, Mavis on the back seat with the racquets, and the sweaty whites and towels that she would put to wash when they got in. Two high, admiring voices were telling him how clever he was; his baritone reminded them of how he had won vital points when his opponent believed the game was his.

‘Hooray, hooray!
Wonderful
Dadda.'

When Greg entered after garaging the car, Mavis was feeding the washing machine. She heard him say, ‘As a special treat you can stay up late tonight.' He laughed. ‘You're too excited to sleep, anyway. Let's go up, have a shower, put on pyjamas and dressing-gowns, then come down for hot milk and teddy biscuits while we watch—' He paused tantalizingly, then announced, ‘the surprise DVD I bought you this morning.'

‘What? What? Tell us!' They grabbed his arms, pressing close against him.

He led them to the stairs. ‘When you come down all pink and clean in your dressing-gowns. Not before.'

It set the girls rushing to their bedroom, laughing. Mavis stood in the kitchen listening to their pattering feet on the ceiling above her, mixed with Greg's heavier tread. There was more laughter and the sound of running water in the bathroom. She used to stand beneath the deluge with Greg, slippery with soap while he entered her. Afterwards, they would towel each other down, then fall into bed for a repeat performance. He was towelling
them
dry now. How long before he got in their beds afterwards?

It seemed an age before they came down. He had changed his tracksuit for a yellow sweatshirt and the very tight jeans he favoured. The two darlings, in the red dressing-gowns she had made for them, were holding his hands and smiling possessively at their trophy. They sat on the settee leaving space for Dadda, while he came to the kitchen to heat their milk and arrange teddy biscuits on a plate. He was so intent on this he did not notice Mavis standing by the washing machine. He would notice her if
they
were not here.

She picked up a sharp knife from the drawer he had left open and walked through to the sitting-room. Two aloof expressions watched her approach, and she was driven to get rid of those sneers. The knife sliced across Shona's face in both directions. Then at the arms she held up to protect it. It cut into bare pink wrists and again into pink palms, until blood ran to soak into the red sleeves.

Through the curious muffled sounds in Mavis's ears broke an anguished howl. Hands pulled at her, spun her round. He looked magnificent, full of passion and mastery. He now noticed her, wanted her again! She threw herself eagerly into his arms.

The RMP Station near the main gate was undermanned on that Saturday evening. In addition to the usual weekend night patrols around notorious trouble spots in town, now augmented by the Christmas market, two men were on duty outside the Recreation Centre, with another undercover at the disco. These latter three had called in at 20:00 and 21:00. They were due to do so again on the hour.

Sergeant George Maddox was certain police presence would deter the killer from striking again. It meant the chance of catching him was removed, but it was out of the question to risk another young life to do so. The McRitchie boy had been safely recovered, so SIB might now get something from him to point them in the right direction.

He glanced at the clock. Coming up to 22:00 when his spell of duty would end. Miriam had cut up rough because he had resisted her plea to swap duties and escort her to the Golf Club dinner-dance. He had promised to be there for the last hour or so, but there had been a frigid atmosphere from the moment he had taken her a cup of tea in bed. They had been married ten years. She should be used to the demands of his job.