Czech Mate (26 page)

Phil Piercey had spoken to Corporal Samms, who had attended last night's disco incognito. A man of twenty-four who had a pink, chubby face that made him resemble a senior schoolboy; a tough, enthusiastic policeman who had once been refused alcohol because he was thought to be underage. He had suffered untold ribbing from his colleagues over that incident. Samms had confirmed to Piercey that Sapper Rowe had shown no undue interest in adolescent boys, much less taken one to the unlit areas of the Recreation Centre.

‘He's top notch at controlling sound and lighting. Did some special effects for the song contests. Best male and female.' He had chuckled then. ‘Gave the thing a bit of a boost, thank God. Some of the kids hadn't a clue. Most of 'em didn't have a voice.' As Piercey had made to leave, Samms said, ‘Tell you what, though. Rowe looked more than interested in that redhead lieutenant helping Mr Fellowes pick the winners. She's a real looker, mind, but I'd say there's something going on between those two that needs looking at.'

So Piercey was doing just that on this Sunday morning. Like the rest of the team, he found it hard to accept that a good-looking soldier and a gorgeous young officer had nothing better to do on Saturdays during the run up to Christmas than help out at kids' parties. They were both possible suspects for the attack on Kevin McRitchie, which made them prime subjects for ongoing observation.

Having checked that Rowe was in his quarters, Piercey parked within sight of the accommodation block and settled to watch. He had little doubt the Sapper had plans for today.

Having munched two Mars bars and half a packet of custard creams, Piercey was thinking he might soon need to go for a pee when Rowe came from the three-storey building dressed smartly in dark jeans and a sheepskin three-quarter coat. Telling his bladder to wait a while, Piercey discreetly followed his target from the base and, surprisingly, away from town. Well, well! So where was the lad heading? Not to visit the bird his mates reckoned he had in town.

The road was reasonably busy, so there was little chance of Rowe sensing he was being tailed. Passing through a large village where children were playing in the snow while their parents stood chatting outside the church entrance, Rowe then turned right on to a narrow lane compacted with ice that looked to be leading to a forest area.

Piercey grew very interested now. Could Rowe possibly be taking him to the answer to why Kevin and Clegg had been attacked? Had the two victims been involved with Alan Rowe in drug distribution, after all? Was Rowe going to meet the boss man at some isolated forest cabin? Could this rendezvous be a meeting place for a paedophile and young victims? Piercey's interest deepened into excitement. He had been instrumental in wrapping up their last murder case back in April. Was he about to do the same again?

Because there was now no other traffic along this country lane, Piercey dropped back and only saw Rowe's car when the many bends allowed him a glimpse of his target through the trees some way ahead. The solid layer of compressed snow on the road surface demanded considerable concentration to negotiate the bends, so Piercey was taken by surprise on rounding one of them to find Rowe had pulled up outside a small inn that looked like a former hunting-lodge.

Resisting the reflex impulse to stop, Piercey drove on round the next bend and eased into a small clearing, praying he would not sink in softer snow. His prayer was answered. Climbing from behind the wheel he was engulfed by utter, utter silence and a breathless stillness that enchanted even this tough, cynical policeman. Unable to resist standing for a minute or two in this scene of natural beauty, his breath frosting in the air, his cheeks tingling, Piercey pushed to the back of his mind all thoughts of murder, domestic violence, paedophilia and drug abuse. This was pure, this was clean, this was innocent.

It did not last. He had a job to do. Coarse dark hairs with a natural kink had been found at both scenes of attack, and this man he had followed had dark curling hair. He was their strongest suspect. Grabbing his binoculars, he crunched over the frozen white layer between the trees until he had a clear view of the inn. Then he saw that one of the three other vehicles on the forecourt was owned by Lucy Farmer. Excitement mounted. She was definitely in on Rowe's criminal activity, and he had them red handed.

Finding good cover that gave him a full view of the inn's facade, he scanned it through the magnifying lenses. He spotted the pair in an upstairs room. There did not appear to be a third person there, so their contact had not yet arrived. Good. He would be able to get a good view of him and his vehicle registration when he turned up.

Even as he relished that, the entire concept collapsed before his eyes. The upper-class lieutenant and the down-to-earth soldier went into a frenzied clinch that became an equally frenzied race to pull each other's clothes off.

Twelve

T
hey said little during the slow drive; slow because traffic heading to town was heavy. Shopping, skating, eating; all these drew crowds bent on Christmas fun. After all his years in this job, Tom still experienced that sense of disbelief that life was continuing normally all around him while he was dealing with tragedy. This morning it was especially poignant. If, as they strongly suspected, Mavis McRitchie's mind had snapped causing her to attack her family, three children were now virtually orphaned. Their grandparents would have to be informed, although they would be hospitalized for some time yet.

There were also two parents facing the turkey, tinsel and twinkling lights season with the funeral of their talented only son to arrange. Tom could not forget Norman Clegg's bitter expression as he demanded that some ‘real' policemen take over the task of finding his son's killer. They still had no leads apart from two matching hairs from the scenes of the attacks on Kevin and Tony Clegg. The Cleggs' unbridled grief and the McRitchies' unconcern both weighed heavily on Tom as Heather Johnson drove towards the hospital alongside merrymaking Germans. They could do nothing yet to ease the one, and they had failed to understand the full import of the other.

He had returned home in the early hours and settled on the settee so as not to disturb Nora, but he had only half-dozed. When he had dropped off, the scene he had just witnessed became his own home with his family massacred. A desperate nightmare. Curiously, he was so hungry he had eaten an enormous breakfast with a silent Nora facing him across the table. She knew him in all his moods and made no attempt to break through his bleakness. Gratitude to her, and for his loving family, unharmed and strangers to the undercurrents that had brought tragedy last night, had led him to enclose Nora in a strong embrace and hold her for a long while before he left the house where his three daughters were still sleeping off the pleasures of the Graumanns' hospitality. He had so much to be thankful for.

He turned now to the young woman beside him at the wheel. ‘Looking forward to being at home for Christmas? Will your brothers be there?'

Heather smiled. ‘They'd better be, or my mother will want to know why. Keith – he's Kevin's age – is totally caught up in the restoration of an old World War Two aeroplane. Spends every free moment there, to the detriment of homework and study. Dad has a sneaking interest in it, too, so Mum has to put her foot down sometimes. I'm the only other female in the family. I disappointed her deeply by taking up what she regards as a masculine profession.' She flashed Tom a glance. ‘I think she hoped I'd work as a florist, or in a perfumery. I understand. Surrounded by dirty shirts, football boots and model aircraft she longs for another woman to talk to, some pretty things amid all the male clutter.'

‘I'd welcome a little male clutter,' Tom murmured reflectively.

‘I guess that's what Greg McRitchie wanted, until he realized Kevin wasn't into macho pursuits and pushed the lad out of his life. What's going to happen to him now?'

‘It depends on how he takes this news, most probably. He's a minor and will have to go with whichever set of grandparents will have him and his sisters when the medics declare them fit.'

Breaking through the congestion in the town centre, Heather was able to pick up speed for the final five kilometres to the hospital. Swinging on to the autobahn when the lights turned green, she said, ‘If I were the welfare worker handling the case, I'd try to split them up. There's mutual dislike between those girls and Kevin. Anyone trying to cope with all three as well as grief for a son, or having to face the truth of a daughter who stabbed her husband to death and cut up her child, would be crushed by the responsibility.'

‘And the kids themselves would do better in different households,' said Tom. ‘We don't yet know the situations with the grandparents. If there's illness or disability, there'd be no question of putting girls of seven and eight there.'

‘Or in a house where the grandfather couldn't be trusted with them.'

‘Out of the frying-pan,' agreed Tom. ‘Those poor kids have a lot to overcome before they can start being balanced human beings.'

They fell silent for a while and only spoke again on reaching the hospital. Then Tom asked if she was happy about what she had been asked to do.

She turned to him frankly. ‘I'll keep in mind how I'd approach one of my brothers with devastating news, although I won't be breaking it to him. I suppose I'll be there as someone familiar whom he trusts.'

Tom smiled encouragingly. ‘You'll get it right, the way you did when you brought him from RAMSCH. The Boss said you were brilliant.'

They walked to the main entrance and Heather asked, ‘Do I tackle him about the attack at the party, if I get the chance?'

‘Play it by ear,' he advised. ‘I'm sure the psycho will control the meeting. He knows Kevin relates to you quite strongly, so I don't imagine he'll interfere if the boy wants to get things off his chest to you. After all, he's in there for the purpose of delving to the root of his fears. Although those might be replaced by others now.'

They split up inside the building, Tom to check on the girls in intensive care and, more pertinently, on the state of Mavis McRitchie, suspected of murder. Heather took the lift, telling herself to concentrate on the vulnerable, confused boy not her own feelings.

Professor Braun came at a call from the woman at the reception desk, smiled and shook her hand before leading Heather a little way along the corridor. He waved a hand at a chair, then sat at the desk to study her with bright eyes. He was small and neat, with auburn hair that tended to stand up in tufts around his pointed face. He reminded Heather of a red squirrel.

‘This is much of a tragedy at this stage,' he declared. ‘He runs from his family because he feels there is no love for him there, and now they have all been hurt. There is no father any longer and the mother, she is in deep trauma. His small sisters, also. This news must be given; he must be allowed to see them to know it is the truth we tell. Also, the little girls will be hopeful to see the big brother. One who has not been hurt. One who can look after them now. It will work in two ways, you see.'

Feeling she must reveal it, Heather related what Kevin had told her. ‘It might not, sir. Kevin and his sisters dislike each other intensely. Of course, you're the best judge of what he needs right now, but I doubt whether seeing him will comfort those girls or Kevin himself. Possibly do the reverse.'

She went on to tell all they knew about the relationships in that family, in the process giving an explanation of the cat Kevin wanted to see. The medical man listened gravely until Swinga Kat was mentioned. Then he smiled.

‘I have such a son, Hedda. Always with the guitar. Perhaps I should bring them together in a little while. And later you can come with the Kat boys, eh? Let us now see Kevin.'

They walked through to a side-room where Kevin was watching television. His face lit up when he saw Heather and he got up eagerly.

‘They told me you might come today. Have you brought Johnny, Callum or Malc?'

‘It's Sunday,' she said carefully. ‘They're doing family things. When term ends next week they'll be along, sure thing.'

‘Thanks for coming, anyway.' He silenced the TV and sat on the bed. ‘Have you managed to speak to Mr Fellowes about the discos yet?'

Heather glanced at Braun, who gave a slight nod to go ahead. ‘He thinks it's a great idea and he'll put it to the committee at the next meeting,' she said, knowing the plan would go no further now.

‘Awesome!' he breathed. ‘I'll get busy with programming. It's important to strike the right balance. The kids want that.'

This small-framed, gentle boy had come alive in a flash. Heather found it difficult to hide her feelings as she listened to his enthusiasm, and she prayed the Professor would intervene. He did not, so she supposed he had his reasons for letting Kevin emerge from his shell before telling him facts that would put an end to his hopes.

Some minutes later, having calmed down somewhat, the boy confessed with a wry expression that he had not got into too much trouble over running away.

‘They said . . . well Professor Braun said,' he amended with a shy smile for the psychiatrist, ‘that if I gave back all the things I took and wrote notes to everyone saying sorry, it would be OK.' His eyes appealed to Heather. ‘I didn't mean any harm. I didn't know what else to do to stop them sending me home.
You
know why I couldn't do that, Heather.'

To her relief, Braun then intervened and she understood what he had been waiting for. Quietly and calmly, the psychiatrist told of an incident at his home in which his father and sister Shona had been badly hurt.

‘The surgeon operated on Shona and she is very slowly getting better. Your mother and Julie are also in this hospital suffering from shock, but they are otherwise unhurt. Kevin, I have to tell you that your father died last night.'