Czech Mate (29 page)

‘What evidence?' she challenged smartly.

‘You were seen undressing each other in a bedroom at the Eichel Inn yesterday morning. You had reserved room twenty-one by phone on Saturday evening, and you paid for it with your credit card. You were also both seen at Hotel Adler in town on Thursday last, where you had booked a room for which you again paid.'

Her beauty was heightened by a faint flush. ‘Haven't you anything better to do than spy on people?'

‘You were both possible suspects for the attack on Kevin McRitchie. We're detectives. We have to watch suspects. Sometimes we uncover things we're not actually investigating, and sometimes we wish we hadn't. You have everything going for you. Why, for God's sake, treat it so lightly?' he demanded with feeling.

She chose not to answer, just shrugged, which made Max even angrier. ‘You appear to be the dominant influence in the liaison and, however willingly Rowe embarked on the affair, in military law you, as a commissioned officer, will be counted the guilty party. It's your responsibility to set a good example—'

‘All right, cut out the moralizing,' she said. ‘I know all about not abusing my rank, and not corrupting members of the rank and file. He knew what he was doing.'

‘I'm sure he did, and he probably knew who would pay the greater price if it came to light.' Max paused for a moment, looking her over while he tried to understand her. ‘Do you really care for him?'

‘Christ, no!' she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. ‘It was just a fling.'

That did it for Max. ‘If I send in an official report there'll be an inquiry. You'll be suspended from duty pending the verdict, which most likely will result in an immediate posting away from Germany and a very black mark being entered on your record. It will be there throughout your years of service.

‘And here's some moralizing you'll bloody well hear, whether you like it or not,' he went on. ‘It costs the MoD a large sum to train an officer and it expects a reasonable return for the expenditure. You've been treating your status as a means to your own ends. Living life to the full, flirting with all your male colleagues, exploiting your right to respect from lower ranks. You deserve to be reported. If either of you were married I wouldn't hesitate, but I haven't the time to spare for immature antics like yours when I'm dealing with violent death and distressed, grieving families.' He paused to let that sink in. ‘Lieutenant Farmer, unless you apply for an immediate transfer, on any grounds you care to invent, and stay away from Sapper Rowe from this moment on, I
will
make this official. Is that understood?'

Because the reigning inter-services chess champion had been called to the UK on compassionate grounds, players had been given byes that speeded progress towards the final. In addition, the Royal Artillery genius was so much one, his games ended far quicker than the usual drawn-out battles. In consequence, the final was being staged two days early.

When Livya told him at breakfast that morning, Max said he would call in to watch with her for a short while, if he could manage it. Still annoyed over Lucy Farmer's attitude, he worked non-stop on overdue paperwork stopping only for coffee and NAAFI sandwiches brought in by Connie Bush at lunchtime. During that break, he discussed with Tom reports from the Scenes of Crime team which had searched the McRitchie house and garden.

As SIB guessed, there was no evidence of an intruder being present at any time on Saturday. Mavis McRitchie had revealed to Max that her husband forbade visitors to the house for they might carry germs, and her own cleaning was so thorough the search had been completed in a very short time. All they now needed to present a case was confirmation by one or both girls of their mother's violent attack.

‘And that'll be it, so far as we're concerned,' said Tom, dropping thick crusts in the waste-bin and wiping his fingers on a paper napkin. ‘One of the things I dislike about this work is having to leave the job half done. We find the criminal, tie up the evidence in a neat bundle for the CO to offer a solid case, then walk away.'

Max regarded him questioningly. ‘That's our remit as detectives. What else would you like to do?'

‘Oh . . . I don't know.' He threw the sandwich carton after his discarded crusts with more force than necessary. ‘The result of any crime is a broken or altered life. Several lives, occasionally. An entire family, in this instance. Christmas is a kids' time. Kevin and his sisters will never forget this one.'

Knowing how this family man always felt about crimes concerning minors, Max turned the conversation to the threats offered by Norman Clegg and Frank Treeves.

‘I'd lay my money on Clegg calming down after the initial raw grief. He might stir things up again if we don't soon get a result, so that's got to be our priority, Tom.' Seeing his steady, cynical gaze, Max added, ‘Yes, yes, I know the investigation has ground to a halt, but we've got to progress it one way or another.'

‘Piercey and Beeny checked out the three chess players who arrived early. When Kevin was attacked they were all in the games room playing pool. At the time of Clegg's murder they were at the church hall either playing or observing the games. Multiple witnesses in each case.'

‘So my guts were completely wrong on that.'

‘We've got nothing else.'

‘So we'll have to go over what we have got once more. There must be something in the witness statements we've missed. Get everyone checking, then checking again.'

‘If you say so, sir, but they've already done that and come up with zilch.'

Irritation bred by Lucy Farmer made Max snap. ‘Then Norman Clegg will have to get his “real” policemen on the job. Maybe they'll do better.'

They faced each other in silence for a moment before Tom said, ‘We haven't entirely exhausted the idea of a chess link. We could be wrong in connecting Kevin's assault with Clegg's murder. That chess board outside the Recreation Centre is available to anyone on the base. I'll start the team checking who uses it regularly, where they were at the vital time, and if they had any kind of personal contact with Clegg.'

Softening his tone, Max nodded. ‘Good thinking. Let's concentrate on the murder. In view of what's happened, the assault on Kevin is no longer such a priority. If we do discover a link between the two cases later on, then so be it, but we'll discount it for now. As for Frank Treeves' threat, we must hope Major Clarkson's promise to send a copy of his medical report to the Treeves' UK doctor with a request to give the man all available info on Sudden Death Syndrome will satisfy the anguished parents. Best for everyone.'

An hour later Max left his office and drove to the church hall. For the prestigious final, chairs had been arranged in two tiers to allow spectators a clear view. A considerable number were silently watching a youthful artilleryman pit his guile against an older wing commander. There was more than personal glory at stake; each wanted to win the title for his own service.

Livya was sitting at the end of the second tier. She smiled a greeting when Max tiptoed to join her, having switched off his mobile. His arrival was more successful this time. Only one head turned; that of the man sitting directly below Livya. He frowned, but soon concentrated on the play once more.

With his mouth to her ear, Max asked who was winning. Her look said it all. He mouthed the words, ‘Silly question?', and she nodded.

For a little more than thirty minutes Max stood alongside the woman he wanted so much to keep in his life, but it was her nearness rather than the game that held him there. No way could he get excited over something so inactive and, not understanding the rules, the arrangement of the pieces on the board told him nothing. It came as a complete surprise, therefore, when the Gunner moved one of them and the silent watchers were galvanized into excited applause. Livya was plainly thrilled, so Max deduced the RAF had to hand over the title to the army.

He clapped politely while others were cheering and stamping their feet, as visibly excited as if they had watched a ten-round boxing match, or the Olympic butterfly stroke final. The players solemnly shook hands before the cup was presented, then the winner was surrounded by well-wishers, including Livya. Although Max found it all slightly over the top for a board game, he told himself he had better bone up on chess, because it was likely to feature very strongly in his hopes for the future.

Livya eventually crossed to him, her eyes shining with delight. ‘Brilliant, brilliant! He's a star.'

‘I'll take your word for it.'

They made for the door. ‘There's to be a farewell drink session here later, before we all go our separate ways tomorrow.'

‘Go
tomorrow
?' he exclaimed hollowly.

‘The championship is over. There's no reason for us to stay.'

He was utterly dismayed. ‘Isn't there?'

Seeing his expression, she said softly, ‘I could leave the party after a token appearance and go somewhere with you to compensate for Saturday night. If you'd like to, that is.'

‘I'd like it so much, I'll tell them you can't make it to the chess party.'

She smiled up at him. ‘I'm honour bound to attend, but I'll slip away as soon as poss. Shall I book the ticket kiosk, or will you?'

Growing warm again after the brief chill of her prospective departure, Max returned her smile. ‘Don't joke, ma'am. It might very well be the ticket kiosk this time.'

Thinking of Lucy Farmer's domination of a relationship, Max added firmly that he would book dinner and a room wherever he could at such short notice. As he said it, he felt the renewed pressure of having to make this one night so good she would want more.

They lingered in the fading afternoon light as people vacating the hall flowed around them. Livya then said, ‘I heard that the woman and her little girls are in deep shock and unable to speak. What a tragedy! Is that why you have time to yourself right now?'

Max nodded. ‘Bit of a hiatus. It'll start up again as soon as they can be questioned.'

‘No home leave for Christmas?'

‘Depends. What'll you do?'

‘Spend a few days with my parents and various relatives in Dorset. They've a cottage beside a stream. Rather chocolate-boxy, but charming and comfortable. I actually love it there.'

‘Sounds just right for a family Christmas,' he commented, thinking how much he would like to be there with her. ‘Look, I must put in another hour or two on the paperwork before finishing for the day.'

‘Well, I'm glad you played hookey for a while. You might not have realized it, but you witnessed an outstanding victory for a lad who's only before competed in junior league games,' she said as they walked to his car. ‘Gunner Kinsey is sure to command international recognition before long, as Ian Luckett would have done, poor kid. He was another world champion in the making. Everyone said so.'

‘So what stopped him?' asked Max, half his mind on making a start on phoning around to secure a room for this special night.

‘Surely you remember the case. It made huge headlines in the press three years ago.'

The year Susan and our son were killed
. ‘I was in Cyprus for six months around that time.'

‘Ah. It shocked the residents of his home village, of course, but the sleepy little place was inundated by hordes of complete strangers bringing flowers, teddies, toy rabbits, heart-shaped balloons and stuffed, hand-knitted chess pieces, all bearing messages of love and grief for a boy they'd never met or even heard of before his death. It caused Estelle Luckett to have a mental breakdown. Locals said she believed her son was being stolen by people claiming her loss as their own. Understandable, I felt. A year later, the Lucketts divorced, unable to cope with bereavement and the widespread publicity surrounding the killing.'

They halted beside Max's car and Livya said sympathetically, ‘Your young bandsman's parents might suffer similarly now. Can't you just imagine what they could find outside their door; stuffed Santas, trumpet-shaped wreaths, toy snowmen and penguins, all labelled with heartfelt love and prayers from people they've never known.'

Max hardly heard her last words, because his mind had fastened on something she said earlier. ‘What happened to Ian Luckett?'

She gave a slight frown at the sudden urgency of his tone. ‘He was something of a prodigy. Attended a private school where he studied with pupils two years his senior. Chess was his passion; he became junior champion at eleven. A year later, he was set on by three local thugs, dragged into the woods, robbed of his mobile, a Walkman, some cash and a watch given by his parents to celebrate his chess triumph. They then clubbed him around the head with the limb off a tree and ran off. Because his skull was unusually fragile he bled to death before he was discovered by a man walking his dog.'

‘Right, thank you.' Max slid behind the wheel and drove away deep in thought, unaware of Livya's puzzlement as she watched his car turn the corner at skidding speed. Her words hung in his mind.
Clubbed him around the head . . . Estelle Luckett had a mental breakdown . . . believed her son was being stolen by people claiming her loss as their own . . . a year later the Lucketts divorced.

On reaching Headquarters, Max walked directly to his office bent on solitude. This was the wildest theory he had ever had and he needed to rid himself of it before parading it in front of his team. Yet he felt the familiar excitement that heralded revelation.

Without removing his topcoat he sat before his computer and brought up on screen the service record of Padre Justin Robinson.

Fourteen

T
en days before Christmas. Tom stared at his computer screen registering nothing that was on it. So many soldiers were forced to spend this family time away from their loved ones: he was not one of them, yet he felt deeply depressed. The girls were geared up for a round of parties, and it even seemed possible that he would be able to take Nora to the Sergeants' Mess dinner-dance this weekend. That he could not summon up the gladness he should be feeling added to his low spirits.