Merrily Watkins 11 - The Secrets of Pain (47 page)

He sat down in the hard chair behind an old oak desk stained with cup marks. Drumming his fingers on a worn blotter.

‘SAS are the finest in the world at what they do. Train, train and train again. And, the pressures being commensurate with the rewards of the job, there’s little doubt that some chaps get drawn into odd byways. But the idea of a
cult
…’

‘In fairness, much of it seems to have developed after they left the Regiment.’

James grimaced, drew in his chin.

‘This Roman army business… you’re suggesting that’s actually in some way become central to the exercises devised by Jones and Mostyn for their clientele?’

‘Think what people pay to go on Buddhist retreats and stay at ashrams. Add to that a powerful physical regime. And the almost mystical glow that surrounds the SAS.’

‘And this includes the ritual slaughter of animals?’

‘I… believe so. For some participants. The ones considered suitable. And discreet. And able to meet the fees.’

‘An elite?’

‘Belonging to an elite has always been very sexy.’

‘And not really a swindle, I’d guess.’

‘Only in that nobody should have to pay for spiritual knowledge. No, I… I think it almost certainly works. I think it alters them psychologically and in quite dramatic ways. I think there might even…’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘Doesn’t matter. But you have to remember we’re looking at something specifically shaped to the military two thousand years ago, when life was cheaper that we can imagine. Which, today, might have some questionable side effects. On some people.’

‘Dangerous, you think.’

‘Very. I think.’

James said. ‘What about Savitch?’

‘That’s all circumstantial. The link is Hardkit, which supplies
the equipment and know-how for Savitch’s hunting and paint-balling weekends.’

‘Was at his press launch today. Everything in place, all boxes ticked. Green energy, but also farmer-friendly.’ James craned forward onto his elbows. ‘No right at all to resent that man. My family, what’s left of it, we can’t do anything for the community any more – barely hold ourselves together. But Savitch is… Used to hear him sneering at anything that didn’t fit his ludicrous concept of what country life should be about. Now he smiles tolerantly, witters on wistfully about tradition. Not a sham, as
such
, he just…’

‘You can’t stand him, can you?’

‘Is it that obvious?’ James looked pale with defeat. ‘But he’s such an
insubstantial
man that it’s hard to see him getting down and dirty with the likes of Jones and Mostyn.’

‘I don’t think he does. I think that killing, for Savitch, is something done from a safe distance with a twelve-bore and nice gloves. I think he simply passes some clients on to Jones, probably via Mostyn, for a cut. And even then, I suppose, it’s like SAS selection – many won’t go all the way.’

‘And the ones who don’t slink quietly away? Don’t like it, Merrily. Army turns out men. Danger of this creating…?’

‘Monsters.’

‘All right. What’s the bottom line?’

‘That’s where it gets even more speculative.’

‘Then speculate.’

‘I’d much rather go and lie down in a dark room, but…’ Merrily pulled out her cigarettes without the usual request for clearance ‘… it’s just about conceivable, James, that, somewhere along the line, this takes in the killing of your cousin Mansel.’

She lit up, as the legs of James’s wooden chair screeched on the stained flags.

William Lockley was back on the phone within half an hour of James’s call. James just listened, his chin retracted, eyes half-closed.

‘Have to remember Mrs Watkins is not actually in your employ, William,’ he said after a while, then spent some more time listening and then barked, ‘All right, will do,’ and hung up. ‘William conveys his respects, with a polite request for you to pop into Hereford.’

‘Me? I’d’ve thought…’ Merrily had her cigarettes out again. She shut the pack and pushed it back into her bag. ‘Where in Hereford?’

‘Seems Colin Jones is coming into police headquarters in about an hour. Seems that after the events of last night, the police thought it might be a good idea to visit his premises. Jones said he wouldn’t be there today but, as he’d be in Hereford, he’d be happy to call in at Gaol Street. He says he won’t be pressing charges against the man who broke into his premises.’

‘Good to know,’ Merrily said, guarded.

‘Lockley thinks it would be a good idea to make the most of Jones’s presence. In view of what you told me, they’d like you to be there when they talk to him. As a consultant.’

‘They?’

‘William himself and the Senior Investigating Officer. Howe.’

‘Annie Howe asked for me? I don’t think so, James.’ She watched Alison leaning the barrow up against the house wall, then taking off her leather gloves. ‘I expect I’m the one who’ll look stupid if none of this stands up to scrutiny.’

‘That bother you?’

‘If it bothered me, I’d be in a different job.’

She called in at the vicarage to put out dried food for Ethel and check the answering machine. For once, no messages. On the way out, she noticed a brown Jiffy bag propped up against the wall and took it back inside.

The bag contained a large-format, lavishly illustrated hard-back book.

RISKING ALL
The SAS Experience

Another kill-and-tell Regiment memoir. By Trooper Z. There was a sheet of Black Swan headed notepaper, marking a page, Barry’s scrawl across it:
More from the Public Sector
.

There were just pictures on the marked pages, in colour. One with a pencilled cross against it showed a bunch of smiling guys in T-shirts holding up white mugs. The caption said:

Teatime in Colombia for (L to R) Greg, Syd, Jocko and Nasal
.

Various guns were laid out on the parched grass in front of them. Syd was only vaguely recognisable; his teddy bear’s eyes were covered, like all their eyes, with a black rectangle. All dead. All dead now.

Except for Byron, of whom there was no sign.

C
ARLY SAID
, ‘V
ICTORIA
… I reckon she thought Joss didn’t like her. Well, nobody likes her that much, to be honest. And like most of them she don’t care, but Joss was her little sister, you know?’

Little sister. Lemon hair and a frozen scowl. But you forgot; underneath, they were both little girls, citrus-haired Joss and Carly, with her black nails. Little girls who got the life beaten out of two women they didn’t know.

Carly said, ‘Victoria’s, like, I’ll find out who they are and we’ll deal with them?’

Bliss nodded in an understanding kind of way, while wondering how he could make her cry.

‘She explain exactly what she planned to do to them?’

‘Just deal with them. We never thought. It’s not like she’s, you know, gone that far before, is it?’

‘As far as we know, Carly. As far as we know. Tell me what you saw.’

‘Didn’t see nothing. I wasn’t looking. I mean, it was cool at first, but then you thought, like, maybe it’s not…’

‘Not that cool, eh?’ Bliss said. ‘Killing people.’

Carly turned away. Bliss eyed her with dispassion.

‘Let’s go back. I’m talking about after Joss phoned Victoria to say the sisters had left the Monk’s Head and were heading up towards the Cathedral. What happened then? What did Victoria do?’

‘She’s, like, in the middle of the street? The narrow street with the cobbles?’

‘Church Street.’

Amazing how kids could be born and grow up in this city and didn’t know the names of its streets.

‘And she, like, she’s got her arms folded – like this? And she’s not moving. Like, if anybody tries to come past, they’re gonner get… you know? And when these two seen her just standing there—’

‘The Marinescu sisters?’

‘Yeah. They, like cut off into this other street?’

‘East Street.’

‘Yeah.’

‘And did you follow them?’

‘We started to, but Vic walks over then, and she’s with this guy?’

‘Guy you knew?’

‘No.’

‘Joss know him?’

‘Don’t think so.’

‘You know who he is now?’

‘No.’

‘I’ll be asking you to describe him in a minute, and it better not be like the description you gave of the non-existent fellers who followed the Marinescus out. But let’s not break the flow.’

‘Uh?’

‘Was there anybody else in East Street?’

‘No.’

‘What happens next?’

‘Vic… she puts on these gloves.’

‘Kind of gloves? Black suede? Woollen mittens?’

‘Rubber gloves. Long. That, like, unroll up your arm?’

‘And the guy? He put on gloves too?’

‘I din’t see, to be honest.’

Bliss glanced at Mr Ryan Nye, who was looking down into his hands. Not yet five o’clock, but the light seemed to be fading early today, as if something had sent the year into reverse. Up at
the end of the table, Karen was watching the tape machine as if it was a lie detector.

Bliss said, ‘Go on, Carly.’

‘Vic catches up with the… you know, the women, and she’s talking to them? We couldn’t hear what they were saying. Then, it’s like one of them… she just trips? Like, stumbles over? And the bloke’s come out of, like, nowhere, and he catches her.’

‘What was Victoria doing?’

‘Laughing. Just starts laughing real loud, and going like
oops
, kind of thing. Like the woman was a bit pissed and she’d slipped. And then… they all, like, vanished. That’s all we seen.’

‘Vanished where?’

‘Into this… where people park?’

‘And what did you and Joss do then?’

Carly looked at Mr Nye. Mr Nye didn’t even look up.

‘I think, Inspector,’ he said, ‘that you can understand how intimidating my client must have found Victoria Buckland. Even though she had no reason to believe that Ms Buckland’s intentions extended beyond, shall we say, putting the fear of God into the Marinescu sisters.’

‘Apart from the gloves,’ Bliss said.

Mr Nye said nothing.

‘Carly,’ Bliss said, ‘didn’t you or Joss feel tempted to have a little peep at what – or who – was going down on the car park?’

‘No.’

‘Really?’

‘I don’t wanner talk about this no more.’

‘Where were you, exactly?’

‘Just round the side of the building?’

‘And you saw nothing. But you surely heard—’

‘They weren’t even
from
here!’ Now Carly was jerking up and back like somebody had set light to her clothes. ‘They were bad bitches! They robbed Joss’s gran! The bitches robbed her handbag with all her personal stuff in it and she was so upset she died!’

‘Is that why you took
their
handbags, Carly?’

‘I never took nothing!’

‘With the pictures of their parents, and the little dog?’

‘Leave me alone.’

‘Um, Carly,’ Mr Nye said. ‘You remember what we talked about.’

‘I wish I was dead. I wish I was fucking
dead
!’

Bliss shook his head, settling back in his chair, watching stupid little Carly Horne come slowly to pieces for the tape.

It was one of those country garages that didn’t sell petrol and didn’t have a shop, looked like a semi-derelict chapel of rest. A bloke in brown overalls seemed to recognize Cornel’s Porsche, came shambling round to his wound-down window.

‘Wannit again, chief?’

‘Same one as before?’

The bloke nodded. Cornel got out his wallet, turned to Jane.

‘This is where we leave the car.’

‘Why?’

‘Because it just is.’

Cornel drove the Porsche round to the back of the garage where an old grey van was parked. When he got out, the garage guy handed him a ring of keys with a wooden tag on the end. Cornel gave him a small fold of notes, then leaned into the Porsche.

‘For you, girlie, the luxury transport is history.’

The sun had gone in. Jane slid out of the Porsche, zipping up her jacket, beginning not to like this again. It had taken them a long time to get here, as if Cornel had been stalling. They’d walked around Leominster and he’d kept wanting to buy her things, like she was his girlfriend now, and she’d kept refusing, while feeling a bit sorry for him. And then they’d gone into a pub, where she’d had one cider and he’d swallowed two pints of bitter, which would probably put him over the limit. He didn’t appear to care.

Now he was around the back of the Porsche, opening up the boot, pulling out a leather bag and a bulked-out rucksack, lugging them back to the van.

‘Get in.’

‘What’s this about?’

‘Just get
in
, eh, Jane? This is necessary.’

It was dark inside the van, which smelled of oil and rust. Cornel clanged the clutch pulling out into the lane. Jane fastened her seat belt. The strap was frayed and flaked with mud.

‘That guy seemed to know you.’

‘That’s because I’ve hired this heap a couple of times before.’

‘What for?’

‘Because a Porsche can be a bit obvious?’

‘Oh. Right.’

Jane supposed it would, at a cockfight.

‘So we’re going there now?’

‘Wait till dark.’

‘But…’
Oh God
. ‘You mean we’re actually going to a…?’

‘That bother you?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Thought you wanted evidence.’

‘Erm…’

OK, nailing Savitch would be the best thing she’d ever done in her life. And there might be a few other people there she could identify, maybe even sneak some pictures of them on the mobile, shot from the hip. But what if anybody recognized her? No secret in Ledwardine where she stood on these issues.

Jane watched Cornel wrestling with the steering. He was driving without a seat belt. She’d felt sorry for him a couple of times and, OK, she was grateful that he was actually going to help her, but that didn’t mean she could actually like him. There were two sides to him: the ruthless and the kind of weak. And he’d done things, obviously. He’d shot things without a thought, and he’d been to a cockfight and wanted to eat a cock because he’d lost money on it.