Czech Mate (7 page)

‘Mmm, that's a possibility. Remember there are also a lot of frustrated lonely wives on a base this size. Husbands are often away on duty, or out with their mates doing man things. Many are forced to fantasize.'

‘Like Helmut Weber who turns sensible daughters into gushing ninnies?'

She smiled. ‘He
is
quite a hunk. Yes, like him. Other frustrated women get the reverse urge. They want to be in control, to dominate. They see a vulnerable young lad entering puberty and yearn to initiate him, hold him in thrall. You should look very carefully among the females as well as the males connected with this case. You know the old adage about a woman scorned.'

The blizzard had blown itself out leaving a bright, calm morning. Snowploughs had cleared roads around the base so military routine could resume after the weekend break. Having little faith in new heating systems with frozen motors, Connie Bush was glad to be driving to interview Mrs Robinson in what should be a warm, comfortable home. She had not met the Padre's second wife. Her only guidance on what to expect was that she was ‘very smiley but too old for a party'.

It was a good description. Connie had frequently found children were very observant witnesses. Estelle Robinson wore a grey tweed pleated skirt and a wine-coloured jumper with a single strand of pearls more suited to a much older woman. She
was
very smiley, which contrasted curiously with her cool, commanding manner.

Leading the way to a sitting-room where a log fire burned, she told Connie the coffee was ready and waiting. ‘I knew any police person was certain to arrive exactly on time.' Smiling broadly, she pointed to an armchair near the window. ‘Sit there!'

Obeying the order, Connie surveyed the contents of the room with a professional eye. Prim. There was no other word for it. A few inoffensive ornaments – nothing even bordering on statuettes of naked women – and the framed prints of country scenes were innocent of any suggestion of naughty goings-on in the hay. So it was the home of a man of the cloth and his lady, but Connie had a few times encountered Justin Robinson, an ideal soldiers' churchman ready to enjoy a drink and a blue joke with his flock. What had drawn him to this lacklustre woman?

He came in as Estelle handed Connie coffee in a plain white cup and saucer with a matching plate bearing a mince pie, a tall man with laughing eyes and crinkly greying hair.

‘Hallo!' he said heartily. ‘It's Sergeant Bush, if I remember correctly. How are you?'

‘I'm very well, sir. It's nice to see you again, even if we only meet when something unpleasant has happened.'

‘Yes. Well, sadly, our work leads us into it. I'm fortunate to have the upside as well. Weddings, christenings, baptisms, all the uplifting singing of hymns.' He laughed boisterously as he sat to accept coffee and pie from his wife. ‘You get your kicks from collaring the villains, I suppose. Have a go at that mince pie. My wife makes the best I've ever tasted, and I've eaten a good number during my parochial visits. Go on, try it! There are plenty more in the kitchen.'

Connie sipped her coffee knowing she would have to eat and exclaim over it before she departed, but delaying the moment would save her from another.

‘I intended to drive over to see young Kevin, but the road won't be open until this afternoon,' the Padre said through a mouthful of pastry and mincemeat. ‘The two girls are at school today and their mother should be back at home for them when they return. A nasty shock for the family. At yesterday's services Estelle and I were made aware of the concern felt by other childen at the party. An attack of that ferocity on a younger child could have proved fatal.'

‘Indeed it could,' his wife agreed, ‘although I told you, dear, that an adult accompanied the little ones when they needed to go up to the toilets.'

Now they had reached the crux of the matter, Connie embarked on her questions. ‘Did you take any up there, Mrs Robinson?'

The smile appeared again and remained fixed regardless of her words. ‘I was kept busy in the main hall. No opportunity to sneak away like that. So many demands from children wanting the assurance and comfort of an older woman, especially over torn costumes, tummy ache or coming last in the games. I was kept on my toes all evening.'

Knowing this to be no more than self-important imagination, Connie asked, ‘So you had no opportunity to take note of when Kevin slipped away?'

‘My dear, there were two hundred children at the party. There was a constant stream going up and down the outside stairs. Impossible to remember one boy.'

‘But he went up there alone, so could have easily been noticed. The Medical Officer's sons discovered Kevin when they slipped up there together before the parade was about to start, because the younger boy was afraid he wouldn't be able to wait until it was over. The attack must have occurred shortly before that.'

‘Then I certainly wouldn't have noticed anything. I was to act as judge and present the prizes, so I was totally occupied with the importance of that duty.' The smile never wavered. ‘More coffee?'

Connie allowed her cup to be refilled and tried to analyse her reaction to her hostess's bouncy brightness. Was it hiding more complex feelings, or had Estelle Robinson seen too many old black and white films depicting vicar's wives as cheery scatterbrains and adopted that image on her marriage?

‘During your hectic duties on Saturday night you would surely have been aware of any serious squabbles between the children. Especially the older boys.'

Mrs Robinson slid another mince pie to sit beside the untouched one on Connie's plate, and smiled. ‘The evening was full of squabbles, my dear. To ask such a question shows you've had little experience of children en masse. When they're overly excited and competitive they're like small demons ready to poke each other's eyes out, if necessary. Girls can be as venomous as boys. They pinch, scratch and kick, whereas boys use fists and any handy weapon. Young humans are like young animals. They obey basic, inborn instincts that only maturity teaches them to subdue and control. Whoever attacked that boy will now be suffering from belated guilt which will very soon drive him to confess and expect forgiveness as usual.' The smile broadened. ‘Wait a few days and you'll have the culprit. No need for all these questions.'

Justin Robinson rose to pour more coffee in his cup and to select another golden pie. ‘My wife taught psychology to college students for fifteen years, Sergeant. She understands the human psyche very well.'

Leaving the house ten minutes later with two mince pies carefully wrapped in a paper napkin, Connie reflected that the Padre's wife understood
her
psyche not one whit. Far from being impressed by the woman's superior knowledge of human behaviour, Connie had found her irritating, smug and patronizing. Unfortunately, police professionalism and the fact that she was in the home of a major and his lady prevented her from doing what her psyche had urged. Her only opportunity to satisfy that urge was a rubbish bin at the end of the road into which the perfect mince pies went with great force.

Phil Piercey tracked Sapper Rowe down on the eastern side of the base, where he was with a team clearing snow and ice from security lights and cameras surrounding the armoury. Squaring with the lance-corporal in charge, Piercey invited Rowe to sit in the comparative warmth of his car while they talked. Large but compact, with brown hair and alert brown eyes, the young RE seemed concerned by Piercey's arrival.

‘I told the Redcap all I could remember about that business on Saturday night,' he said immediately. ‘I haven't thought of anything else, although I've been over it in my mind several times.'

‘We've taken over the case and I need some answers. Get in my car, please.'

‘I had nothing to do with hitting that boy,' he protested, standing firm in snow that almost topped his boots.

‘The car!' ordered Piercey, who occasionally enjoyed putting the frights on cocky nineteen year olds. Alan Rowe had been alibied by every other adult at the party, who said he had been occupied with the games and competitions the whole time. As all detectives knew, in any large group activity it is impossible for participants to be absolutely certain of the unbroken presence of every person around them. Someone slips outside momentarily, goes to the toilet, fetches something from another room unnoticed.

‘Right then,' Piercey began when they were settled in the warm vehicle. ‘In your statement you claim to have seen nothing unusual, no strangers hanging around, no aggro between the kids and Kevin McRitchie. Is that correct?'

‘Of course. I wouldn't have said it else.'

‘You also stated that you don't know Kevin, couldn't describe him.'

Rowe nodded. ‘There were a couple of hundred kids there. I had to ask their names for the score-cards, because I don't know any of them. I don't go to the married quarters.'

‘Is that so? Mr Fellowes claims you're very good with the tinies and they like you. How come if you never go near them?'

The other man shrugged. ‘I've two younger brothers and two sisters. I'm used to sorting them out; understand little kids. I used to babysit them before I joined.'

‘Babysit for any on the base, do you?'

Rowe glared at Piercey. ‘That's against the rules.'

‘No moonlighting, then?'

‘What is this, Sergeant? I thought you wanted to talk about Saturday night.'

‘Do you go to discos, Rowe?'

‘Like everyone,' he replied edgily.

‘Ever heard a group called Swinga Kat?'

Rowe frowned. ‘The schoolkids? They guested once or twice at the Recreation Centre. They're quite good for their age.'

‘Then you do know Kevin McRitchie and could perfectly well describe him. He leads that group.'

‘The scrawny kid on guitar?' His surprise was genuine.

‘Why say you don't know him?'

‘I don't. I saw him on the stage for about half an hour once or twice, that's all. No idea of his name. Unless he had a guitar in his hand I wouldn't know him from any other kid. He would have been in some sort of costume on Saturday, anyway.'

Piercey fixed Rowe with the steady gaze he used to unsettle those he questioned, and said nothing.

‘Look, Sergeant, I don't even remember writing his name down for any of the competitions or games.'

‘He didn't participate. Thought it too childish for a boy just passed thirteen.' He switched the line of questioning. ‘Did you go up to the toilet or take a group of boys there during the evening?'

‘I'm not stupid,' Rowe said forcefully. ‘The women took that on, and I used the one at the back of the storeroom. I had the key because I put all the equipment there overnight.'

Piercey seized on that. ‘Where was the key overnight?'

‘In Headquarter Company office, where it always is.'

Piercey smiled. ‘Unusual for a young lad like you to give up a Saturday night to entertain tinies, when your mates were surely all in town having a good time. What did your girl think about losing out to a kids' party?'

‘She's on UK leave right now. Back just before Christmas.'

‘Serious, is it?'

‘What's that got to do with the attack on that boy?' Rowe asked, reddening with a mix of anger and embarrassment.

‘Nothing,' lied Piercey, fairly certain now that Rowe was not homosexual. ‘Just interested.'

‘Is that all?'

‘Just one more question. During the party was the storeroom unlocked?'

‘Of course. I had to change the equipment over at the end of each game.'

‘So anyone could have gone through there and out again by the loading door at the back.'

‘I suppose, but . . .'

‘Thank you, that's all.'

Piercey drove off filled with satisfaction. Someone at the Recreation Centre on Saturday had gone through the storeroom, circled the building and entered by the front door, to climb the stairs, snatch the club provided to smash the glass of the fire alarm and clout Kevin with it. A swift return by the same route before absence had been noticed. Yes, it had definitely been an inside job, and he had just sussed out how it had been executed.

Heather Johnson was waiting outside Lucy Farmer's office when the subaltern returned from giving a lecture. Heather had called in at the Section's new headquarters after lunch and before driving to Hedley Company's offices. The heating system was at last sluggishly underway, but it was still much warmer here. She decided there was no need to hurry the coming interview. Although it was merely to get confirmation of what Lieutenant Farmer had said immediately after the attack on Kevin, Heather was sure she could spin it out a bit.

The disadvantage of previously having their headquarters equidistant between the two bases they served was that they only knew the personnel they had dealt with on cases. Now they were living on one of the large military establishments they would soon be familiar with many more. Lucy Farmer was unknown to Heather. She hoped the officer would not be as supercilious as one or two women she had come across.

In fact, Heather was filled with envy on meeting the tall, graceful redhead who had every attribute for a career as an actress or model. Whatever was this beautiful young woman doing dressed in khaki and heavy boots, giving lectures on how to disarm booby trap mines? She herself was short, inclined to be top heavy, and with hair the colour of peanut butter, and she could only dream of looking like Lucy Farmer. To add salt to the wound, the subaltern had the brand of unaffected cordiality people of her class often extended to whoever they met.

‘Come in, Sergeant Johnson. Take a seat,' Lucy said with a smile as she reached her office along the corridor. ‘Lovely weather for skiing. Not so good for working.' Becomingly flushed from the outside temperature, she placed the files she carried on a side-table and sat behind her desk. ‘Captain Rydal indicated that someone would come to corroborate what I told the Redcap corporal on Saturday evening.'