French Leave (11 page)

‘No problem. Andrew and I are in Washington.'

Putting two and two together, Clare said, ‘I see. Are you Max's stepmother?'

‘No. I'm his lover.'

The line went dead.

FIVE

T
he great storm rolled around, returning in force when it was thought to have moved on. Hurricane force winds damaged buildings and flattened stands of trees. Lightning burned others in exposed areas. Three people were killed, and many others injured by flying masonry or limbs from trees.

A month's rainfall descended in the first twelve hours, then continued with barely a break for the entire weekend. Water poured from the hills causing the river to breach its banks, thus putting several villages under siege by floodwater. The cooler temperatures were welcomed, but electric power was now lost altogether for long periods due to lightning strikes.

By Sunday morning, eleven military men had not returned from their previous day's excursions from the base, and personnel, if any were crazy enough to want to, were forbidden to leave until further notice. Among the missing was Dan Farley.

Max awoke with a monumental headache, wondering where he was. Then he remembered, and was glad not to be obliged to prepare for a day's work. The faint smell of bacon and sausages cooking made him feel surprisingly nauseous. If they offered him some he would refuse. A cup of tea would be very welcome, however. Trying not to move his head on the pillow, he put out his hand for the watch on the locker beside the bed. Seven forty-five. His knowledge of any kind of medical establishment told him patients were invariably woken at around five and told to swallow pills. He could do with a couple of paracetemol to dull the throbbing in his head. Why was he being ignored?

Without needing to glance at the window, he knew the wild weather was continuing. Rain lashed at the glass panes; wind buffeted the walls and whistled eerily in the quadrangle of empty space enclosed by the building. He wondered if they had yet moved the tree pinning down his car. All the time it was there the road was impassable. The car was a write-off. He would have to sign out a vehicle from the pool until he could replace it.

The half-closed door was opened by Clare Goodey, who was bearing a cup and saucer. She looked fresh and neat in a starched white shirt and slim-fitting grey trousers, and brought in with her the pleasant smell of apples. Susan had sometimes used a shampoo with that kind of perfume. Clare's hair looked fluffy and shiny.

‘Good morning. I allowed you to sleep until you woke naturally.' Putting the tea on the locker, she held out a plastic cup. ‘I don't need to ask if you want these. I'd guess you've quite a headache. Would you like help to sit up?'

‘I can cope,' he said, deciding to wait until she left before attempting to raise himself.

She smiled. ‘I knew you'd say that. It's no reflection on your manhood to accept assistance. The strapping around your chest is going to restrict movement. But tough it out if that's what you'd prefer.'

He took a deep breath, but it hurt so much he shot her a rueful glance. ‘Point taken. I hope those pills are painkillers.'

‘They are. Very effective, too.'

She slipped an arm behind his shoulders, adding impetus to his own efforts to sit. Holding him steady at forty-five degrees, she adjusted the angled support beneath his pillows and eased him back on them. Then she poured water from the jug into a glass and held it out.

‘Swallow the pills before you drink the tea. You look pretty groggy now. They work fast. By the time an orderly brings your breakfast you'll be feeling much happier.'

She turned to go, but he stopped her. ‘Tell me what's going on outside. It sounds horrendous.'

‘It is. Three men came in overnight with injuries caused by storm damage. There's no sign of a let-up yet. The Met boys are predicting another twenty-four hours before the wind drops and flood water begins to recede.'

‘No hope of finding Smith alive now,' said Max, then wondered where that thought had sprung from.

‘Take the pills,' Clare advised dryly. ‘They'll put you in a better frame of mind.' Hesitating in the doorway, she said, ‘There was a call for you at two a.m. Thinking it must be urgent, I answered and offered to take a message. The caller was a woman named Livya. She was immediately concerned that I was a doctor and demanded the facts of your condition to relay to Brigadier Rydal. I wouldn't normally give out details about a patient, but I had heard that your father is with the Joint Intelligence Committee and his ADC is Captain Cordwell, so I assured her you merely had concussion following a freak accident. It appeared to satisfy her, although she declined my offer to give you a message.'

Almost out of sight, Clare turned to look over her shoulder. ‘She said she's your lover, so perhaps you should call her as soon as that headache eases.'

She walked away leaving Max with much to ponder on.

At some time during Sunday night the elements finally calmed and the morning dawned blue and gold, the way summer days should look. Begging a lift to Headquarters, Max saw where his car had been pushed to the side of the road by the crane that had lifted the tree from it. It was a sorry sight. The car had been merely his means of transport, not his pride and joy, so Max's reaction to the sight was only deep thankfulness that the tree had not fallen directly on him. It was a monster.

He had been allowed back to his room late on Sunday afternoon on condition that he rested quietly. His first intention had been to e-mail Livya, but a vicious lightning session had cut off the power again and it remained off until mid-evening. He had then keyed in a full account of what had happened, ending with the assurance of his ability to work on the case of a missing man. He had thanked her for the call he had been too doped up to take, and said Dr Goodey, the new MO, had given him full details of their conversation. He had underscored
full
with his tongue in his cheek. Had there been an element of female verbal sparring between them, he wondered. The e-mail had ended with a request for a return one giving all her news. It had not arrived by the time he'd left his room for Headquarters that morning, more than usually upright due to the strapping around his ribs.

Arriving in his office Max encountered Tom who, because he lived outside the base, was the only member of the team who did not know about the narrow escape Max had had. His friend eyed the plaster high on his temple and the small bald patch where his hair had been cut away to stitch up the more major wound.

‘Hallo, trying to match up to me?' Tom joked, fingering the scar on his own cheek, inflicted by a crazed woman shortly before Christmas. ‘How did you come by that?'

In the telling, Max then heard about the tree blocking the driveway at Tom's rented house.

‘I'm waiting for a crane to move it. Until it's gone we have only one vehicle in use. Nora drove me in this morning, but I'll hire a car if the pool can't come up with one for each of us.' He then noticed how stiffly Max walked. ‘You sure you're up to it today? I'm surprised the reputed harridan allowed you out of her clutches so soon.'

Max smiled. ‘If I were a fighting soldier she wouldn't have, but as I'm “merely a detective” she saw no harm in letting me sit at my desk.'

‘Doesn't rate us too highly, eh?'

‘Compared with combat troops she considers us low risk personnel.' Still smiling, he added, ‘Her bark's worse than her bite, and she knows what's what in medical matters.'

Tom asked casually, ‘A looker?'

‘A
married
looker. End of subject.' Max knew Tom was ever hopeful he would marry again, having been with him when the news of Susan's death had come. He knew about Livya, but he presumably saw the difficulties of that relationship and had his doubts.

They went through to where the team were waiting in the welcome freshness provided by air conditioning that was working. Piercey's close friend, Sergeant Derek Beeny, should have returned from UK leave at the weekend. Aircraft had been grounded for two days, so he was attempting, along with hundreds of others, to board a flight at some time during that day. Unable to get through on the official circuit, he had surprisingly been more successful calling Piercey's mobile phone last night.

After giving this information, Piercey then offered the result of his tour of DVD stores on Saturday, before he had scuttled back to base with admirable foresight of what was to come.

‘These lists Smith made each weekend must have been offered to potential buyers, who marked those items they wanted. Then he went to whoever supplied him and got them at reduced price, to which he added his commission. None of the store managers had caught him stealing. However nifty he was, someone would surely have seen him. He was watched closely during each visit, yet there's no evidence that he was there for any reason other than to list what was for sale.'

‘Your reasoning is probably right,' agreed Tom. ‘In which case we'll have to bring in the local police to spotlight the dealer most likely to be supplying Smith. They'll have the dodgy ones listed on their computer.'

Connie Bush then reported that she and Heather had failed to find evidence that Smith had tried to sell his rifle or other military kit to dealers in that line.

‘We'll put that on hold for the moment,' said Max. ‘Smith could have traded it for cash, or even for a lift in a truck heading for the Dutch border, and the recipient is lying low until he feels safe enough to approach them. Of course, if Smith is actually out on the exercise ground everything will still be with the body. If he's dead elsewhere, whoever comes across him will hopefully call us and leave everything where it is.'

‘If some enterprising Jerry bumped him off and took his gear, we'll get Smith back wearing nothing but an identity tab,' Piercey said in his usual throwaway style.

Tom was again irritated by the man's semi-humorous contributions. ‘In that instance, you can take on the job of finding where the kit ended up. That should keep you out of our hair while we get on with apprehending the killer.' He then changed the subject with deliberation. ‘Just before we convened I made a call to the manager of Smith's bank in town and arranged a meeting with him later this morning. He wouldn't give details of his account over the phone, but he did consent to tell me that Mr John Smith did not have a deposit box at their branch. So that small key in Smith's locker has another use. I'd like to know what it unlocks.'

‘And where it is,' added Heather. ‘Could be in his room at home.'

‘But would he keep the key here?' put in Connie.

‘Yes, if his mother is the type to poke her nose into his drawers and cupboards when he's out of the house. You know how some women are with only sons.'

Max leaned back, then straightened again as the strapping made lounging uncomfortable. ‘Apart from being assaulted by a tree, I had quite a profitable Saturday morning.'

He put the two women and Piercey in the picture about Miller's daughter's serious fall from the bridge. ‘Captain Fanshawe gave me the details when I said that one of his NCOs was less than the high standard he assured me they were. Gave stress over the girl as the root of Miller's vindictive opinion of Smith. He could be right, but the accident was very recent, and we've received the impression that the campaign of hatred against Smith is of much longer standing. Fanshawe denied being aware of it; seemed certain the platoon's NCOs would have reported the problem, which he would have sorted pronto. His very words. I'm sure he would have. Gave me the impression he's entirely on the ball. In which case, why was the treatment of Smith so
un
obvious to a man of his worth?'

Connie put down the pen she had been tapping her teeth with. ‘Sir, is it possible the men of 3 Platoon are all lying to support Miller?'

‘Why would they do that?' demanded Piercey at once.

‘Miller's a favourite with them, so they're vilifying the man who's not here to put his side of the business, in order to take the heat off Miller, who's going through a personal crisis.'

‘You're suggesting they believe we're targeting the sergeant as Smith's killer?' asked Max.

Connie shrugged. ‘Just a thought. As you said, how could so much universal disgust of Smith go unnoticed by the Company Commander? We only have the platoon members' words on the situation, and we know how they tend to close ranks when we're around. I'm not saying there was
no
animosity against Smith, but now he's let them down big time, so they have no hang-ups about painting him even blacker than he is.'

‘You might have something,' mused Heather. ‘Each man we spoke to expressed the same depth of dislike in their own way. They could easily have got together and decided on how they'd play it when questioned.' Warming to the theme, she added, ‘If Smith
had
been subjected to such treatment, why hadn't he asked to see his Platoon Commander to request a move? Could these men be lying their heads off to cover the fact that they've been aiding Smith's lucrative sideline in stolen goods?'

Tom frowned. ‘You're all losing fact in fiction. Smith wasn't interested in moving squads. Soldiering was merely something that provided him with living quarters, food and clothing, plus a large potential market for what he regarded as his prime occupation. And his Platoon Commander certainly noticed Smith's isolation from the rest and mentioned it to Miller. Lieutenant Farley's been with the West Wilts for two months, so the campaign against Smith has been going on for that time at least.'

Staff Sergeant Melly now entered the debate having, as usual, allowed views to be aired before contributing his comments. ‘The notion of mass support for Miller, who we appear to be leaning on, is feasible, but someone put the idea of murder forward with that phone call. Like George Maddox said, it was too bloody hot for any guy to ease his boredom by baiting the Redcaps. What's more, the battalion had just returned from a gruelling exercise and would be in no mood for larking about for the hell of it. So, if we take that call seriously, someone has focussed the spotlight on Purbeck Company and, most particularly, 3 Platoon. Without that call this case would be treated as simple AWOL and we wouldn't now be involved.'