French Leave (15 page)

They looked at each other, then cautiously nodded.

‘Then I must warn you that you will be regarded as suspects for the theft of MoD property, as listed. When Private Smith is apprehended, and able to give his evidence regarding this criminal act, a report will be sent to the Garrison Commander, who will take the appropriate action against you.'

Monday morning brought renewed focus on John Smith at 26 Section Headquarters. The result of Max's interviews with Corkhill and White had provided a probable solution to the theft from the Armoury. The team was unanimous in believing the rifle and ammunition to have been sold locally by Smith, unless he had stashed it somewhere, awaiting the chance to put it back as his tormentors had instructed. Max gave it as his firm belief that Corkhill and White had not taken it from him. Likely lads they certainly were, but each had a strong sense of loyalty to 3 Platoon, Purbeck Company, and, ultimately, to the West Wiltshire Regiment.

George Maddox arrived to reveal that, over the weekend, messages had come in from both the Dorset and Wiltshire police in response to the information on Smith sent out by him. It seemed that Smith's description matched that of a man wanted by them for thefts ranging through DVDs, mobile phones, beer and spirits, top-of-the-range trainers, car accessories and women's sexy underwear. There was even a suspicion that he could be behind the disappearance of a silver golfing trophy from an exclusive club.

‘Sexy knickers!' cooed Piercey in falsetto tones. ‘Was Smith gay?'

‘For his
girlfriend
,' Heather said heavily.

‘A prancing Sloane Ranger from the exclusive
goff
club, of course,' Piercey retaliated.

Tom intervened. ‘There's no evidence to tie these crimes to Smith. His description matches one on their records, that's all. It doubtless fits a number of men.'

George said, ‘They've asked for fingerprints. We're getting underway with that. Interesting point is that these thefts ceased around the time Smith joined the West Wilts, although it still doesn't prove he committed them.' He turned to Max. ‘There's a more serious query from Somerset police. Attempted rape of two girls on the same night, after a Hallowe'en party last year. The Somerset guys are trying to trace the girls to get a definite ID with Smith's picture.'

Connie, who had been uncharacteristically silent, said, ‘That's not Smith's style. Theft, perhaps, because we have evidence of a collection of CDs and DVDs in his locker. But he could have been simply selling on for a local dealer. Store keepers never caught him shoplifting, did they? OK, so Corkhill and White conned him into getting hold of stuff from the Armoury . . .'

‘
If
it was from the Armoury,' inserted Melly quietly. ‘We've no proof of that, because we don't have the items to check on.'

‘No, we haven't,' Connie agreed. ‘Nor have we had any hint or suggestion from women in Purbeck Company, or
any
women on the base, that Smith had been sexually active with any of them. Aren't these guys in the UK leaping in the dark?'

Tom shook his head. ‘We won't get the answer to that until they come up with proof positive.'

‘By which time we'll have found Smith's body in a shallow grave on the exercise area,' said the irrepressible Piercey with an outsized grin.

Heather rounded on him. ‘One of these days
your
body will be found in a shallow grave.'

‘And guess who'll have put it there,' added Tom darkly.

Beeny, who had been on leave in the UK at the time of Smith's disappearance, now offered his thoughts.

‘Isn't it a strong possibility that Smith is hiding out with a local contact?
If
he's the man everyone wants, no way will he return to the UK. More likely he'll stay in Germany.'

Tom nodded. ‘Klaus Krenkel's team have promised to send over a list of all their known pirate dealers of CDs and DVDs. They're in no hurry. They naturally have their own cases as priorities. We can't progress that possibility without their cooperation because it concerns German nationals. Frustrating, but we need to maintain good relations with them.'

The telephone in Max's office rang. He left the discussion to go and take the call, thinking it must be personal or it would have gone to the duty desk.

‘Captain Rydal.'

‘Morning, Max. Will Fanshawe.' A curious pause. ‘Look . . . I could be a little premature on this, but I'm somewhat concerned.'

‘About what?'

Again a slight pause before Fanshawe spoke. ‘Dan Farley took a seventy-two to the UK late on Thursday. Woman trouble. He hasn't come back, or called in.' A sigh came over the line. ‘I stretched a point to let him go because of the impending off to Afghanistan. He knew that and promised he'd return yesterday evening. He's a good, reliable guy, Max.'

‘So he's had an accident, or fallen ill.'

‘Sure, but . . . well, after Smith vanishing in such questionable circs it seems strangely coincidental that his platoon commander fails to arrive back when he should.'

‘You think Dan was responsible for Smith's disappearance?'

‘
Christ, no
! I wasn't suggesting . . . Forget I called. Bad move.'

‘I'll come over,' said Max before any more could be said.

Knowing he had put Fanshawe's back up with that comment, Max half expected the man not to be in his office. The cricket-playing captain was there, however, and definitely not friendly.

‘I said forget it,' he snapped. ‘No way was I making it official. Dan went out looking for Smith off his own bat. It was he who found the SA80 and kit. He exceeded the call of duty. I won't have you labelling him a suspect.'

Ignoring that false accusation, Max asked crisply, ‘Why, precisely, did you call me?'

Fanshawe regarded him silently for some moments before replying. ‘Dan's the last person to play monkey tricks. That he didn't get here last night, and hasn't made contact, means something happened that he had no control over. It's made me uneasy, that's all. The fact that he found evidence of Smith's desertion, after intensive searches by your people had drawn blanks, could have put him in danger.'

He sighed heavily. ‘Yeah, it sounds melodramatic, but so was Smith's vanishing trick. Basic AWOL I'm accustomed to, but the timing of Smith's bid for freedom, and the adverse conditions, make the affair somewhat dodgy. You initially mentioned the hint of murder, and Dan's uncharacteristic behaviour . . .' He waved his hands in a dismissive gesture. ‘A crazy moment, that's all.'

‘I've had crazier ones. Ask my team.' Max sat without being invited to, and smiled. ‘I spoke to Dan Farley, don't forget, and I'd endorse your assessment of his reliability. But you mentioned woman trouble. That can make the most reliable and level-headed of us turn into heedless idiots. He had a framed picture of a good-looking blonde hugging a dog. When I asked if she was his girlfriend, he coloured and said, “Not just at the moment”. Is it she who's causing the trouble?' Seeing the other man's hesitation, he added, ‘This is completely off the record.'

Fanshawe leaned back and linked his hands behind his head. ‘She's playing fast and loose, but he's really gone on her. She called wanting to kiss and make up, with everything that follows kisses. He deserved a favour from me after spending a weekend out in a storm looking for one of his men. So I let him go, although I knew he would make a fool of himself again. His six months' absence in Afghanistan will bring down the final curtain, but I'd prefer him to go out there on a high. The experience will change him; toughen him up. Then he'll see the affair for what it is.'

‘I assume you've called his mobile.'

‘Voicemail.'

‘Been in touch with the girl?'

‘All I know is her family owns kennels somewhere in Sussex. Her name is Trish. Patricia, I suppose. Can't get far with that. There's no guarantee they were meeting there. From the flashpoint signs emanating from Dan I'm sure they'd need a hotel room with thick walls and well-oiled bed springs for the reconciliation.'

‘Poor devil,' commented Max with a wry smile. ‘He's not so far gone he'd let her persuade him to stay longer?'

‘No! I'm certain of that.'

‘Right. I've an interest in this inasmuch as Dan
is
linked with John Smith. Off the record, I'll see what I can find out and pass it on to you.'

They both got to their feet and Fanshawe walked to the door with Max. ‘If I've no info on what's occurred by the morning I'll have to report him to Colonel Dyne as being AWOL.'

‘I'll be in touch before then,' Max assured him, then had a final word. ‘Of course, if Dan should be involved in anything illegal it will become official.'

Max drove to the Mess in the car he had bought on Saturday, and made coffee in his room. He needed to think without risk of distraction. Farley's failure to report back was curious. Commissioned just two months ago, he would be keen to make his mark. Hence his search for Smith? So, however deeply in thrall to the doggy blonde he might be, he was surely highly unlikely to endanger his infant career now by overstaying his leave. And, melodramatic though it might seem, his link with Smith could not be overlooked. Had someone got rid of them both?

The flood of interest from forces in the UK made the need to trace Smith more urgent, in Max's view. It seemed likely that he had successfully stolen a rifle and ammo a month ago from a well-secured building. Was he planning to revert to dealing in arms; far more serious than music and films? No, he would not have left his SA80 in the wood if that were the case.

Was he the man who had committed theft over a large area of the South of England? Music, films, alcohol, upmarket clothes; even a silver golf trophy. A highly successful thief. One with a wide variety of outlets for his haul. Was it possible Smith had enlisted to escape the clutches of the law? Had he hoped to embark on a new, worthwhile life with an army regiment? No, he had taken up his criminal activities again. And had run away again. A leopard and its spots came to mind.

Max stood drinking coffee and gazing blindly from his window. His guts told him there was much more behind the facts they had. He wanted to get to the bottom of why Smith had run, and to where. Then there was the mystery of Dan Farley. What had happened to that love-struck young officer?

On returning to Headquarters he found that Klaus Krenkel's men had sent the list of suspect dealers in CDs and DVDs, along with the venues used by street sellers of mobile phones and iPods, who invariably had moved on by the time the
Polizei
arrived on the scene. Tom was engaged in allotting tasks, so Max slipped into his office and closed the door. An hour later he had traced the Brighteye Kennels in Sussex, whose owners had a daughter named Trish, and he had reserved for himself a seat on the early afternoon flight to Heathrow.

SEVEN

H
eading to Sussex in a hired car, Max felt an almost childish glee in ignoring the satnav. Having been stationed for a number of years within the military parameters of southern England, he knew the area well enough to avoid the lengthy detours these gadgets tended to select, and took the swiftest route to Brighteye Kennels on the outskirts of Lewes.

He had elected to start by investigating the outcome of Dan Farley's romantic weekend, because the young officer risked a charge of absence without official leave on the morrow. If he had been fool enough to put infatuation for the girl before his career he deserved all he would get, but Max hoped to uncover mitigating circumstances. He had been impressed by Farley's brief service record. To throw away such potential for an uncertain sexual relationship would be insane. Now twenty-three, Farley would surely encounter several more women who set him alight before he found one who would stay the course and make a good army wife.

Lost in these thoughts, Max recalled how Susan had set him alight, blinding him to the obvious. She had not taken well to army life; resented his many absences and hated living on Salisbury Plain in winter. After almost four years he still blamed himself for failing to recognize her gradual disenchantment that led her to turn to a corporal with bold eyes and roving hands, who gave her the excitement she had not found in their marriage. Oh yes, he knew well how passion could cloud a man's judgement.

Dining with Clare Goodey on Saturday had made him acutely conscious of how much he missed the company of an attractive woman to share life's pleasures. They had laughed a lot over anecdotes of their respective childhood antics, had discovered mutual interests and had relaxed in the undemanding rapport of professional colleagues.

Max had not attempted to probe Clare's apparent marital split, and she had made no mention of Livya, but that enjoyable evening had made Max even more aware that he needed to be with his lover in a closer, more permanent relationship. Back in his lonely room he had called her but, as she had warned, she was tackling the backlog of work that had accumulated during her absence in Washington and half her mind had clearly been elsewhere. Her warm apology on Sunday had simply exacerbated his frustration.

The possibility of that tree falling a split second later and crushing him had dogged Max over the past week. Not exactly a near-death experience, but pretty damn close enough to one to cause him to review the status quo. So, although he had officially flown to the UK in pursuit of the John Smith case, he fully intended to see Livya and force a resolution to their unsatisfactory situation. First, however, he would visit Brighteye Kennels.

It did not require an automated voice to tell him he had reached his destination; a canine chorus did that. Dogs' dinnertime? He parked by a notice advising visitors to leave their cars in the marked bays, and walked towards the sound of frantic barking. He had always liked dogs. His grandparents had once given him a puppy for Christmas, but they had been obliged to take it back because his father had been posted to Malaysia shortly afterwards. He had tried to persuade Susan that a dog would be good company for her, but she had preferred cats. He had found new homes for the two tabbies after she was killed.