Indian Summer (5 page)

It so happened that Tom had encountered Ben Steele, commander of B Company, the Royal Cumberland Rifles – the
RCR
as they were frequently called – on a complicated case of abduction and murder in the regiment. Promoted to captain now, Steele would be the best man to question about one of his
NCO
s who had been murdered in this curious manner. According to Frank Priest, Steele had been involved in the trouble in Iraq and with Starr's bid to get her husband out of the Army before the Afghan deployment, so he would know Philip Keane well enough to provide some input.

Approaching the water tank Tom saw two Redcaps dismantling the posts and crime scene tapes, so he pulled over and crossed to have a word with them. He was not surprised to learn that close examination had produced negative results. The area had been trampled and scattered with litter by hundreds who had enjoyed the performances throughout yesterday. The small platform had been more rewarding. The fingerprints there could be checked with those of people known to have been on it, which would leave others from whoever had put the body in the tank.

They all knew that these alone would not lead them to the killer. This forensic evidence would only become useful when they had definite suspects for comparison. As things stood, Keane would have been killed by one of thousands on the base. Only by interviewing anyone intimately concerned with the activity in the tank, and every person who knew the victim and his absent wife, would they begin to piece together the events leading to the disaster that had overtaken this soldier and his family.

With that in mind Tom moved to where a small group of men were emptying the tank, and addressed a muscular man with three stripes on his sleeve, who was overseeing the job.

‘Sergeant Figgis?'

The man swung to face Tom. ‘Who wants him?'

‘Sar'nt Major Black,
SIB
.'

‘Ah, guessed you'd be along soon, sir. I'm Cruz. That's Roley Figgis by the pump. We're real upset about what happened here last night. Should've been emptied right away, but Lieutenant Sears said it was
OK
to do it today. Would've had it completed by mid-morning 'cept the Redcaps wouldn't let us near until half an hour ago.'

Tom nodded. ‘So you're the guy who made the shark and other fearsome creatures?'

He grinned. ‘My old man used to fashion them for us kids. I got four brothers and three sisters. When Mr Sears said we had to put on some sort of show to keep level with the others, I got this up with Roley.' His grin widened. ‘Better than blowing things to bits as a demo of what Sappers do, eh?'

‘How well did you know Phil Keane?'

Cruz was unfazed by the sudden question. ‘Never heard of him until the Redcaps woke me up middle of the night asking where I'd been after we finished here. Apart from our Field Section I don't know any regimental guys 'cept other athletes.' His grin broke out again. ‘I'm a sprinter and hurdler. Inter-Services champion two years ago.'

‘I'll need details of where you obtained the materials for creating those models, and the names of everyone who was in any way involved in their manufacture. While you get your brain around that, I'll talk to Sar'nt Figgis.'

The diver had moved up on to the platform where he was taking the shark, sea snakes, conger eels and other synthetic creatures from two men in swim trunks who had entered the quarter-filled tank to get them.

Tom climbed the metal steps to the platform. ‘Roland Figgis?'

The Sergeant studied Tom's starched white shirt and grey trousers, but clearly did not identify the Corps tie for he asked somewhat harshly, ‘Who the hell are you?'

Tom told him equally harshly and was gratified by the immediate change of manner. ‘Sorry, sir, this business has shaken me up. Cruz and I were willing to clear this last night – we hadn't any plans – but Lieutenant Sears said to leave it. He was insistent. Said we'd need a rest after a heavy day. Well, I
was
pretty knackered. Been at it since mid-morning. Needed a feed, too. Best to operate in water with empty guts. Soon as we finished here, Cruz and I had some nosh, played a couple of games of darts, checked our emails then hit the sack.'

‘So how well did you know Philip Keane?'

Same unfazed response. ‘Never heard of him until now.' Figgis's tanned face registered curiosity tinged with concern. ‘Why would someone choose to kill him with that bloody jellyfish? Points the finger at us, doesn't it? The Section's only been here two months and we've had blokes on staggered leave for most of that time, so what's the deal with using our gear for it?'

‘You'll know when we find out,' said Tom, keeping quiet the fact that Keane had not been killed in the tank, just dumped there later. ‘Where were you before coming here?'

‘In the Stan,' he replied, using the abbreviation some troops favoured when speaking of Afghanistan.

‘With the Cumberland Rifles who returned six days ago?'

‘With whoever needed our help. You've no idea. Kandahar base stretches for eight miles in most directions. It's a bloody circus.'

‘I know. I was out there a couple of years back when some of our guys were slaughtered,' Tom said tensely.

Figgis nodded. ‘You have to take it on the chin as part of the job . . . but
this
.' He waved a hand at the almost empty tank. ‘The work of some psycho, must be.'

Tom chose not to follow that direction. Instead, he asked for the names of people who were in any way involved in yesterday's performances, and those of any other service personnel who used the aqua club of which Figgis was a member. ‘You and Sar'nt Cruz should bring that info to my office by noon tomorrow,' Tom instructed, eyeing the shark that was being lifted from the water. It looked all too real. ‘Have you ever wrestled with a real one?'

Figgis laughed. ‘Christ, no! They scare the shit out of me.'

Back in Headquarters and starting to access the report on Keane's action in Iraq, Tom was obliged to answer his mobile.

‘Sar'nt Major Black,' he muttered, his attention on the computer.

‘Clare Goodey here, Mr Black. Corporal Keane's body is to be collected from the Medical Centre at fifteen hundred. If you want to view it again you should come along before then.'

‘Thanks, but I have all the info I need until the pathologist's report comes in. How long before we get it, d'you think?'

‘Who knows? I'll do my best to get him to speed it up.'

‘That'd be helpful, ma'am.' He made to disconnect then realized she was still speaking.

‘. . . glad of his input.'

‘Sorry, say again,' he murmured, his attention still on the facts rolling up the computer screen.

‘I heard sounds in Max's apartment, so I went to investigate knowing he was supposed to be in the UK. He's back.'

THREE

I
t was hardly a good start to what they had planned, but Max could not help relishing what had happened. A little competition often spiced up an uncertain relationship.

He and Clare Goodey rented self-contained, one-bedroomed apartments which had a spacious dining-cum-sitting-room between that they both were free to use if entertaining on a large scale. During the few weeks they had been in residence neither of them had had occasion to use the adjoining room which, in fact, also provided access to both apartments without going from one front door, down two flights of steps, along the pavement and up two flights to reach the other front entrance.

Max had given Clare the key to his door leading to the shared room so that she could gain access in an emergency. It had not occurred to him to email her about his change of plans, so Clare had walked in ready to do battle with whoever was taking advantage of his absence. She had come face to face with Livya in primrose bra and pants, and himself wearing just a small towel after showering. The initial silence could have been cut with a knife.

Max had performed introductions and both women had handled the situation with self-assurance as each studied the other in critical manner. Clare had swiftly withdrawn leaving another heavy silence soon broken by the sound of running water as Livya took her shower.

After the bride and groom had departed yesterday for a secret destination, Max and Livya had talked long into the night about the demands of their professions against the demands of their emotions. The problem still seemed insurmountable, which upset them both. Eventually, Max had suggested that as they both had fourteen days' leave they should take a carefree holiday. It would be the longest period they had yet spent together, and would surely bring a resolution to the question of whether marriage would work for them. Livya had been doubtful on that score, maintaining that their professional lives would remain the stumbling block. However, she had finally agreed that a long holiday in Europe would be highly enjoyable provided they did not discuss the pros and cons of marriage the whole time.

She had been impressed by the apartment, where they planned to spend the night before setting out in Max's car across Germany, stopping whenever and wherever they fancied. They had been too tense for lovemaking last night so, taking an early morning flight from Heathrow, the intention had been to go to bed until late afternoon when they would drive to Max's favourite riverside restaurant for dinner. Guessing that programme was now a non-starter, Max dressed in cotton slacks and a polo shirt for
lunch
at the riverside inn. Nighttime sex was the better option, anyway. They could have been at it when Clare walked in.

Livya made no comment when she came from the bathroom to find him fully dressed. The fact that she had on fresh underwear confirmed what Max had suspected. Sex had been put on hold for now. Livya took pale green trousers and a cream shirt from her case and began to dress.

‘You didn't explain that you'd moved into
shared
accommodation.'

‘There's a large room for entertaining, which can be used by the tenants of both apartments, that's all. Individually, not at the same time.'

She raised her eyebrows in mock surprise. ‘No joint Christmas parties; drinks and hijinks to see in the new year?'

‘Haven't been here long enough to find out,' he replied calmly. ‘Anyway, I was hoping to be with you at Christmas. You know I'm not one for drinks and hijinks with a rowdy group.'

‘Mmm, bit of a spectre at the feast, you,' she said in throwaway manner. ‘Working for Andrew means I have to attend a number of parties, which I actually enjoy as much as he does.'

‘Yes, well, my father ticks all the boxes whatever he participates in.' Max wondered if she was doing a bit of tit-for-tatting here, knowing his occasional suspicions of her true feelings for her charismatic boss.

‘He certainly ticks them all for Helene.' She buttoned her shirt over her lacy bra and changed direction abruptly. ‘Do you have a key to her apartment, too?'

Ah, so they were definitely flexing foils, were they? ‘When she goes away, I'll doubtless hold one in case of emergencies.' He pointed to the small table by the door to the central room. ‘She returned mine, as you see, but I'll give it back to her when we leave tomorrow.'

‘You know her well enough to trust her, do you?'

Thinking how lovely she looked in the casual but very smart clothes, with her dark hair tumbled after confinement in the shower cap, Max wanted an end to this senseless episode. ‘I work with Clare. She's the base Medical Officer, and a damned good one. We're colleagues. And friends, I guess. Of course I trust her. There's no cause for jealousy, you know.'

He had said the wrong thing; he knew from the brightness of her eyes. He could have kicked himself.

She sat heavily on the nearest twin bed and gave a light laugh. ‘Darling, I know you resent my close relationship with Andrew; suspect my admiration for him swamps my feelings for you, is a barrier to your need for a gold ring and a marriage certificate as proof of my love.
I
don't need reassurance, believe me. What is there about that woman to cause jealousy? She's a typical doctor: cool, clinical, unemotional. My only concern is whether she should be allowed access to your living quarters in your absence. I'd
never
give a key to my apartment to a neighbour.' She paused significantly. ‘The work I do for Andrew is highly confidential. In the wrong hands . . .'

‘The work I do is also highly confidential, don't forget,' he returned, growing angry, ‘But it's locked away at Headquarters. You surely don't keep sensitive documents at home. That would constitute criminal negligence.'

‘Of course I don't! You should know me . . .'

Her hot denial was interrupted by the shrill of the landline telephone. Max was initially tempted to ignore it, then decided the call would provide a cooling down period. Without taking his glance from Livya's flushed face he took up the receiver.

‘Captain Rydal.'

‘Your famous guts surpassed themselves this time,' Tom's voice said cheerily. ‘How the hell did they know there was a complex case under way which you wouldn't want to miss out on?' When Max made no immediate comment, Tom added more quietly, ‘I guess things didn't work out in the
UK
. Sorry about that, but there's plenty for you to get your teeth into on this.'

Still studying the woman on his bed, Max murmured, ‘We're overnighting here before heading off for two weeks by car.'

A brief silence from Tom. ‘Your neighbour forgot to mention you had company. Drive carefully . . . and leave your mobile at home.'

‘
Tom
,' Max said sharply before his friend could disconnect. ‘Tell me what's under way.'

‘Sure you want to hear?'

‘Yes.'

As Max listened to all Tom related his interest grew sharper and sharper, and his sense of professional responsibility overrode the irritation of his spat with Livya. No longer watching her, he threw questions at Tom to clarify certain points.