On Eden Street

by Peter Grainger

  Waters smiled briefly and said, ‘And you didn’t get a very long answer.’

  ‘He said, let’s hope she’s as good as some people think she is.’

  Because, of course, Murray knew that it all depended on Cara Freeman, the new squad and the fate of all those who had either volunteered to get on board or who had been press-ganged into doing so. Waters was regularly reminding himself that Murray was one of the latter.

  Serena said, ‘Do you think John meant you and me? Does he think we’ve overestimated her?’

  ‘He’s probably thinking it’s a possibility. He’ll make his own mind up in his own time.’

  ‘But have we? Overestimated her, I mean. Someone somewhere isn’t convinced – they’ve already cut her staffing. It’s a gamble, isn’t it?’

  Waters frowned, slowing as they approached the outskirts of Thetford.

  ‘It is. And I’m trying to remember who first suggested I should get involved…’

  The soldier who approached the car had a sidearm in a holster, and from a few metres away another watched, an automatic rifle held at forty-five degrees across his chest; Serena stared at him and said a little wistfully, ‘I thought about joining the Army once.’

  They handed over their warrant cards. Beyond the gate, a third soldier stood at ease but erect, wearing a different sort of uniform, and Waters wondered whether that was Major Fogarty. Two minutes later they were waved through, and the smartly-uniformed man stepped towards the car as Waters brought it to a halt again.

  ‘Good afternoon. Detective Sergeant Waters? I’m Major Fogarty. We spoke on the telephone earlier.’

  Fogarty was clean-shaven, thick-necked and broad-chested – everything a major ought to be, thought Waters. He got out of the car and they shook hands briefly but efficiently. Fogarty said, ‘It’s a couple of hundred yards. I walked down but it’s going to rain again. If you like, I’ll get in and you can drive to the office.’

  They passed low, single-storey buildings and it seemed that as well as being the regimental headquarters, there were barracks here. They saw individual soldiers moving about with a sense of purpose, and a working party whitewashing another low building without windows that might be a rifle range. Everywhere in between, the grass was perfectly even and closely mown.

  Major Fogarty’s office was in a more modern, purpose-built administrative block, and its second storey seemed to make it tower above the rest of the base. They followed him into a reception area, where a clerk stood up and saluted – Fogarty acknowledged him and then turned right into a short corridor, at the end of which was his office. The window looked over the tarmac where Waters had parked his car.

  As they entered, another officer got up from a seat to the left of Fogarty’s desk – an older man, greying at the temples, with something of a paunch over the belt of his uniform. Fogarty introduced him as Colonel Yates, and there was a further bout of firm handshaking – it was the colonel who invited them to sit in the two chairs that had been placed in front of Fogarty’s desk, before resuming his own seat.

  Then Fogarty explained his own position as an adjutant for the regiment – ‘Just an office-wallah, really!’ – and added that when they were asked to give information about soldiers who had recently served, it was usual for there to be two officers present. Yates nodded and smiled, but Waters had the sense that the interview they were about to have had been prepared for, and the colonel was watching them closely.

  ‘So,’ Fogarty said, ‘Corporal Wortley. I’m hoping that you don’t have him locked up somewhere!’

  In her initial calls, Freeman had not disclosed the reasons for the approach to Wortley’s regiment, and rightly so. Waters reached into his jacket pocket, took out the piece of paper, unfolded it and handed it to Major Fogarty. It was a photocopy of Wortley’s identity card. He said, ‘It would be better news if we did have him in custody, sir,’ and then he explained what had occurred in Eden Street a little over twenty-four hours ago.

  The adjutant stared at the piece of paper in his hand for some seconds before he said, ‘Good God! I don’t know what to say.’

  Waters said, ‘I’m sorry to bring bad news but… Naturally, one of the reasons for our visit is to begin confirming the identity of the person whose body was found. Is that a copy of a genuine identity card, sir, and could you confirm that the serial number belonged to Michael Wortley?’

  Colonel Yates said, ‘Service number. We put serial numbers on our equipment.’

  Waters looked at him and apologised but nothing else came from the older man.

  Fogarty had opened the laptop on his desk. He clicked through various screens until he found what he was looking for, and his eyes went from the piece of paper to the screen several times, making absolutely certain.

  ‘This appears to be a copy of Corporal Wortley’s ID card. The service number matches what we have on his personnel file. The date of birth is correct. The photograph seems to be partially obscured. Is that…’

  Waters said, ‘Yes. The original is blood-stained, I’m afraid. It’s evidence, which is why we haven’t cleaned it up.’

  Fogarty shook his head, and said, ‘Nevertheless, that is Michael Wortley. Corporal Wortley. What on earth happened to him?’

  Serena had said nothing since they entered the building but Waters didn’t need to look at her now – he knew she had sensed the significance of what Fogarty had just said. After a pause, Waters said, ‘You knew him, sir? You knew him personally?’

  Fogarty’s eyes went to the senior officer sitting to his right before he answered.

  ‘Yes, I did. When Corporal Wortley put in his papers, they went through me.’

  ‘Put in his papers, sir?’

  ‘When he decided he was going to leave the Army. I handled his discharge and resettlement programme.’

  This was not something anyone in Kings Lake Central had anticipated. It’s a natural assumption that the Army has thousands of men and a bureaucracy to match – to meet someone who knew Wortley was an unexpected break, and Waters thought quickly about how best to use it. But don’t ask too many questions too quickly – ask the right questions and they will tell you what you need to know.

  He said, ‘Obviously, you know much more about Mr Wortley, Corporal Wortley, than we do. Anything you can tell us will be welcome, sir. We were hoping you might have details of his next of kin.’

  Another click and Fogarty nodded, saying, ‘We can certainly let you have those under the circumstances.’ Waters watched for another glance at the colonel in the corner but it never came. Fogarty began to read out the details. Serena offered to come around the desk and copy it herself, and Fogarty said it was no bother. She was half out of her seat but it was clear the major had no intention of allowing her to see the screen, and she sat down again. What she then wrote down were the name, address and telephone number of James Wortley, Michael’s brother. She asked, ‘Is that usual? I’d imagined the next-of-kin would be his parents.’

  Fogarty said, ‘Usually, yes, but soldiers on active service sometimes try to protect their nearest and dearest from bad news. He might have thought his brother was the best person to let the rest of the family know – that sort of thing can happen.’

  Serena said, ‘He wasn’t married, then?’

  ‘No.’

  And then, as if his answer had appeared too definite and stark, Fogarty tried to make light of it and said, ‘Or if he was, he never informed the authorities.’

  Waters said, ‘Did Corporal Wortley see much active service?’

  Major Fogarty looked down at the screen again, and stayed looking at it. Eventually Yates answered the question – or rather he made a point of not doing so: ‘Major Fogarty has Wortley’s personnel file open and we are happy to share the information it contains. Questions about operational matters require more clearance than you have, I’m afraid. Corporal Wortley left the Army two years ago, and I doubt whether his service record has any bearing on what has happened to him since. Tragic thou
gh it is.’

  Waters took a longer look at Colonel Yates. There were circumstances in which he would now call Freeman and say in everyone’s hearing that their inquiries were being obstructed, but that would not be the right play here. The Army officers were on their home turf – sporting analogy, Waters! – it was the police who had had to pass through security and have their warrant cards scanned, and he could not make a clear case for being told where Michael Wortley had served and what he had done. Not yet, at any rate.

  To Major Fogarty, Waters said, ‘Can you tell us when Corporal Wortley joined the Army, sir?’

  ‘I can. He signed on in June 2000, and for the maximum term, which at that time was twenty-two years. He left almost two years ago, late in 2017.’

  Seventeen years. Wortley had been in the Royal Anglians right through their times in Iraq and Afghanistan – it was unlikely he hadn’t seen service in those places. Waters said, ‘That’s an impressive length of service. Are you able to tell my why he didn’t complete his full term? Not doing so would have affected his pension, wouldn’t it?’

  It was Colonel Yates who answered again, in the same clipped and official manner, but behind the words Waters sensed irritation and perhaps anger at what he was saying.

  ‘I have no doubt, sergeant, that it was for the same reasons we’ve lost a lot of good men in recent years. You’ll know there have been defence cuts, just as sweeping as those which have impacted on your own area of work. Those cuts have led to a loss of morale, especially among the more experienced soldiers who had seen action prior to “austerity”.’ Yates spoke the word with undisguised contempt. ‘The cuts have also led to a lack of operational tempo – men train hard but for what? As a country, we are disengaging from international situations and trouble-spots where we might have made a difference in the past. When the armed services lose confidence in the political establishment, there’s a downward spiral in recruitment and retention.’

  Waters repressed the impulse to turn to Serena and say, ‘Make a note of that, would you?’ Yates had said his piece and the small, thin-lipped mouth clamped shut again.

  Waters said to the major, ‘I’m assuming that with such a length of service, Michael Wortley was a successful professional soldier, sir.’

  And there, the momentary glance towards the colonel, a split second, no more, before Fogarty answered, ‘He was. Our regimental motto is “Stabilis”. It means to stand firm. Steadfast and enduring. Corporal Wortley demonstrated those qualities.’

  So why, Waters wondered again, would he leave more than four years short of his term? Why lose that pensionable service? He’d remembered Wortley’s date of birth – where does a thirty-eight-year-old professional soldier go after seventeen years of military life? And what on earth has this to do with the dishevelled, blood-soaked corpse in the doorway of the Chinese Chow noodles bar?

  Waters said, ‘You told us you were involved in Corporal Wortley’s resettlement, sir. If you have any information about where he went and what he did, that would be helpful. We’ll try to follow the trail from his time in the Army to where we came across him on Monday morning.’

  This was a reasonable request, and Waters didn’t hide his surprise when Major Fogarty said, ‘I’m afraid there’s nothing in the file – I’ve already looked just now. We offer a full resettlement programme of support but soldiers are under no obligation to engage with it.’

  Waters turned to Serena with an unconcealed frown. She took her cue from that and said to the major, ‘Right… Did he leave a forwarding address?’

  Neither officer seemed to see the funny side of this – Fogarty looked a little awkward and Yates’s face was set in stone. After a moment, Fogarty said, ‘We do have a contact address. It’s the same one as for his next of kin. His brother, James Wortley.’

  Waters wasn’t quite ready to give up. He said to Major Fogarty, ‘Did Michael Wortley have any specialist skills or training, sir?’

  Yates said, ‘That’s an operational question, I’m afraid.’

  Yates held his stare – Major Fogarty did not. Then Waters got up and thanked them for their cooperation.

  When they were back in the car, Waters told Serena to pass the next-of-kin details straight through to DI Greene, guessing that Freeman’s priority would be getting a positive identification as quickly as possible. Someone would have the unenviable task of explaining to Mr James Wortley what had happened to his brother before inviting him to come and see the dead body.

  As she did so, sending a text rather than calling directly, another spattering of rain hit the windscreen, and beyond that he could see the wind getting up and stirring the leaves of the line of tall poplar trees that marked off the edge of the parking area – a straight line of trees as if they too were permanently on parade. Little more than a month ago there had been the drought and the never-ending, long, hot summer but it had ended after all, and was already only a memory. Waters recalled the intense heat of the morning when he had stood watch over Michelle Simms’ body in the dunes at Pinehills. Gervaise Fraser had said what a wonderful light it was for photography, and Robinson had given him a friendly lecture on how external temperatures affect the rate of a body’s cooling after death. And now it was Michael Wortley’s turn to be recorded, examined, probed, dissected and analysed… In this new job, he told himself, as if the thought had come to him for the first time, there will be no relief. It will be just one body after another.

  Serena said, ‘There you go – he’s read that already. Do you think he’ll call?’

  ‘Greene? Not unless he has a reason to.’

  A few more seconds passed, and then she was looking at him and wondering. He continued to gaze out across the car park but keeping Fogarty’s office window in his line of sight.

  She said, ‘I’m not sure I’d have been able to thank them for their cooperation, if I’m honest.’

  ‘Irony.’

  ‘Oh, right. Well, in that case I’m not sure they got it.’

  Waters didn’t answer. They’d have got it all right, but it wasn’t the sort of fire that was going to worry them. This is another world inside those security gates, where different values are held and defended, to the death if necessary. He thought about Smith, his time in the Army, and wondered how much of the detective he had come to know well had been formed in those years in uniform – and the years out of it, of course, in Belfast. Would Smith have handled things differently this morning?

  Serena said, ‘I didn’t like that Colonel Yates.’

  ‘If it’s any consolation, I think the feeling was mutual.’

  She turned to Waters immediately and said, ‘Really? Because I’m a woman?’

  ‘Not especially but it probably didn’t help. I don’t think he took to either of us.’

  The door to the office building opened away to their left and Yates stepped outside as if he’d heard his name being taken in vain. Then he turned to his right and walked away with brisk, short steps, shoulders back, the perfect clockwork soldier. They watched until he turned the corner and disappeared from view.

  Waters eased himself back into the driver’s seat and folded his arms. After a time, she had to ask – ‘And now we’re waiting for?’

  ‘Something. Anything. Major Fogarty would have been more forthcoming if we’d got him on his own.’

  She said, ‘I thought the same thing. Yates was there to keep an eye on it. I’ll guarantee there aren’t always two people in those situations. But Wortley left a long time ago. There isn’t going to be any link from here to what happened in Lake.’

  Waters was still watching the window to Fogarty’s office, and when he didn’t respond, Serena said, ‘Is there?’

  ‘The point is, it’s difficult to say because they didn’t give us anything other than a few facts. Nothing personal, no clues about Wortley’s reason for leaving or what he did while he was here.’

  Serena joined in staring at the building. After a few seconds, she said in a gruff voice, ‘Stabilis…�
�� and laughed.

  Major Fogarty appeared at the window. Did he notice them in the car, realise they were watching? He opened the side casement for a moment as if letting out some flying insect, and then closed it again. Letting something out, thought Waters, or inviting someone in? It had to be worth a try.

  He told Serena he’d go alone this time, and she wasn’t offended – she would have said the same to her sergeant if there had been a woman inside who might talk more freely without a man present. The uniformed clerk at the desk waved him by as if he too understood that the interview with Major Fogarty wasn’t over yet, as if Waters had only gone outside for a moment to fetch something from his car.

  Fogarty’s door was ajar. Waters knocked and the major looked up, unhappily it seemed but without surprise. Waters waited in the doorway until Fogarty said, ‘Come in. Close the door behind you.’

  Chapter Nine

  ‘To save time,’ Freeman said, ‘I’ll ask the away team to report back directly, there’s no sense in Chris telling me and then me telling you. If anyone isn’t used to public speaking, they soon will be. Chris, tell us about the Royal Anglian Regiment.’

  Freeman hadn’t told the entire truth; Waters had begun to give her an outline as soon as he was back in the office, but she had cut that short and said brief everyone while we’re all here. They were gathered in the largest office they had, which was in effect now their incident room.

  He told them the facts about Michael Wortley’s military service – the bare facts given while Colonel Yates has been present – and then explained that he had spoken again to the major who had known the victim personally. Major Fogarty had told him Wortley was a respected and popular soldier. He had seen service in Afghanistan twice and had been there as late as 2012 when Operation Herrick 16 brought the Helmand conflict to an end. Wortley had been an effective corporal in the field, with up to four men under his command but had indicated on a number of occasions that he wasn’t interested in further promotion. ‘In Major Fogarty’s own words,’ Waters said, ‘“Soldiers like Corporal Wortley are the backbone of the British Army – or they were, once upon a time.” If we think morale is low in the police service’ – and Waters caught the look between DI Greene and Freeman at that – ‘I got the impression it’s worse in the Army. I asked for more information about Wortley, and was told he kept himself very fit and always scored highly in the regular tests they undergo. In Afghanistan, his role was what the major called a scout. These are people who go close to enemy positions to gather intelligence. It’s high risk work that depends on initiative, quick-thinking and, again in Major Fogarty’s own words, “a lot of balls”.’