Death Sentence (The DI Nick Dixon Crime Series Book 6)

by Damien Boyd

Dixon nodded.

  ‘You coming in?’

  ‘How long will you be?’

  ‘Two minutes.’

  ‘No, just leave the engine on, will you?’

  Dixon leaned across and kissed Jane on the cheek. Then he opened the door and climbed out of the Land Rover.

  ‘Still think it’s a coincidence?’ he asked, leaning in the driver’s door.

  Roll-of-honour.com gave a full name, but apart from that confirmed what Dixon either knew or had guessed.

  Kandes, Adrian A; Sergeant; 42 Commando; Royal Marines; Age, 38; Date of Death, 11 June 1982; Manner of Death, Killed during the Battle of Mount Harriet

  It also gave his place of residence as Guildford, Surrey.

  Dixon closed his laptop when he heard Jane opening the bedroom door.

  ‘What time is it?’ she asked, walking down the stairs.

  ‘Eightish.’

  ‘How long have you been up?’

  ‘A couple of hours.’

  Dixon opened the back door of the cottage and let Monty out.

  ‘Coffee?’

  ‘Yes, pl—’ The rest was lost in a yawn.

  The rattle of dog biscuits in his tin bowl soon had Monty scratching at the back door, although how he heard it from the other side of the yard and over the kettle was a mystery to Dixon.

  ‘What are you up to today?’ asked Jane.

  ‘I’ve got a call to make first,’ replied Dixon, handing Jane a mug of coffee. ‘Then I’ll be able to tell you.’

  ‘Have we got time to take these back to bed then?’

  It was just before 9 a.m. when impatience got the better of Dixon and he dialled Tom Cuthbert’s mobile number.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Mr Cuthbert, this is DI Dixon. We spoke the other day.’

  ‘Did you get hold of Colonel Byrne?’

  ‘I went to see him actually. He sends his regards.’

  ‘How can I help you?’

  ‘I told you Alan Fletcher was dead, but what I didn’t tell you was that I am investigating his murder.’

  ‘Murder?’

  ‘Yes. He died of a heart attack during a particularly vicious assault, and we’re treating it as murder.’

  ‘He didn’t deserve that.’

  ‘No one does, Mr Cuthbert.’

  ‘True enough.’

  ‘Does the name Adrian Kandes mean anything to you?’

  Silence.

  Dixon waited.

  ‘His name and date of death were etched into the brickwork where Mr Fletcher’s body was found,’ continued Dixon.

  Silence.

  ‘Look, whatever it is, it’s going to come out. A man is dead, and you said yourself he didn’t deserve it.’

  Dixon had his phone clamped to his ear and heard a long, faint sigh.

  ‘Would it help if I came to see you?’ he asked.

  ‘There’s no need for that,’ replied Cuthbert. ‘Oh shit, shit, shit . . .’

  ‘I’ve got Colonel Byrne telling me he can’t recall Fletcher at the battalion CP during the battle and the name of a man who died in it at the scene of Fletcher’s murder. You don’t need to be a rocket—’

  ‘This needs to be off the record,’ interrupted Cuthbert. ‘You didn’t hear this from me. All right?’

  ‘Agreed.’

  ‘This is all rumours mind you. I wasn’t there and saw none of this.’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘Mr Fletcher was moving up to the start line. I was there with A and B Companies and the second in command, Major Hardcastle. We were in support of 42 Commando, so we were just waiting, ready to go if needed. And we weren’t, thank God.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘42 Commando had gone in with fire support from HMS Yarmouth, and it was a right bloody mess, the sky lit up by flares and explosions, screaming and shouting.’

  ‘Did Mr Fletcher make it to the start line?’

  ‘Well, that’s just it, isn’t it? No, he didn’t.’

  ‘What happened to him?’

  ‘He was found at first light on the southern slope, unconscious.’

  ‘Was there an investigation?’

  ‘Informal, like,’ replied Cuthbert. ‘The shit hit the fan it did. Remember, you didn’t hear this from me.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Anyway, Mr Fletcher said he’d intercepted a marine doing a runner.’

  ‘Doing a runner?’

  ‘Fleeing the battlefield. Deserting in the face of the enemy. He’s there, pointing his sidearm at this marine, and the marine’s pointing his rifle at him. Stand off it was. Then wham! He’s hit from behind and wakes up the next day.’

  ‘And this marine was Adrian Kandes?’

  ‘Yes, only Kandes was already dead by then. He went back and stormed a machine gun position single handed, then got hit by a sniper. Holding up the whole advance from the south it was. He should’ve got a posthumous Victoria Cross for it, but it was blocked because of the allegation made by Mr Fletcher.’

  ‘And what did the informal investigation conclude?’

  ‘You’d have to ask Colonel Byrne that, but the whole thing was swept under the carpet. Kandes never got his VC, and you know about Mr Fletcher.’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Cause of a lot of bitterness it was. On both sides. But neither regiment wanted the scandal. The regiment always comes first.’

  ‘I’ve heard that somewhere before,’ said Dixon.

  ‘I never told you any of this.’

  ‘I get it,’ said Dixon.

  Cuthbert rang off and Dixon turned to Jane, sitting on the arm of the sofa.

  ‘Fancy a weekend away?’

  ‘Lovely. Where are we going?’

  ‘Pembroke.’

  Chapter Ten

  Dixon left Jane sitting in the Stackpole Inn with Monty and walked across the road to the Old Post Office. Lights were on inside, which was a relief because he’d decided not to make an appointment. Better to catch Colonel Byrne on the hop.

  He spotted the spyhole in the front door just in time and turned his back. Better still to give Colonel Byrne no time to compose himself.

  Dixon turned around when he heard the door opening.

  ‘You?’

  ‘Yes, Sir.’

  ‘Well, you’ve had a wasted journey. There’s nothing more I can tell you.’

  Dixon watched Byrne swallow hard. He looked down, unable to meet Dixon’s stare. Byrne was obviously not someone to whom lying came easily.

  ‘We could continue this down at the station, Sir, if that would assist.’

  ‘Pembroke?’

  ‘Bridgwater, Sir,’ replied Dixon, matter of fact.

  ‘You’d better come in.’

  Dixon stepped into the hall.

  ‘Follow me,’ said Byrne.

  Colonel Byrne’s office was at the back of the house, overlooking a walled garden.

  ‘Drink?’ Byrne asked, pouring himself a large Scotch from a decanter on the side.

  ‘No, thank you, Sir.’

  Dixon used the opportunity to look at the pictures on the walls. There were two large bronze figurines of British soldiers standing at either end of the mantelpiece and yet more photographs from a long and distinguished military career. Dixon recognised Colonel Byrne laying a wreath at the war memorial in Port Stanley.

  ‘What do you want to know?’ asked Byrne, slumping down into the chair behind his desk.

  ‘Whatever you’re prepared to tell me,’ replied Dixon. ‘I’ll find out the rest and then come back and arrest you for obstruction.’

  Byrne sat up. ‘You can’t speak to me like that.’

  ‘A man is dead, Colonel. One of your officers.’

  ‘I know that.’

  ‘Let’s start with the night of the battle.’

  ‘It was chaos—’

  ‘You said you didn’t investigate Alan Fletcher for deserting the battlefield.’

  ‘That’s correct.’

  ‘But you did investigate his a
llegation that he had encountered two or more marines deserting the battlefield. There must have been at least two because he was pointing his sidearm at Sergeant Adrian Kandes when he was hit from behind.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Byrne, taking a swig of Scotch. ‘You know about that.’

  Dixon nodded.

  ‘It was one of those situations when nobody wins,’ continued Byrne. ‘Kandes was a good man. He’d just flipped by all accounts. But he got himself together, went back and should’ve won the VC by rights. Albeit posthumously.’

  ‘And what about Fletcher?’

  ‘He was a good officer; did what he thought was right, and look where it got him. Neither regiment wanted any scandal, so I persuaded him to drop it, and Adrian Kandes went without his medal.’

  ‘Who conducted the investigation?’

  ‘I did, with the CO of 42 Commando. Can’t remember his name now.’

  ‘Is there a file?’

  ‘Long gone,’ replied Byrne. ‘There was nothing official. No mention made in any quarterly reports.’

  ‘And what about the marines? Were the others ever identified?’

  ‘There were five of them. They spotted Kandes making a run for it and went after him to bring him back. Only Alan Fletcher got in the way.’

  ‘Were they ever identified?’

  ‘Never formally, but the marines knew who they were, I have no doubt about that.’

  ‘And the one who hit Mr Fletcher?’

  ‘Got away with it. Look, I’ve no criticism to make of the marines, Inspector. We were waiting in support, and even though they were heavily outnumbered we weren’t needed. What does that tell you?’

  ‘How long was he unconscious?’

  ‘Not long. He was back on duty in a couple of days.’

  ‘And how did he react to your arrangement?’

  ‘I think he was left feeling he wasn’t believed, or that he’d somehow let the regiment down. Maybe it explains why he went into the burning ambulance all those times.’

  ‘Is there anything else I need to know?’ asked Dixon.

  ‘He had a run-in with a group of marines on the road outside Port Stanley,’ replied Byrne, shaking his head. ‘It was about a week after the ceasefire. There were allegations of insubordination made, but the risk of everything else coming out was too great, so Alan dropped it.’

  ‘Voluntarily?’

  ‘I persuaded him.’

  ‘Were these the same marines? From 42 Commando?’

  ‘Alan thought so, but it was his word against theirs.’

  ‘How did he know?’

  ‘From remarks they made. Look, you have to understand the British Army was on the crest of a wave. We’d just won a famous victory thousands of miles from home and against the odds. The last thing we needed was a scandal like this, investigations and disciplinary action. Brigade HQ were terrified the media might get hold of it. I had my orders. This was not going to be the story.’

  ‘Were there any witnesses to this incident?’

  ‘Two Royal Engineers, from memory. They’d been ordered to arrange the shipment of captured Argentinian radar cabins back to Malvern.’

  ‘What’s at Malvern?’

  ‘RSRE. The Royal Signals and Radar Establishment. At least it was. Never too sure any more with all these damn cuts.’

  ‘Thank you, Colonel Byrne. If you think of anything else, please ring me. I really don’t want to have to come back again.’

  ‘Of course, Inspector.’

  Once out into the porch, Dixon turned to Colonel Byrne, ignoring his outstretched hand.

  ‘You said Captain Fletcher thought he’d let the regiment down.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Maybe the regiment let him down. Did you ever stop to think of that?’

  ‘I’ve found a B and B that takes dogs,’ said Jane. ‘Over in Bosherston.’ She was still sitting by the fire in the Stackpole Inn, with Monty asleep at her feet.

  ‘We’d better get back.’

  ‘Oh no you don’t. I’ve packed an overnight bag, and I intend to use it now we’re here. And besides, I want to see Huntsman’s Leap and the other places you used to go climbing.’

  ‘A beer first then,’ said Dixon, smiling. It was just after 2.30 p.m. Plenty of time for a pint, followed by a walk along the clifftops.

  ‘How did you get on with the colonel?’ asked Jane.

  ‘He took a bit of prodding.’

  ‘But he confirmed it?’

  ‘Fletcher was in the wrong place at the wrong time,’ replied Dixon, shaking his head. ‘It blighted the rest of his life and God knows how many others too. And then decades later he’s killed for it.’

  ‘Poor bloke.’

  ‘And his wife don’t forget. It trashed her life too.’ Dixon took a large swig of beer. ‘Still, there’ll be time enough for that. D’you want cliffs or the beach?’

  ‘Cliffs.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘We can do the beach tomorrow before we go.’

  Two hours later they were sitting by the gas fire in Ye Olde Worlde Cafe enjoying a piece of sponge cake and a cup of tea. It had been freezing cold along the clifftops, a strong south-westerly blowing straight in off the Atlantic, and the shivering, coupled with the added exertion of walking into the wind, had caused Dixon’s blood sugar levels to drop dangerously low. At least that had been his excuse, and Jane had fallen for it.

  ‘You can’t come to Pembroke and not have tea with Mrs Weston,’ said Dixon, grinning.

  Jane nodded.

  ‘We used to come every Easter, and this place’d be heaving with climbers. The campsites packed, people queuing for the best routes. Those were the days.’

  ‘You and Jake?’

  ‘I never really climbed with anyone else. We were always off the beaten track too, Jake trying something desperate.’

  ‘And you’d abseil into Huntsman’s Leap?’

  ‘Abseil in, climb out. Great fun. There’s nothing like sea cliff climbing, unless a wave catches you,’ said Dixon.

  ‘I’ll take your word for it.’

  It couldn’t have been the fresh air and exercise, because Dixon got plenty of that at home, but he woke late for him, just after 8 a.m., to find Monty sitting by the bedroom door, tapping it with his paw. Maybe it was the fact that he hadn’t got to sleep until gone two in the morning.

  He threw on his clothes and tiptoed downstairs with Monty. The gate on the large grass car park next to the B and B was locked, so Dixon lifted him over the drystone wall and left him to it.

  It was a cold morning, clear and crisp, with not a single cloud in the sky. A perfect climbing day. He noticed a car drive past with two rucksacks on the back seat and a rope on the parcel shelf.

  Lucky buggers.

  Still, a full English breakfast and a walk around the Lily Ponds to Broad Haven South was not to be sniffed at. Then it was back to the real world. And the hunt for Alan Fletcher’s killer.

  A Sunday afternoon rugby international at the Millennium Stadium had brought the M4 past Cardiff to a standstill, and Dixon arrived at Express Park twenty minutes late for the briefing he had called for 4 p.m.

  DCI Lewis spotted him through the glass partitioning and stormed out of meeting room 2.

  ‘Where the hell have you been?’

  ‘Stuck on the M4.’

  ‘This’d better be good.’

  ‘Give me five minutes and I’ll be in,’ said Dixon, switching on a computer. He printed off four colour copies of the relevant photograph, made himself a cup of coffee and then sat down at the head of the table in meeting room 2.

  ‘Well, what’ve you got then?’ asked Dixon.

  ‘Nothing, Sir,’ said Harding. ‘Not on any of the cameras. And the vehicles we have got all check out. Locals mainly.’

  ‘What about you, Mark?’

  ‘Only the two on the Christmas card list. They thought he was dead anyway,’ replied Pearce, shrugging his shoulders.

  ‘Louise?’

  S
he shook her head.

  ‘Right, well, I got lucky at least,’ said Dixon, passing the copies around the table.

  ‘Thank God for that,’ muttered Lewis.

  ‘This is a photo of a brick from the pillbox. The name A Kandes is etched into it, and the date you can see is his date of death. It explains the brick dust inhaled by our victim.’

  ‘Who is A Kandes?’ asked Louise.

  ‘Sergeant Adrian A Kandes, F Company, 42 Commando, Royal Marines, killed during the Battle of Mount Harriet on 11 June 1982.’

  ‘And Fletcher was there?’ asked Lewis.

  ‘Not only that, but he came across Kandes fleeing the battlefield. I’ve been to see his CO in Pembroke. Fletcher stopped Kandes at gunpoint and was then struck on the back of the head by another marine, who’d gone after Kandes to bring him back. Fletcher was found unconscious the next morning.’

  ‘What happened to Kandes then?’ asked Harding.

  ‘He went back and was killed taking an Argentinian machine gun position single handedly. He should have won the VC for it but it was blocked, given the allegations made by Fletcher.’

  ‘Gits,’ muttered Harding.

  ‘For once I agree with you, Dave,’ replied Dixon. ‘He confronted his fear and overcame it, which makes him more of a hero in my book, not less of one.’

  ‘Was there an investigation?’

  ‘An informal one. But it was all swept under the carpet,’ replied Dixon. ‘Fletcher had a run-in a few days later with a group of marines on the road outside Port Stanley. There was a good deal of bitterness apparently. Then he was wounded himself rescuing four men from a burning ambulance, and came home on a hospital ship.’

  ‘So, what do we do now?’ asked Lewis.

  ‘Let’s start with Kandes. I want his service records and details of his family and friends. Everything you can find, with background checks on them all. Mark?’

  ‘Yes, Sir.’

  ‘And contact details for the CO of 42 Commando during the Falklands War. If he’s dead, get the second in command’s.’

  Pearce nodded.

  ‘Dave, we need service records for all members of F Company during the conflict too.’

  ‘All of them?’

  Dixon treated it as a rhetorical question.

  ‘That’ll be over a hundred men,’ muttered Harding.

  ‘We’ll come at it from the other end, Louise. Get on to the Royal Signals and Radar Establishment at Malvern, or whatever it is these days, and find out what you can about Argentinian radar cabins. They were dismantled and shipped back to Malvern for examination after the war. The run-in with the marines after the battle was witnessed by two Royal Engineers who’d been tasked with getting them on a ship back to the UK. See if you can find out who they were and where they are now.’