Bloody Reckoning

by Rafe McGregor

  “So you’re not going back?”

  “No, I’m not, but I’d rather you didn’t tell the police.”

  “Not if you’re sure you don’t want me to.”

  “I’m sure. I’m going to sleep off the G and T and then go to gym. I always feel better after I’ve trained. Will I see you later?”

  “Yeah, that would be great,” I replied, wishing I’d managed something a little more suave.

  “What’s your hotel like?”

  “Very nice. It’s the Bank House.”

  “Then I’ll see you there at seven.”

  “I look forward to it.”

  She gave me a half-smile – just enough to lift the edges of her mouth – and went upstairs.

  I was still standing in the lounge when Beverley arrived. “Hi,” I said, caught by surprise.

  We both sat and she said, “Thanks for the call. What happened?”

  I told her.

  “Where’s Ms Cowan now?”

  “In her room. She’s still very upset and she’s going back to Harrogate this afternoon.”

  “That’s probably for the best. We’ll hold Coleman for two or three hours, so hopefully she’ll be gone by the time he’s released. I’ll alert the North Yorkshire Job as well.”

  “I don’t suppose you’ll tell me, but I’m going to ask anyway. Is Coleman a suspect in Adamson-Woods’ murder?”

  “I will tell you, because we’d be neglecting our duty if he wasn’t, given his history of antagonism towards Mr Adamson-Woods. Coleman was the first person we interviewed. He was with a friend of his from the Monday evening through to mid-morning on Tuesday. The friend, however, has even longer form than Coleman’s, and the circumstances are a little too convenient. So, to answer your question: yes, he could have done it. Unfortunately, the witness who saw the blue Saab at the crime scene didn’t get the registration.”

  “They rarely do.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Where does this friend live?” I asked.

  “Cambridge. No luck on ANPR or CCTV, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  I was. Automatic Number Plate Recognition cameras had been used to detect stolen vehicles for over three decades, and coverage increased every year. The cameras had numerous other uses as well, including the potential for tracking suspects to and from the scene of a crime. “What about Coleman; where does he live now?”

  “You were wondering if he has a reason for being in King’s Lynn?”

  “Yeah, I was actually.”

  “He drifts around addresses like he drifts in and out of prison. He’s currently registered as living in Braintree, but I expect he’ll tell us he came up for the funeral of the man who abused him. Nothing we can do about that.”

  “And nothing you can do about him following Ms Cowan, so long as he doesn’t make a nuisance of himself or threaten her?”

  Beverley shrugged her shoulders and opened her hands, palms down. “You know the deal. We try to be proactive, but the law hinders us as much as it helps. That’s why I’d feel a lot better if Ms Cowan was long gone by the time Coleman is back on the street.”

  I was torn between concerns for Theresa’s safety and respecting her wishes. “Coleman’s done this before.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Stalked someone. When I first noticed him, he was already in the market square. He must have seen where Ms Cowan was going and skipped ahead of her. That takes practice. Then, when he followed her in the car, he kept well back. That also takes practice.”

  “He is a career criminal.”

  “Maybe he stalked Colonel Adamson-Woods in the same way.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” Beverley held up her left hand, thumb and forefinger half an inch apart, “but there’s a tiny little thing in the Police and Criminal Evidence Act called reasonable grounds. Unless we find something now, we can’t arrest him.” I nodded and she continued. “I guess Ms Cowan would rather not be disturbed at the moment, so I’ll give her a call later, before we release Coleman. Are you leaving today as well?”

  “I’m not sure yet.”

  “I’m sorry if I came on a little strong at the funeral, but we have to keep up appearances in front of the press.” She smiled, showing sparkling teeth.

  “No problem.”

  “Here’s my number if you need anything, and thanks for your help.”

  She gave me her card, said goodbye, and left.

  I thought about what I should do now that I’d misled the police. Coleman knew where Theresa was staying. If he had killed Adamson-Woods and bore some kind of a grudge against her, he could come back here as soon as he was released, with or without his weapon of choice. Having respected Theresa’s wishes, I couldn’t ignore the possible consequences of my actions. I’d have to make sure she was safe myself. I went back to my car in time to see Beverley leave, and noted the police had taken the Saab as well.

  I drove to the Bank House, booked my room for another night, and changed into more casual clothes. I was back in Vancouver Avenue by quarter to three, in a parking space further up the road. I predicted Theresa was more likely to drive south if she was going to the nearest gym, though I couldn’t be sure. She didn’t know what car I drove, however, so I hoped the change of clothes and a pair of sunglasses would preserve my anonymity.

  As soon as I switched off the engine, I rang Maikel and made yet another change to our arrangements. If I headed for Chalkney Wood first thing tomorrow morning, I could be at Hyderabad Barracks for ten-thirty, perhaps before. Depending on whether I was able to track down Webber, and Siân’s preferences, we could leave for York on either Sunday or Monday. Maikel was as phlegmatic as ever, which eased my guilt at having mucked him around so much. I was living proof that no good deed goes unpunished.

  My vigil in King’s Lynn was as dull as that in Linton, but much shorter. Theresa drove out of the driveway at half-three and turned right, away from me. I remained where I was. If Coleman wanted to find her, he’d have to come here first. At four o’clock a police Armed Response Vehicle cruised past, slowing right down outside Fairlight Lodge. Coleman must have been released. I saw the crew talk over his radio, probably confirming that Theresa’s car was gone. I was expecting to be questioned myself, but received nothing more than a casual glance. Five became six and there was still no sign of either Coleman or Theresa. I wondered if she’d changed her mind and returned to Harrogate.

  I also wondered how long Olympic athletes spent in the gym.

  I wasn’t sure how to take Theresa’s invitation. If Maikel was right about her reputation, there might be sex on the menu. Perhaps I was reading too much into it, but my attraction to Theresa was potent. I’d had an intermittent affair with an RAF intelligence analyst in Afghanistan. She was a reservist and only spent a few months at a time in-country. Prior to that, Siân had been my last lover, Linn before her. The reawakening of my desire was sudden and powerful, but I didn’t want Theresa to sleep with me because she felt she owed me a favour, or because of her emotional turmoil. And she was still a murder suspect in Claymore. On the other hand, I’d probably misread her completely; it wouldn’t be the first time.

  The gold MX5 reappeared at quarter past six. As soon as Theresa had turned into the driveway, I started my car. My quick getaway was interrupted by the phone: Lawson.

  “Hello, Alex.”

  “Did you find out about that skiing accident?”

  “Not yet. I’m having trouble tracking down Webber.”

  “Well, get a fucking move on.”

  “I thought you were all chasing Vaughan.”

  “We are, but I’ve got doubts. The profilers finally got their thumbs out of their arses. Their description fits Bavister to a T. White male, thirty-five years old; bisexual, married, no children. High intelligence and sex drive. Privileged background, well-educated, and currently employed in a management position. Has Narcissistic Personality Disorder, is likely to regard the police with contempt, and keeps souvenirs of h
is kills. Apparently, his arrogance will cause him to make a serious mistake, and that’s how we’ll catch him. So all we have to do is wait for him to waste another poor bastard.”

  “How reliable are profilers?” I asked.

  “I couldn’t tell you, but our Met consultant swears by them. I hate fucking shrinks, but I happen to think they could be right this time. I don’t know.”

  “Did the psychologists make any comments about Vaughan or Th – Cowan?”

  “Just enough to rule them out. We’re definitely looking for a male sexual predator and the fat man isn’t bright or arrogant enough. Oh, I nearly forgot, Bavister was a bed-wetter as a kid and tortured his pussycat.”

  “That, I can believe.”

  “I spent the whole of last night cruising queer clubs in Leeds and Bradford, and there’s more of the same lined up for tonight. I’ll be ready for a John Wayne double bill when I get home.” He tailed off, as if talking to himself.

  I smiled at the thought of Lawson wandering around gay clubs and bars on a Friday night. “You’ve just admitted that the profilers aren’t always right and Vaughan is still the only suspect who was in the wrong place at the wrong time, every time.”

  “I know, but the only one we can’t connect Bavister to is the first. I’m thinking maybe you’re wrong and Marillier wasn’t killed by our player. What if the first victim was Keenan? Maybe Bavister gave him a little push, realised he had a taste for killing, and then started with Gordon.”

  A similar thought had occurred to me. “I’ll find Webber tomorrow and see if there’s anything to it.”

  “Make sure you bloody do.”

  “About tonight…” I paused for effect.

  “What?”

  “Careful you don’t pull.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Half an hour later, I checked my appearance in the bathroom mirror and put my suit jacket back on. I’d not considered the possibility of potential romantic liaisons when I’d packed, so I had to settle for my black suit and a change of shirt. I didn’t want to wear the same clothes I’d worn to the funeral, but there was no other option. If, as I suspected, I had read too much into the invitation, then it wouldn’t matter anyway. I was about to leave my room when my mobile rang. I thought it was probably Theresa cancelling, but the caller recognition showed Fielding. I switched it off; I’d check my messages later. I went down to the bar, ordered a pint of Guinness, and took a chair facing the door. Theresa walked in at one minute past seven. She was too much the soldier to be fashionably late.

  She looked stunning. She was wearing a houndstooth dress with a hemline a couple of inches above her knees, a black, short-sleeve jacket, and low-heeled slingbacks. Her figure was fantastic, as I’d recognised earlier in the Combat Uniform. She’d applied minimal make-up to maximum effect, making a magnet of her pale green eyes, and softening her mouth in coral. She looked happier and less tired than she had at the lodge. I’d have been exhausted by such a lengthy workout, but it had apparently invigorated Theresa. I took a moment to watch her, then grinned and gave a little wave. She smiled back and joined me. A waitress appeared at our table instantly. Much to my disappointment, Theresa ordered an orange and pomegranate J2O.

  She must have seen my expression. “I’ve decided to drive back tonight, after tea, when the roads are quiet.”

  I tried to bounce back as quickly as possible. “That’s a good idea – if you’re not too tired.”

  “No, I had a power nap and I feel better after training. I always do.” She smiled again, showing small, white teeth. It was the first real smile I’d seen from her, reaching her eyes and lighting up her whole face. It transformed Theresa from pretty to beautiful, and I found it all the more attractive because I had the impression she didn’t smile very much. Not like that, anyway.

  “Are you sure you still want to have dinner?”

  “Are you trying to get rid of me?”

  “Not at all. I just thought you might be happier having a drink and leaving earlier with such a long drive ahead.”

  She didn’t answer immediately. “I hope you don’t feel you’ve stayed in King’s Lynn for nothing?”

  “No, of course not,” I replied, beginning to feel uncomfortable. Theresa’s drink arrived and I signed for it.

  As soon as the waitress left, Theresa continued. “Seeing as you’ve been working with the police, I also can’t help wondering what you’ve heard about me.”

  Now I really did feel awkward and had no idea how to reply. I tried to hide my feelings and play dumb. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “Yes, you do, Garth. One of the things I like about you is your directness, so let’s not bullshit each other. Most men disapprove of sexually assertive women, even if they pretend not to. The old cliché: if a man sleeps with a different woman every week, he’s a stud; if a woman does it, she’s a slut. Am I wrong?”

  I cleared my throat to buy some time. “You might be right when it comes to the majority of men, but I don’t happen to agree with either of those characterisations.”

  “You’d hardly admit it if you did, but I’m not suggesting you do. I am suggesting you’ve heard I’m an easy lay.”

  I gulped loudly enough for Theresa to hear, and groped for an appropriate reply, or at least one that wasn’t offensive. “I heard you like male company.” It was lame, but the best I could do.

  She laughed softly. “How sweet of you, but I’m sure you’ve heard a lot worse than that. Maybe that I’m sexually aggressive, rather than assertive? It’s true. If I like a man, I go after him. Is there any reason I shouldn’t?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Alternately, if a man doesn’t appeal to me then I won’t entertain him for any of the reasons women so often end up sleeping with men they don’t like all that much. Like you, I’m direct. If I want a man, I let him know, and if I don’t, he doesn’t stand a chance. A lot of men aren’t comfortable with it, but I hope you’re different.”

  “I’m comfortable with everything you’ve told me so far – this afternoon and evening.”

  “In that case, I’m glad we’re having dinner.” She took the first sip of her fruit juice. “And by the way, I never have and never would jeopardise my career for my private life. Meaning that I wasn’t having an affair with Clint Haywood. He was a great guy, but it wouldn’t have been appropriate or professional. Aside from which, I prefer my men heterosexual.”

  “I didn’t think you were having an affair with him, or any of the others,” I said truthfully, glad of the change in subject, however small.

  “I knew Russell Marillier, as his PTI. He would have done very well for himself in amateur bodybuilding, but I don’t think he could ever have made a living from it. I was disappointed when I heard he’d been reported AWOL, because he seemed to be enjoying his training. I was already in Bassingbourn when they found his body, bless him. I never met the second victim, Gordon. Neil Gordon, was it?”

  “Neville Gordon.”

  “Yes, that’s right. I met Peter Keogh when I was with the Desert Rats in Hohne last year. A very good-looking guy, like Clint, but not as brash.” Theresa paused and blushed. “Does it sound arrogant if I say he was a bit star-struck?”

  “No, you must get that all the time.”

  “Not really, you have to be a footballer or an actor to be famous, but sometimes a soldier will come up and say he’s a fan. Peter was one of those. I met him after a football match at the garrison and bumped into him once or twice afterwards. A nice guy, a very nice guy.”

  Theresa’s eyes started to water, and I guessed that the talk of murder had probably reminded her of her grandfather’s death. “Where would you like to eat?” I asked.

  She blinked back her tears. “I hadn’t thought about it. Does the hotel have a restaurant?”

  I had a drink of my pint. “Yeah, a brasserie, whatever that is. I think it’s quite good, but I don’t know what you like.”

  “Everything. My diet is so strict when
I’m in training that I try everything when I’m resting. Especially red meat; I love steak.”

  “I prefer white myself, but I’m sure there’s a sirloin on the menu.”

  “My mouth’s watering already. Shall we?”

  I concurred. I have to admit that my own appetite had been stimulated.

  *

  “That was delicious,” said Theresa as the waiter removed our empty plates an hour and a half later. She gave me another of her full smiles, which was wonderful. She’d removed her jacket when we’d sat, and the top half of her dress was sleeveless and figure-hugging. A feast for my eyes.

  “I’m glad you enjoyed it,” I replied. Theresa had selected the steak after a pumpkin soup starter. I’d had potted pork, followed by rabbit pie, both of which were excellent. “Would you like dessert?”

  “No, but don’t let me stop you. I will have one cup of coffee, though, to keep me awake at the wheel after all that.”

  Although I’d had my eye on ice cream for dessert, I didn’t want to make a pig of myself in front of Theresa, so I went for a double Drambuie when I ordered her coffee.

  Theresa finished her glass of mineral water. “It’s such a shame to think of those poor young guys killed by some maniac. No one expects that when they join up.”

  I polished off my third Guinness of the evening. “No, they don’t. It’s not quite the same as dying on operations, is it? At least the police seem to be close to making an arrest.”

  She shook her head. “They’ll probably get the wrong person, they often do.”

  “I expect they haven’t told you much.”

  “They wouldn’t, would they? I’m a suspect.”

  “I think it’s safe to say was. What do you know?” I asked.

  “They only told me about the four victims, but the Army rumour service has done the rest. I know they’ve also questioned Major Bavister – the one who’s being court-martialled – and Sergeant Vaughan from 15 Brigade.”

  “That’s right.” I knew I shouldn’t say any more, but I also knew it was unlikely to matter. Vaughan was already on the run. “Colour Sergeant Vaughan is their prime suspect, and I’m expecting a call to say he’s been arrested any day now.”