by M. R. Hall
She decided it was time for a dose of honesty. ‘Colonel, why don’t you just tell me what’s on your mind? It’ll make life easier for all of us.’
He looked at her steadily for a moment. ‘Very well, since you asked. What’s on my mind is the fact that what holds fighting men together is not the protection of the law, it’s their faith in one another. Green and Lyons are dead. We wish they weren’t. But the idea that picking over their carcasses and trying to find someone to blame other than the enemy is for the common good, is beyond my comprehension. This country of ours is filled to overflowing with decent, liberal-minded people who don’t even begin to comprehend what it takes to protect their freedoms. We live in a world of savagery, brutality and butchery, Mrs Cooper. That’s the reality: murderous savages who’d hack your head off in the name of religion as soon as look at you. And the reason you and I inhabit this green and peaceful paradise free from their barbarity, is because we have sufficient numbers of young men and women who don’t stand on their rights but go out and fight for them.’
‘My partner spent twenty years in the RAF,’ Jenny said calmly. ‘I do understand the level of sacrifice.’
Hastings shifted back in his chair. She could tell that she had surprised him. It was time to bring the meeting to an end, while he was still on the back foot. She rose to her feet. ‘I’ll be holding a further preliminary hearing tomorrow. The inquest proper will start on Thursday.’
‘I wish you the very best, Mrs Cooper,’ Colonel Hastings said. ‘A truly unenviable task.’
‘I’m sure we’ll all be relieved to get it underway.’ She smiled politely and made her way out.
Heading back along the long corridor, she found Lieutenant Gallagher hovering by the stairs.
‘Been in to see the boss?’
Jenny gave a guarded nod.
‘I tried to find you in your office – ran into Sergeant Price. You’ve got him well trained.’
‘Nothing to do with me,’ Jenny said. ‘He was a political appointment.’
Gallagher glanced both ways along the empty corridor then gave her a look that said he might have something for her if she was interested. He turned back up the stairs. Intrigued, Jenny followed him up.
On the next landing, Gallagher checked again that they couldn’t be seen, then beckoned her across the corridor to an office marked, ‘Captain Ed Lycett’. He produced a key and unlocked it.
‘A friend of mine. He’s on leave this week.’
They entered the empty office. Gallagher locked the door from the inside.
‘Do you think we got away with it?’ he said, with a hint of mischief.
‘I think so,’ Jenny said, indulging him.
‘Are we all right to have another word off the record?’
‘It’s not my preferred way of doing business.’
‘Yes or no?’
Jenny sighed. ‘OK. Just this once. But don’t hold me to anything.’
‘I don’t know what Hastings just told you, but he went ballistic over Norton dodging your order. I was in here late the night before last, heard the yelling from two floors up. I’m no great fan of Chris’s – far too gung-ho for my liking – but I might’ve done the same thing in his shoes. Men get hold of a little something and sprinkle it in their tobacco, who does it harm?’
‘Does that happen?’
‘I don’t know if it does or not, still less do I care. You’re asking young guys to risk a bullet in the head, you’ve got to cut them some slack and look the other way sometimes.’
‘Why are you telling me this?’
‘Because I think you’re interested in the truth. Norton ran a tight ship. He’s got issues, we all do, but he’d have laid down his life for any one of those boys. I wouldn’t say the same of our colonel.’
‘We’d probably best leave it there. If you want to speak to his character I’d rather you did it under oath. The other thing, I’ll pretend I didn’t hear.’
She reached for the key in the lock. Gallagher reached out and put his hand on her wrist. ‘Hey – there’s something else.’
He said it with an urgency that caused her to look into his eyes.
Gallagher held her gaze. ‘The rumours about Kenny Green that are spreading through the regiment – Hastings blames you and Norton equally for providing the ammunition, but if you want my opinion there’s something else at work.’
‘Like what?’ Jenny said, aware of Gallagher’s hand still resting lightly on her arm.
‘People gossip, but this regiment doesn’t turn on itself. It must have taken some serious, orchestrated agitation to wind up guys to go and attack a soldier’s family.’
‘Who do you suspect?’
‘I had a phone call last night,’ Gallagher said. ‘It was from someone asking if I had anything to say about either of your cases.’
‘A lawyer? That wouldn’t surprise me.’
‘That was my impression – or someone working for one. Fortunately, money isn’t my current motivation. No wife or kids and no plans for any.’ He finally took his hand away. ‘You look perplexed. Don’t be – the first step to winning is knowing your enemy. Would you like to meet for lunch?’
Jenny swallowed. She had had an odd feeling about the way he was looking at her but had dismissed it as ridiculous. He was twenty-three years old, for goodness’ sake.
‘Maybe another day,’ Jenny said.
‘I’ll look forward to it,’ Gallagher said.
She attempted to unlock the door with clumsy, nervous fingers.
‘Here, let me.’ Gallagher stepped forward and turned the key. He held the door open for her. ‘See you soon, I hope.’
Detached. Clinical. Forensic. These, Jenny decided, would have to be her watchwords from now on. She’d had her arm twisted into conducting her inquiry from inside Highcliffe Camp, but she would have to rise above the egos and personalities crowding in on her. It was time to assert herself and start issuing orders. She began with Sergeant Price.
‘What’s the latest on Sarah Tanner?’ Jenny asked, having summoned him to her office.
‘The police are looking for two attackers and Miss Tanner’s been moved to another address.’
‘They can’t look after her in her own home?’
‘It’s all about the perceived level of threat. Theoretically, soldiers have access to guns.’
‘Have we got contact details for her?’
‘Still the same number, as far as I’m aware.’
‘What about Private Lyons’s personal effects? Any progress?’
‘I’ve emailed the stores. I’ll go along shortly and see what they’ve got.’
‘You can leave that to me,’ Jenny said. ‘You’ll be busy taking statements from all those in the platoon who haven’t yet been asked about Private Lyons’s disappearance. I need them all ready to be disclosed to the interested parties at tomorrow’s hearing.’
‘I suppose that’s achievable.’
‘It will have to be. Thank you. That’s all. Can you tell Alison I’d like a word?’
‘She’s not here, ma’am.’
Jenny glanced at her watch. It was nearly nine thirty. ‘She’s not here yet?’
‘She arrived when you were with the colonel. I told her what had happened at the Greens’ house and she left again. She seemed a little upset.’
‘I’ll call her. That’s all for now. Thank you.’
Sergeant Price seemed surprised at the brusqueness of her tone, but left without a murmur. She would have to channel her inner Boadicea more often.
Jenny pulled out her phone and dialled Alison’s number. It rang six times before her voicemail kicked in. She left her a message asking her to call straight back. It wasn’t like Alison not to answer her phone; Jenny was the one who was always dodging calls. And she didn’t like the sound of her being upset. It suggested that there was something she knew but hadn’t let Jenny in on. Going her own way had become a bit of a habit recently. It seemed to be Alison’s way of proving
her worth. The problem was that she wasn’t quite as competent or trustworthy as she once was. Perhaps it was hardly surprising, since she had lost a chunk of her brain the size of a golf ball.
Jenny turned her attention to her inbox, in which she could see a recent arrival from Dr Kerr. She clicked it open to find a message saying that no traces of alcohol or narcotics had been found in Private Lyons’s blood. A full report would be with her later in the day, but it would largely confirm what he had told her at the mortuary. There was also a message from Simon Moreton saying that he hoped she was bearing up and that he would very much like to take her to dinner in Bristol ‘somewhere decadent and expensive’ when it was all over. Two offers within minutes of each other. She didn’t know if it said more about her or men in general.
Sergeant Price knocked on the door and came back in. ‘Stores think they’ve located it. I really don’t mind—’
Jenny cut him off. ‘Press on with the statements. We’ve a lot of ground to cover.’
Armed with directions, Jenny headed across the camp on foot in search of the stores. She had some urgent questions for whoever was in charge there.
‘Danny? Danny are you in there?’ Alison had managed to slip through the main door of the accommodation when a soldier was exiting and had made her way up to the fourth floor. Music from several different radios leaked through the thin doors and mingled in the narrow corridor of a building that reminded her of a student hall.
Having failed to get an answer, she knocked louder. ‘Danny, it’s Alison. Please. It’s important.’
Eventually, she heard footsteps and the sound of the catch being reluctantly drawn back. Danny opened the door, half-hiding behind it. He looked pale and dishevelled. ‘Quick. Don’t hang about.’
Alison stepped into the small but tidy bedsitter. She noticed that Danny was moving stiffly, clutching a hand to his middle.
‘Are you all right?’
Danny gestured her to a chair and lowered himself onto the little two-seater sofa, grimacing as he did so.
‘What happened to you?’
He took a moment for the pain to subside.
‘Had a bit of a run-in after I messaged you last night.’
‘Not you as well. What’s going on? When you said rumours, I had no idea that anyone was going to be hurt.’
‘Nor did I.’
‘Tell me what’s been going on.’
Danny was at first reluctant to speak, but after some gentle prompting said that he had first become aware of the rumours early the previous afternoon. He had started seeing Facebook posts saying that Kenny Green was drunk on watch and let the Tali right in over the wall. He had weighed in along with several others to set the record straight, but to no effect. The story had soon been embellished: Kenny was being protected by Major Norton because his dad knew things from his time in Iraq that he’d kept quiet about. By late evening, it had changed again: Kenny and several others had been smoking weed while out on patrol and managed to lose Skippy. It was crazy stuff, completely off the map. All bullshit. Then someone said that one of the lads in 2 Platoon had given a statement to the coroner saying that Skippy wasn’t abducted from the post, but never returned from a foot patrol. The others were meant to have left him behind, let the Tali have him rather than risk their lives on the last day of tour.
‘No one’s given a statement like that,’ Alison said.
‘I know. And that’s what I said to a couple of blokes at the gym who were repeating it like it was a fact . . . Well, words to that effect.’ He allowed himself to laugh, but immediately regretted it. ‘Could have been worse. He could’ve kneed me six inches lower.’
Alison smiled. ‘You need some ice on that.’
‘I’m OK . . .’
Ignoring his protest, she made her way across the room to the pocket-sized kitchen housed in a recess. She dug around in the freezer compartment of the tiny fridge and found a bag of frozen peas buried in a heap of accumulated ice.
‘These’ll do.’ She dried them off with a tea towel. ‘There’s not much food in there – don’t you look after yourself?’
Danny shrugged as he took the peas from her and slipped them under his shirt. ‘Thanks.’
Alison glanced around the room and noticed there were no photographs except for a group shot of soldiers posing next to an armoured vehicle somewhere out in the desert. She remembered him saying in the pub that he didn’t have relations to go to during his leave. She imagined that the others in the picture were probably the closest thing to family he had.
‘Who do you think started these rumours?’ Alison asked.
‘Can’t figure it out,’ Danny said. ‘People talk crap sometimes, but not like this.’
‘So why’s anyone taking any notice?’
‘Because it’s Skip, I guess.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘He was just a kid, wasn’t he? Couldn’t even shave. He did OK, but none of the lads really thought he should have been out there. No one said it, but we all thought that if someone wasn’t going to make it back, it’d be him.’
Responding to an instinct, Alison said, ‘You were close to him, weren’t you?’
Danny seemed more than a little surprised by her insight. ‘I s’pose.’
‘And you’ve no one to talk to aside from your mates?’
Danny avoided her eyes and gave another shrug. It was a well-practised gesture that she noticed he used to disguise all manner of uncomfortable feelings.
Alison knew she should resist getting too involved, but Danny was lonely and grieving and it made her want to comfort him. Why shouldn’t she?
‘You never told me how you ended up in the army. Was it what you’d always wanted?’
‘It was either that or a room in a B and B. I’d seen what happened to the lads who went down that road.’
‘You were in care, were you?’
‘Council home. Wouldn’t call it care, exactly.’
There. The sadness in his eyes. She wanted to scoop him up and hug him.
Alison felt her phone vibrate silently in her pocket. She pulled it out and glanced at the screen. It was Jenny again. Now wasn’t a good moment. She returned it to her pocket unanswered and turned her attention back to Danny.
‘I’ll bet you haven’t had a proper breakfast.’
His eyes tracked mistrustfully towards her. They were those of a small boy gauging a dubious promise.
‘Tell you what – why don’t I fetch some bacon and eggs from the shop and cook them up for you? You can make me a cup of tea while I’m gone.’
She didn’t wait for his answer. She bustled to the door issuing instructions to make it strong and not too milky. As she left, she caught sight of him from the corner of her eye and saw that he was smiling.
The regimental stores were on the far side of the camp and housed in a warehouse clad with corrugated sheets painted ubiquitous military green. Jenny entered a small reception area with windows that looked into the body of the stores: rows of metal shelves stretching into the distance laden with different-sized crates. She was greeted at a front desk by a cheerful West Indian man with biceps that bulged out from beneath the short sleeves of his camouflage tunic. He had a bright smile and a boxer’s flattened nose.
‘You must be Mrs Cooper.’ He extended a shovel-sized hand. ‘Jed Harris, Corporal.’
Jenny felt as small as a child in his huge physical presence. ‘Good morning.’
He glanced at a computer monitor sitting on the counter top. ‘I’ve located Private Lyons’s kit for you.’
‘Does your system tell you when it arrived?’
‘Looks like it came back with the rest of the platoon.’ He clicked through to another screen. ‘That’s right.’
‘Has it been touched?’
‘Haven’t got to it yet. Everything we had out there’s been shipped back in the last week. Each item has to be cleaned, sorted, logged. It’s all gone crazy. What do you want done with it?’
‘I was planning to take it with me.’
‘A sixty-pound pack? Do you have a car?’
Jenny felt suddenly foolish. ‘I walked over.’
Corporal Harris grinned. ‘I’ll give you a lift, don’t worry.’
As an afterthought, Jenny said, ‘What about Private Kenny Green’s kit?’
Harris looked again at the screen. ‘It’s in the same place.’
‘I suppose I had better take that, too.’
She went with him into the body of the building. They walked between two rows of shelves that rose fifteen feet high. The concrete floor was covered with a thin film of pale sand that crunched beneath her shoes.
‘Gets everywhere,’ Corporal Harris said. ‘Sometimes I think we must’ve brought half the dirt in Helmand back with us. This section’s where we keep all the personal kit – each man has approximately forty-three separate items of standard issue on tour – and at the far end’s the armoury. You’ve got radios and electronics over there and most of the rest of the space is taken up with vehicle parts. You want to know where your taxes go – here it all is.’
They arrived at a section of shelving loaded with assorted crates. ‘Anything that doesn’t belong anywhere else fetches up here – the orphans’ section,’ Corporal Harris said, and pulled over a wheeled ladder. He skipped up it as lightly as a dancer and came back down with a bulging rucksack. ‘That’s Private Lyons’s stuff.’ He beat it with his palm to knock off the worst of the dust. ‘See what I mean?’ He went back up the ladder and returned with a second pack. ‘This one’s not so bad.’ He picked one in each hand and set off along the aisle, the thick veins curling around his forearms like angry snakes. ‘The vehicle’s out the back there.’
Jenny said, ‘Have you been out to Helmand?’
‘Three tours,’ Harris said. ‘I wouldn’t recommend it for a holiday.’
‘Were you stationed to a forward command post?’
‘Two out of the three.’
‘You’ve heard about Private Lyons going missing overnight from 2 Platoon’s FCP?’
‘Yes . . .’ A trace of wariness entered his voice.
‘It may seem a slightly odd question, but assuming he’d bedded down like everyone else, what would you expect him to have been wearing?’
