This is too much to take, and Kineally lunges at him. And it is only when it is already too late to stop himself that he sees the short iron bar in Coutes’s hands, and realizes that this is exactly what Coutes wanted him to do – what all the taunting was designed to make him do.
The first blow strikes him on the arm, and knocks him off balance. Two more blows hit home – one to the side and one to the leg – as he is going down. And then he is lying on the ground.
In incredible pain!
Fighting for breath!
And through the pain, he can still hear Coutes’s voice.
‘As soon as I learned that Mary had topped herself, I knew it would come to this,’ Coutes is saying. ‘Anybody else would have shrugged it off – would have said that if she’d been sleeping around, she wasn’t worth grieving over. But not you, you stupid bastard. You’ll keep coming back at me as long as you’re able to. So I’m just going to have to make sure you’re not able to, aren’t I?’
There is no mistaking what the words mean – no possibility of misinterpretation. Even through the pain, Kineally realizes that Coutes intends to kill him.
And there is nothing he can do about it!
He hears a new voice. Not as near as Coutes’s voice, but not that far away, either.
‘Captain Kineally? Captain Kineally? Where are you, sir? Are you in the goddam skittle alley?’
And suddenly Coutes is no longer there.
‘He was in one hell of a state when I found him in that skittle alley,’ Birnbaum said. ‘I didn’t know how to deal with him myself, so I put him into the jeep and brought him back to the camp for the paramedics to take a look at him. They did their best to patch him up, but it wasn’t an easy job, because his shoulder was dislocated and three of his ribs were broken.’
‘What a touching story,’ Woodend said, in a voice as menacing as a cut-throat razor. ‘Truly touching. And do you know, I’d almost be inclined to believe it – if I hadn’t spent more than an hour this morning listening to you feed me an entirely different load of horse shit!’
‘Believe me, this isn’t horse shit!’ Abe Birnbaum pleaded. ‘Believe me, because – I promise you, Charlie – this time I’m telling you the truth.’
‘Special Agent Grant has had a whole vault full of documents shipped out from the States. Did you know that?’
‘I … I guess I saw some cardboard boxes being—’
‘And among those documents are all the medical records for Haverton Camp – so they should contain the details of the treatment given to Robert Kineally, after he was attacked, shouldn’t they?’
‘I—’
‘I’m goin’ to ask you a question, Abe, an’ I want you to think very carefully before you answer it. An’ the question is this – if I look for those records, will I find them?’
Birnbaum looked down at the floor of the trailer. ‘No, you won’t,’ he mumbled.
‘And why won’t I?’
‘Because nothing went through the official channels. The paramedics were buddies of mine, and they didn’t make any record of the treatment.’
‘How very convenient!’ Woodend said. ‘An’ would you like to tell me why you did things that way?’
‘Because that’s what Captain Kineally wanted.’
‘Because that’s what Captain Kineally wanted! Of course that was the reason! It’s common sense, when you think about it!’ Woodend paused. ‘Tell me, Abe, just how stupid do you think I am?’
‘It’s all true, Charlie! I promise you it is. The Captain said that if it got to be common knowledge that he’d been fighting with a British officer, both him and Coutes would be arrested. And that was the last thing he wanted.’
‘I can understand him not wanting to be arrested himself, but after what Coutes had done to him, he surely wanted to see that bastard behind bars.’
‘You don’t understand him,’ Birnbaum said.
‘Then explain him to me, so I will.’
‘He said he didn’t want Coutes to be punished by anybody else. He said he wanted them to be both to remain at liberty, so he could get a second crack at Coutes himself – and this time he wasn’t going to take no sucker punches.’
‘So what was the point of all the lies that you told to me an’ Special Agent Grant?’ Woodend asked sceptically.
‘I lied because I loved the guy,’ Abe Birnbaum said. ‘I loved him like a brother. I loved him like I loved my own father. And I didn’t want nobody thinking he was a coward – even if he was.’
‘Hang on, you’ve lost me there completely,’ Woodend admitted.
‘When I got up the next morning, the jeep was missing,’ Abe Birnbaum explained. ‘I should have reported it, but I didn’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I didn’t want anybody to know that he’d taken it.’
‘He didn’t take it!’
‘Yes, he did,’ Abe Birnbaum said sadly. ‘He sounded brave enough while the paramedics were patching him up – and maybe he was feeling brave then. But later, when he was all alone, he must have realized that he’d never have the nerve to face down Coutes again. So what did he do? He took the jeep and drove to the railway station! Then he caught the first train he could out of here. And nobody’s ever seen him since – because he’s too ashamed to show his face.’
‘No, he—’
‘That’s what he did, Charlie. I know, because I went out looking for the jeep, and found it where he’d left it. It wasn’t the Captain who drove the jeep deeper into the woods, and covered it with camouflage. I did that! I did it because I wanted to buy him more time to get away!’
‘You’ve got the wrong end of the—’
‘Let me finish,’ Abe Birnbaum said, and there were tears pouring from his eyes now. ‘I’ve held it all back for over twenty years, Charlie, so now please let me finish!’
‘All right,’ Woodend agreed.
‘Everybody who knew him – from his own parents right down to the enlisted men on the base – knows that he disappeared. But they don’t know why he disappeared. They can guess – but they don’t know. And there’s some comfort in that, because it’s their choice whether to believe good things about him or to believe bad ones. So they can choose to believe that he fell in the sea, and was drowned. Or they can choose to believe that he was sent on a top-secret mission to Germany, and was killed in action. But if they knew the truth, Charlie – that he ran away because he was scared to death of Douglas Coutes – then they’d have no choice at all.’
‘The truth is that Robert Kineally never took that jeep,’ Woodend said. ‘The truth is, he was murdered during the night and buried in a shallow grave at the edge of the camp.’
Birnbaum looked as if he had been hit in the face with a rock. For several moments he said nothing at all, then his mouth began to move frantically, like that of a landed fish.
‘Take it easy,’ Woodend said softly.
‘B … but if he didn’t take the jeep,’ Birnbaum stuttered, ‘that means … that means …’
‘Yes,’ Woodend agreed grimly. ‘We all know what that means.’
Twenty-Three
Woodend closed the door of Abe Birnbaum’s trailer behind him, and stepped out into the night. The air had been mild – almost spring-like – during the day, but now that darkness had descended, the heavy frost which accompanied it had made that same air as cold and sharp as a knife.
As he walked along the line of trailers, Woodend wondered if it had been as cold as this on the night that Douglas Coutes had attacked Robert Kineally with an iron bar – the night when, but for Birnbaum’s sudden appearance on the scene, the English captain would probably not have walked away until he had made sure that his enemy was dead.
He had almost reached Coutes’s trailer. Earlier in the day, there had been two American MPs guarding it from a discreet distance, but now there was no sign of them at all.
Now why was that? Had the wintry conditions made them decide to go temporarily AWOL? Or was
it that Special Agent Grant had decided that Coutes no longer posed a flight risk?
Woodend knocked on the trailer door, and Coutes answered the knock almost immediately.
The Minister was wearing a dressing gown of shot-silk, and smoking a long fat cigar. He looked down at Woodend with what could only have been called amused disdain.
‘Do you mind if I come in?’ the Chief Inspector asked.
‘Do you have a warrant?’
‘Do I need one?’
Coates smirked. ‘Of course not. Even in these days of doctored statements and cunningly fabricated evidence, the truly innocent man very rarely has anything to fear from the authorities.’
Woodend entered the trailer, and looked around him. Though all the units on this site were of the same basic design, the fixtures and fittings in this one were far superior to those in either his own or Abe Birnbaum’s, he noted. But he should not really have been surprised by that, he thought. Even when they were under suspicion of committing a capital crime, the elite were still the élite.
‘Would you care for a drink?’ Coutes asked, with mock-graciousness. ‘I’m afraid I can’t offer you the pint of “wallop” that you’re probably used to. But if you think it wouldn’t be entirely wasted on you, I can provide you with a glass of fine malt whisky from my private stock.’
Patronizing bastard, Woodend thought.
‘I didn’t come here for a drink,’ he said. ‘This isn’t in the nature of a social visit at all.’
‘No, of course it isn’t,’ Coutes agreed. ‘Why would it be? Indeed, given our respective backgrounds, how could it be? We’re like oil and water, you and I. Or perhaps fine brandy and bathtub gin would be nearer the mark. Still, the fact that you decline a drink is no reason for my not indulging myself, now is it?’
‘No, it isn’t,’ Woodend agreed. ‘Especially since, from what I know of you, I’d say that indulgin’ yourself is what you do best.’
Coutes gave a short, unamused, laugh. ‘Very good,’ he said. ‘Almost witty – in a crude, proletarian sort of way. Did they teach you how to do that at police college, or is it a natural gift?’
Woodend said nothing, and Coutes, not expecting an answer, went over to the cupboard and poured himself a drink.
‘So how’s the investigation going, Sergeant?’ the Minister asked, with only mild interest.
‘I’ve told you before, Mr Coutes, I’m a Chief Inspector now,’ Woodend replied. ‘An’ since you’re askin’, I’d have to say that the investigation’s goin’ rather well.’
‘Rather well,’ Coutes repeated, rolling the words around in his mouth. ‘Rather well. Am I to take it then, Chief Inspector, that you now know who killed Robert Kineally?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then please don’t keep me in suspense any longer. Tell me who the murderer was.’
‘It was you.’
‘Really?’ Coutes said, as casually as if a matter under discussion was of only marginal interest to him. ‘And what has led you to this astounding – and rather far-fetched – conclusion?’
‘I’ve got a motive – a really strong motive.’
‘That I didn’t like Kineally, and Kineally didn’t like me? But you’ve always known that.’
‘That’s true,’ Woodend agreed. ‘But what I didn’t know was just how bad it had got.’
‘Ah, you must have learned about our little contretemps in the skittle alley of the Dun Cow!’
‘I’ve learned that you took an iron bar with you, and beat the shit out of him. And that if Abe Birnbaum hadn’t turned up when he did, you’d probably have killed him, then an’ there.’
‘You’re exaggerating what was, in truth, a very minor incident,’ Coutes said easily.
‘A minor incident in which Robert Kineally happened to get three of his ribs broken.’
‘If you’re too weak and feeble to play in the big boys’ games, then you stay away from them.’
‘There was no other way out, was there?’ Woodend continued. ‘Kineally was goin’ to come after you again, as soon as he was strong enough. And this time, he’d know what to expect. This time, he’d be ready for you. An’ you simply couldn’t have allowed that to happen.’
‘I could have taken him any time, anyhow, anywhere.’
‘Maybe you could. But he’d have made sure there were witnesses the next time, an’ even if you won, you’d lose.’
‘Would I?’
‘You know you would. You might have wriggled your way out of goin’ to gaol if you’d hurt him badly – or even if you’d killed him – but it would have damaged your military career beyond repair. An’ not just your military career – there was no way you’d ever make your mark in politics with that kind of dark stain on your character.’
‘I can see that you don’t know much about the world of politics,’ Coutes told him. ‘Any stains which I might – or might not – have on my character are nothing to the huge black blotches which cover some of my esteemed colleagues from head to foot.’
‘I wonder if anybody saw you with the jeep?’ Woodend mused.
Coutes blinked, and turned a shade paler. ‘What jeep?’ he asked, unconvincingly.
‘Robert Kineally’s jeep. You see, since it was found in the woods, the military police assumed that he’d dumped it there himself, an’ gone the rest of the way on foot. So the one thing they won’t have asked the people they questioned is whether they saw anybody drive the jeep to the railway station.’
‘And why should they have?’
‘Because somebody – an’ by somebody, I mean you – did just that. You hoped the military police would find the jeep at the station, an’ assume that Kineally had taken a train.’
‘And why would I have wanted them to assume that?’
‘Don’t try playin’ me for the fool,’ Woodend said. ‘You wanted the American military police to think he’d already left the area, so they wouldn’t start lookin’ for him closer to home. An’ it would have worked, too. When they did finally find the jeep, more than a week later, that’s exactly the conclusion they reached. It was only because they couldn’t find it initially that they did the very thing you didn’t want them to do – search the whole area with a fine-tooth comb.’
‘It was amazing the efforts they went to,’ Douglas Coutes said. ‘If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I’d never have believed that – with a war going on – they’d waste so many resources searching for just one man.’
Woodend chuckled. ‘I’ll bet you wouldn’t. An’ I’ll bet you crapped yourself every time you saw anybody walkin’ near the perimeter fence. Because if they had found the body then, so soon after what had happened in the Dun Cow skittle alley, you would have been the Number One suspect – even without the knife an’ the fingerprints.’
Douglas Coutes drew heavily on his cigar. ‘This is all pure speculation,’ he said.
He suddenly seemed much calmer, Woodend thought. Why did he suddenly seem calmer?
‘It will only take one witness to place you at the railway station with Kineally’s jeep, an’ we’ll have a cast-iron case against you,’ he said.
Coutes laughed. ‘One witness?’ he repeated.
‘That’s what I said.’
‘You think you’ll be able to find a witness who – after twenty-one years – will be willing to swear under oath that he saw me drive up to the railway station on that particular day and in that particular vehicle?’
‘You’d be amazed at the odd things people do remember.’
‘You’re clutching at straws,’ Coutes told him. ‘And I must say, I’m really disappointed in you.’
‘Why? Because you thought I’d be so impressed at workin’ for an important government minister that I’d manufacture the evidence necessary to get you off, even though I knew you were guilty?’
‘No, it’s not that at all. I’m disappointed because you’ve let your personal animosity cloud your professional judgement. I knew you didn’t like me when I first asked you to
investigate the case, but I assumed you’d be more interested in serving justice than in settling old scores.’
‘I am servin’ justice,’ Woodend told him. ‘You murdered Robert Kineally. How can you keep on denyin’ it like this, when there’s so much evidence stackin’ up against you?’
‘Since you appear to be a particular dense and stubborn individual, I will repeat this one more time,’ Coutes said. ‘My knife was stolen from me at least a week before the murder. I did not use it to kill that man, nor did I use any other method to kill him. I did not bury his body in a shallow grave. I have been framed. I don’t know by whom, and I don’t know why – but I have been framed. And I expect you to prove it, because that’s your job.’
Woodend shook his head in wonder. ‘You still think you’re goin’ to get away with it, don’t you?’ he asked. ‘Even at this late stage of the game, you’re still convinced you’ll find a way to cheat fate.’
‘I’ve said all I intend to say,’ Coutes told him haughtily, ‘except that I’m very much looking forward to hearing your grovelling apology when you realize just how wrong you’ve been.’
Monika Paniatowski stretched out luxuriantly on the bed in her trailer. She felt good – like the cat who’d got the cream, or a hungry bear which had suddenly come across a gourmet picnic basket.
She took a drag on her cigarette, and then turned her head to look at the lean, hard back of the man who was lying next to her.
Ed Grant was full of surprises, she thought.
Who would ever have guessed that the mild-mannered American would not only have decided that he wanted to sleep with her, but would have aggressively pursued that desire, as he had the night before?
Who could have imagined that a man with such a pedestrian, bureaucratic attitude to the business of crime detection could ever turn out to be so amazingly inventive in bed?
‘Are you asleep?’ she asked.
‘The FBI never sleeps,’ Grant replied – predictably.
A Long Time Dead Page 18
