Bloody Reckoning Read online

  “I know you wouldn’t make it up, and I’m sure you’re right, but it’s not important. This is about me and her; it doesn’t matter what’s gone before.”

  “That’s it, but I’m still warning you.”

  “Okay, thanks. I appreciate it. Now I need to find this Webber feller. I don’t suppose you have access to a directory that includes SIB details? I didn’t think so. Do you mind?” I picked up my phone.

  Maikel shook his head.

  I rang 37 Section first, in the hope that Webber might be on call. The phone diverted to a mobile and I hung up when I heard the name Stretton. I tried Mac next, even though he was spending the weekend at home in Sunderland, and probably wouldn’t have the information to hand.

  “Hello, Mac here.”

  “Garth. How are you feeling?”

  “Better, but Debs wasn’t happy about the state of me. I blamed you, mind.”

  I’d not met the delectable Deborah Donnelly yet, though I had sat through twenty minutes of Emmerdale so I could see what all the fuss was about. She was indeed a looker and they seemed to make a good match. “I’m in Colchester and I’m trying to track down Steve Webber. You don’t have an address for him, do you?”

  “No, I don’t. Wait, I might. I think he’s on my Christmas card list. Just hold on, mate.” Mac was back a minute later. “Aye, I have, and I’ve got some good news as well. Bavister. The judge advocate doesn’t give a shite about his appeal. His forfeiture of seniority’s going ahead and he’s due to report for duty with The Rifles on Monday morning. I’m chuffed to bits.”

  “So am I, but I feel sorry for The Rifles.”

  “They had to send him to another regiment. Maybe he’ll resign.”

  “I hope so, but it’s more likely he’ll sit out his appeal and –”

  “Don’t! Don’t depress me when I’m actually feeling good about a case. You ready for this address?”

  “Yeah, go on.”

  Mac gave me an address in Cedars Road, between 37 Section and Southway, the dual carriageway that separated the garrison from the town.

  “Thanks. Any news about our skirmish?” I didn’t want to say too much in front of Maikel.

  “Aye, one down, three to go.”

  “Meaning?”

  “You were right about the accent. I found Lyle yesterday. Someone’s bust his nose, and I reckon that’s me. I didn’t say owt, but he knew that I knew. No confirmation on Strong yet, but I know he was involved.”

  A wave of relief washed over me. I should’ve known: if Bell’s men had attacked us, they wouldn’t have been scared off by a woman screaming. They wouldn’t have used their fists and boots either. I thanked Mac again, promised to catch up next week, and said goodbye.

  “You gonna go now?” Maikel asked when I’d finished the call.

  “Yeah, but I might be a while.”

  “Siân and I can do something in town and you can meet us there when you’re finished. I keep my phone on so I can tell you where we are.”

  It sounded like a good idea, so I left Hyderabad Barracks and drove the short distance to Cedars Road. I found Webber’s residence – a semi-detached family quarter – with ease, and rapped on his door at ten to eleven. There was no answer, so I tried again, a little louder. On my third attempt, the door of the neighbour’s house opened, and a young woman carrying a baby stepped outside.

  “Hi. Are you looking for Steve?”

  “Hello. I’m Garth Hutt, a colleague of his from York. Do you know when he’s going to be back?”

  “They’ve gone down to Maldon for the day. They’ll probably be back around five or six. Why don’t you give him a call?”

  “I tried, but I couldn’t reach him. Thanks very much.”

  She smiled and bounced her baby on her hip. I hid my annoyance, returned her smile, and said goodbye.

  I made it back to Hyderabad just in time to catch Maikel and Siân before they left. We had lunch in the Hub Café, which was probably ironic considering how much I was regretting turning Webber’s initial invitation down. I restricted myself to soft drinks over lunch, hoping I’d need my wits about me later. I was pleased to see Maikel and Siân both drinking alcohol: it meant that his recovery was complete, and hers was beginning. We all had the same again at the Slug and Lettuce at four o’clock. I’d have enjoyed the afternoon more if I hadn’t had a growing sense that Bavister was the key to Claymore, and Keenan the key to Bavister. I was also dreading that Lawson would phone before I’d seen Webber. He’d have every right to be angry.

  The call came at twenty to five.

  “Hello, Alex.”

  “Did Bavister waste Keenan, or what?”

  “I’m seeing Webber at six.”

  Though I was used to his lack of social graces, I was taken aback by the fury in his response. “For fuck’s sake, I can’t wait that long!”

  “I’m sorry; I’ve already been to his house and spoken with his neighbour.”

  “Why don’t you just ring the muppet?”

  “Because he’s off-duty and spending the weekend with his family. He might not talk to me on the phone, but if I turn up it’ll be quicker for him to get rid of me by telling me what I want to know.”

  “Listen, I haven’t got time to pussyfoot around. Give me his number. I’ll phone him myself and tell him to spill his fucking guts to you unless he wants to be charged with obstruction.”

  A call from Lawson was unlikely to put Webber in any kind of cooperative mood. “He’s probably on his way back home now anyway. Can’t it wait an hour and a quarter?”

  “Probably isn’t good enough, not with Bavister.”

  “Is there something you haven’t told me?”

  “I’ll get to that in a minute. I want the governor to authorise us to tug Bavister before he fucks off to Exeter to join his new regiment. If I give her Keenan instead of Marillier, she’ll buy it, no question. Ring me as soon as you find Webber; then ring me again when you’ve spoken to him. If I don’t hear from you by six, I’ll be phoning him myself. If he doesn’t answer, he’ll be one of the UK’s most wanted by seven, and I’ll be kicking in his front door by half-nine. Clear?”

  I ignored his tirade. “What did you find?”

  “Remember the O Club?”

  “Yeah.”

  “We’ve been interviewing the members one by one. A bloke we spoke to yesterday said Bavister liked to take photos when the punters didn’t mind. The governor was thinking the same as me – about the souvenirs the shrinks mentioned – so she got a search warrant for the premises and turned the place over today. Guess what we found?”

  “Dirty photos?”

  “A foot locker full of hundreds of them and some fucking horrible sex toys. Stashed away in the roof space. Extreme gay S&M, all of it. Really grim stuff, even if you are a fag. Boniface was nearly sick, and I’ve seen him eat a sandwich at a postmortem. In amongst the stacks of photos there were eight we were interested in. All of naked young men kneeling on the floor, with their hands cuffed behind their backs.”

  “One of them was Haywood?” I guessed.

  “And one of them was Gordon.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  I was knocking on Webber’s door again by five o’clock, but there was still no response. I sat outside in my car, which I’d parked twenty metres or so away from his house, and waited. Again. I wondered how many hours I’d spent waiting in the last two weeks, most of them in my car. Such is the cop’s lot, I suppose, and the fate of the curious. Five became quarter-past, then half-past, and then quarter-to. Still no Webber. My vigil was interrupted by the phone at ten to six. I was grateful for something to alleviate the boredom, but I checked to see it wasn’t Lawson before answering.

  “Hello, Nick.”

  “Hello, Garth, how goes it?”

  “It’s been better. I’m sitting in my car in Colchester, waiting for a witness to come home. And you?”

  “Bloody good. I had a quiet word with Bev yesterday afternoon and I thought you
might want to know what she had to say about Bourg and Coleman. I tried you last night, but there wasn’t much point in leaving a message.”

  “Yeah, I’ve got a bone to pick with Beverley. Apparently she didn’t get back to Theresa to tell her they’d released Coleman.”

  “Really? Doesn’t sound like her. Anyway, before I tell you what’s what, I want an update on our serial killer. Any news?”

  “Yes and no. The man the police consider to be their prime suspect has disappeared, but –”

  “When did this happen?”

  I ignored the question. “But in the meantime they seem to have changed their minds about him, and have someone else in the frame. That’s what I’m doing down here at the moment.”

  “Sounds like a bit of a shambles.”

  “I think the term you want is ongoing inquiry.”

  “You are going to ring me when they make an arrest – of either suspect?”

  “We’ve got a deal, haven’t we?”

  “The very words I wanted to hear.” I could picture him smiling to himself on the other end of the line. “Bev was furious about the memory stick, but I blamed you.”

  “Thanks. If I’m dismissed, remember I know where you live.”

  “Don’t be like that! I didn’t tell her what happened. I just told her you gave it to me and said it was Bourg’s. She promised me she wouldn’t take it any further. Bev and I have an understanding.”

  I couldn’t imagine Beverley making any promises to Fielding, aside from actual bodily harm. “It didn’t look like it at the funeral, but go on.”

  “Bourg was a suspect because of his association with Woody, but he was in Cornwall for the whole week. I still think he might have hired someone to do it – he obviously has plenty of money – but Bev seems to have eliminated him entirely. She said Coleman is a complete fruitcake. He didn’t deny following Cowan, just like he didn’t deny being glad that Woody was dead, but his only explanation was that he had unfinished business with her. Apparently he kept on repeating the words unfinished business like a mantra every time they mentioned Cowan. Bev told me that they’re beginning to doubt he has the resources to carry out such a well-planned murder.”

  “He has an alibi, but it’s dodgy.”

  “I know, and I’m wondering if he isn’t playing a very shrewd game by convincing the police that he’s not firing on all cylinders.”

  “Maybe you’re right. Theresa’s back at the Army Foundation College in Harrogate, so I hope he leaves her alone now anyway.”

  “Shit, here’s Mrs F – I have to go. I’m not supposed to be making business calls on a Saturday evening. You don’t really know where I live, do you?”

  I hung up. It served him right for mentioning me to Beverley.

  I switched off my phone at six so as not to have to put up with abuse from Lawson and decided I’d ring Webber at quarter past six if he hadn’t arrived yet. If he refused to speak to me, I’d set Lawson on him.

  At eleven minutes past six a metallic red Mercedes Benz pulled into Webber’s drive. I watched as three very small people and a giant stepped out of the sedan. Actually, Webber wasn’t a giant; he was about Maikel’s height with a little more meat on him, but he towered over his family. He had short black hair with a moustache that reminded me of Bell. His wife was tiny, barely over five foot, and their two children were aged about seven and five.

  I waited for them all to go inside the house, then left my car. I was just about to knock on the front door when it opened and Webber and I stared at each other in mutual surprise. He had his car keys in his right fist.

  “Yes?” he said in a soft accent I couldn’t quite place.

  “Hello, my name’s Hutt. I’m sorry about turning up like this, but I really need to speak to you urgently.” I produced my ID.

  He waved it away. “I know who you are, Captain, but I don’t appreciate you disturbing my family at home.”

  “Steve,” I heard from inside, “is someone there?”

  “It’s nothing, I’ll be back in a minute,” he said over his shoulder.

  “I wouldn’t be here if it could wait.”

  Webber stepped forward and I backed out of his way. He shut the door behind him. “The only person that takes me away from my family on the weekend is my OC. I’ll see you first thing Monday morning, if you fancy. I’m usually in for half-seven.” He walked over to the garage with a peculiar lumbering gait, and opened the door. Then he drove the Mercedes in, locked the garage, and headed back. He glowered at me and there was menace in his voice when he said, “Still here?”

  Webber was obviously a hard case, but he also looked intelligent, despite the moustache. I took a gamble. “There’s a serial killer in the Army and I think you may be able to help me catch him.”

  He walked right up to me. “If there was an Army serial killer, why wait until the weekend to find me?”

  “Because I’m not here in my capacity as an SIB officer, I’m working as a consultant for the North Yorkshire Police. My boss is DCI Hardy, who’s heading their Major Investigation Team. I’ve got a number for a DS called Lawson if you’d like to check. I’m here on his behalf.”

  He raised his thick eyebrows. “You’re a friend of Mac’s?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then you’d better call me Steve, and you’d better come in.” He made some space, held out his hand, and we shook. His grip was bone-crushing, much stronger than I expected, even from a man his size.

  He ushered me inside and his wife appeared, wiping her hands on a tea towel. She was slim, with short black hair and flat features. “Oh, hello,” she said.

  “This is Captain Hutt. Captain, my wife, Freda.”

  “Pleased to meet you. I’m sorry for the intrusion.”

  “Is he staying for tea?” she asked Webber.

  “No thank you,” I cut in. “I have to be back in York tonight.”

  “Come on,” said Webber, leading me through to the lounge, where the floor was covered with toys. “Mind out for the kids’ mess.” There were two small three-seater sofas, and he sat in the middle of one, occupying most of it. I sat on the other and noticed the younger of the two children peer around the kitchen door, behind a square dining table. “Come in and say hello to Captain Hutt if you want, boy.” The child shook his head quickly and disappeared. Webber turned back to me. “Well, it must be serious stuff. Tell me what you want to know.”

  “I’ll make this as brief as I can and I’d appreciate it if you’d keep our conversation confidential until it becomes public knowledge. Four young male soldiers have been shot dead in the last seven years in circumstances which suggest they were killed by a sexual predator, probably a homosexual one. The scenes of the crime were Winchester in 2007, here in 2009, Hohne last year, and York a couple of weeks ago. The police have three suspects, the most likely of which is Major Bavister, whom you investigated with regard to the death of Lance Corporal Keenan in 2006. I want to know if there was anything that wasn’t in the file that might help.”

  Webber’s face was inscrutable and his tone of voice didn’t change. “Like what?”

  “Perhaps you had a hunch or intuition about the accident, but no proof. You know, an unsubstantiated opinion which you couldn’t put down on paper for professional reasons? That’s the sort of thing I had in mind.”

  A crooked smile emerged from under his moustache. “You sound like you’re after something in particular. What is it?”

  “Just the truth.”

  “What are you hoping I’ll tell you?”

  Leading a witness is never a good idea, but Webber was a veteran Investigator, with years of experience. “Bavister had some connection to all of the three most recent victims, but not the first. The Winchester murder has a different MO, so Lawson thinks that it might not be part of the series, and that Keenan might be instead. I assume you’ve heard about Bavister’s court martial?”

  “Yeah, astonishing.”

  “It seems he can’t keep his hands to h
imself. The police recently found some very hardcore S&M photos in his possession. I read the details of Keenan’s accident. I saw he was a young Highlander, buddied-up with Bavister, and that there were no witnesses to what happened. I initially wondered if there was anything more to it, and the more I learn about Bavister, the more I’m inclined to think there was.”

  Webber nodded slowly. “I see. So we’ve got a big, strong, naïve Highland lad; most likely homophobic, even if he doesn’t admit it. The posh nonce of an officer tries it on with him. There’s some sort of confrontation or threat of exposure, and Bavister decides to take care of business. Is that what you’re getting at?”

  “Yeah. Either Bavister tries it on out in the snow and Keenan attacks him there and then, or perhaps he tried it on earlier and Keenan spurned or threatened him – or did something that Bavister took exception to.”

  “I can see why you might suspect that, but I’m sure you realise there are serious flaws with what you’re saying.”

  “I do,” I admitted, “but that doesn’t mean I’m on the wrong track completely. There might be something else that was relevant to the inquiry that I don’t understand. That’s why I’m here, for you to put me straight one way or the other.”

  “Well then, it won’t do. You’re on the wrong track. I considered several scenarios involving foul play when I investigated, but there was nothing more to it. Keenan’s death was an accident, plain and simple. There was no hostility between him and Bavister, and Bavister was entirely professional, hard to imagine as it might be. Bavister was a different man back then. I’m sure he was still a nonce at heart, but he wasn’t self-assured enough to act out his fantasies. Would you believe a lack of confidence was one of the reasons his COs never rated him highly? Yeah, it was. I’m ninety per cent sure he didn’t have the balls to try it on with Keenan, and I’m a hundred per cent sure nothing criminal happened on that glacier.”

  “In that case, I won’t waste any more of your time. I’m really grateful for your help, so maybe you’ll let me buy you that lunch another time?”