Bloody Reckoning Page 4

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “Between the Service Police Crime Bureau at Southwick and the HQ Secretariat of the Army Personnel Centre in Glasgow, you’ll have access to far more comprehensive records than you would if the victims were civvies. If it’s a green on blue – if the suspect is also a soldier – then we’ve got records of all Army-related crime at the Central Criminal Record and Intelligence Office at the Bureau, which narrows the odds down even further.”

  “Let’s not jump the gun.”

  “No, of course not.” I stood up. “I’m off. You better give me that file.”

  He handed me the folder and followed me to the door. “Not much on Haywood yet, but everything on Gordon. Keep your mobile on at all times.” I thought about reminding him that I wasn’t in his employ – in terminology he’d understand – but it wasn’t worth effort. He shut the door behind me without saying goodbye.

  I drove back to the flat. I already had a couple of ideas, one of which would probably already have occurred to Lawson, and another which probably wouldn’t. I parked in the underground lot and ascended the three flights of stairs to the top floor. It was half-eleven, so I slipped into the flat as quietly as possible. The lamp was on in the lounge and both bedroom doors were closed. I saw Siân sitting on the couch facing me, and did a double-take.

  My third surprise of the day: she was knitting.

  As surprising as her addiction to cocaine, or a serial killer in the Army? More so, actually. Siân had been a party girl when I met her, a freelance graphic designer with a mortgage-free house in a commuter town called Thame courtesy of her parents, and a good income courtesy of her brains and artistry. She’d spent most evenings at one or another of the nightclubs she frequented in Oxford or London, and didn’t know the meaning of queuing. She’d counted a number of minor celebrities as her friends, drank heavily, and smoked and did drugs occasionally. She was the original wild child: sensual, sassy, and stylish.

  In other words, we were a most unlikely couple. I was doing my Senior Investigating Officer’s course with the Thames Valley Police at their headquarters in Kidlington, on the outskirts of Oxford. Siân and I met one evening in a bar – where else – with her dragging me away from my police colleagues. I have no idea what she saw in me, but she’d liked whatever it was. As for me, I was simply overwhelmed. I’d never met a woman as beautiful as Siân, let alone had one come on to me. Sex was as frequent as it was mind-blowing, and I couldn’t believe my luck. When my course was over a couple of months later, I didn’t expect to see her again. But I discovered a gentler, more caring side to Siân once I went back to York, and I spent most of my weekends and all of my leave with her. I couldn’t honestly say I was in love with her when I was sent to Afghanistan again, but I was close. As soon as Siân found out where I was going – and what I would be doing – she left me. I didn’t blame her.

  I smiled as I walked over. I could see she’d been crying again. I wondered what she was knitting, because all I could make out was a green rectangle with a few holes in it.

  “A penny for your thoughts,” she said softly.

  I put the folder on the coffee table and sat opposite her. I also kept my voice low. “I was remembering how surprised I was that we stayed together once I moved back here. I was also wondering how long you’ve been knitting.”

  “About twenty minutes. I can’t sleep, and it gives me something to do with my hands.”

  “No, I mean when did you take it up as a…hobby? Were you knitting when we were together?”

  “Don’t be daft! I started a couple of weeks ago. I’m rubbish, as you can see, but it stops me scratching myself and chewing my nails. I haven’t had a proper night’s sleep in months. It’s the coke – that and Mick.”

  Her mention of the coke reminded me of another concern. “Have you still got money and your house in Thame?”

  “Oh, yeah, I’ve got the house. I haven’t worked since I moved to Leeds, but I’ve got enough money of my own to last me a while yet. And Mick…gave me money. God, how could I?” At least her habit hadn’t ruined her finances as well. “Remember what I said before. It’s finished. Time to start over again. Time for a new life.

  “I know junkies are paranoid, but Mick found Calum so easily. It’s like I’m expecting him to come through that door any minute. I’m scared. No, I’m not scared, I’m terrified. Not just for me, but Calum too.” Her eyes welled and her lower lip trembled.

  “Try not to worry. You’ve been very clever. There’s no way he could find you here, no way at all. Does Calum know you’ve left Bell?”

  “Yes, I phoned him from the train station. I used a callbox because I left my phone with everything else. Calum’s moved. He sold his flat after…after he was beaten up.” The tears overflowed and she started sniffing; short, sharp inhalations so her nose wouldn’t bleed.

  “Do you want another hanky?” Siân shook her head. I waited until she’d recovered and then asked, “Do you know how Bell found him last time?”

  “I told Mick all about him when we started going out, so it was my fault – all of it.”

  “I assume Bell doesn’t have the new address.”

  “Not from me. Calum said he’d get his new boyfriend to move in with him for a few weeks. He’s a copper. They met when he was attacked.”

  “Good, that will go a long way towards keeping him safe. Even if Bell does find him, he’ll think twice about messing with a cop. And I’ve just been to see a cop called Lawson. He owes me a favour and I’ll use it if things look like they’re getting out of hand. Keep in touch with Calum, and let me look after you. You wouldn’t have come here if you didn’t trust me. So trust me, I’ll take care of you.”

  Siân sniffed again, and smiled through cracked lips. “I’ll try.”

  “Good. Is Maikel sleeping?”

  “Yeah. He went to bed at about eleven. He’s another lovely man. If I was more myself, I’d say he was lush, but I’m having…problems.” She glanced down at her lap. “I can’t go to the toilet and my periods have stopped. I don’t know what it is, but even when I can sleep, I wake up with jip in my arms and legs, like pins and needles.”

  “It’s probably your weight loss. Did you keep that ice cream down?”

  “I did.” This time her smile reminded me of the old Siân. I could see she was really pleased that she’d managed to eat so much. Even though the helpings had been small, it was no doubt more calories than she’d had in a long time.

  “Good.” I pointed to the file. “I’ve got some work to do before I go to sleep. You don’t mind, do you?”

  “No, is my knitting going to be off-putting?”

  “Not at all. Can I get you anything to drink – or more ice cream?”

  She said no, so I took a bottle of water from the fridge and returned to the couch. I removed my shoes and socks and then spread the contents of the folder over the table.

  I wasn’t interested in Haywood yet, because I knew the information would be sparse, but I had a quick look first. Mac had provided Lawson with the basics from Haywood’s service record. Haywood had joined up in January 2012, spent the better part of his first year in the Army doing his Phase 1 training at Army Training Regiment Bassingbourn and Phase 2 training at the Royal Signals School in Blandford. On completion, he’d been promoted to lance corporal and posted to 242 Signal Squadron in York. He had no record on either PNC or at the CCRIO.

  My initial ideas concerned the gap in the two murders and Captain Bavister, Gordon’s associate.

  I didn’t know a great deal about serial killers, but a four-year gap between murders seemed excessive. Lawson would have realised this as well, and was probably hoping the databases would throw up one or more matches in addition to Gordon. There were two issues with Bavister: first, his name was vaguely familiar to me, though I couldn’t remember the context; second, what was he doing socialising with Gordon? The question probably wouldn’t have occurred to Lawson as a cop. Most officers in the police ar
e promoted from the ranks, where most officers in the Forces are not. There is thus less socialising between commissioned officers and other ranks, and sexual relationships are prohibited. There could have been any number of reasons for their association, but it was an anomaly, and required explanation.

  I found Bavister’s service record. Charles Bavister was from Sheffield and had joined the Prince of Wales’s Own Yorkshire Regiment as a second lieutenant in 1999, at the age of twenty. In 2002 he did a six-month tour in Northern Ireland, on completion of which he’d been promoted to lieutenant. He moved to Germany with the PWO the next year, remaining there until a detachment to ATR Bassingbourn in 2006. A tour of Afghanistan in 2008. Promotion to captain and a staff job in Colchester at the beginning of 2009.

  I checked his CCRIO information.

  Bavister’s name had only been logged twice. As an officer, he was responsible for the men under his command, and would be routinely interviewed as a witness to their alleged offences. This would all be registered on the CCRIO database. The first entry was in September 2002, when soldiers from Bavister’s platoon were investigated for committing burglaries in Armagh. Suspicious items were found in the possession of four of his men after a search by the SIB. Bavister was interviewed in order to confirm the patrol zones of the soldiers concerned. Two of his men were court-martialled.

  The second entry was more interesting.

  On the 8th December 2006, Bavister had been the only witness to the death of Lance Corporal Keenan of the Royal Logistics Corps. The two of them were both on an adventure training course, skiing in Norway. The group had split into small teams for a cross-country ski on Jostedal Glacier, and Bavister and Keenan had been partners. Keenan had accidentally skied over the edge of a crevasse and fallen to the bottom, a distance of over a hundred feet. Bavister had gone for assistance, but when the local mountain rescue reached Keenan two hours later, he was already dead. A court martial had cleared Bavister of any responsibility, and praised him for his swift action.

  Bavister, Bavister, Bavister.

  It was an unusual surname and I was sure I’d seen or heard it somewhere. I realised my knowledge was recent, which narrowed it down, because Mac was the only person from the office with whom I was in contact. But Mac and I were friends, and usually talked about our personal lives rather than work. I don’t watch much TV, and the last news report I’d seen had been on Thursday. No, there’d been nothing about Bavister on TV. I pulled out the Friday and Saturday Times from the magazine rack and flicked through them; no mention of him there either.

  I gave up trying to make the connection and went back to the file, picking up an SIB report on Bavister.

  He’d been attached to the headquarters of 12 Mechanized Brigade at the time of Gordon’s murder. Gordon had visited him at his office in Flagstaff House in the couple of months prior to his disappearance. When questioned, Bavister admitted to seeing him three times. He’d claimed that Gordon was unhappy in the Army, didn’t get along with his OC, and wanted career guidance. Bavister had stated that he’d agreed to talk to Gordon as he’d been concerned the young medic was planning to terminate his service. Gordon had been off duty when he’d made the visits, but Bavister hadn’t seen him outside of work, and knew nothing about his personal life.

  There was a handwritten note at the bottom of the last page: Capt. Bavister bisexual? Unconfirmed.

  I dropped the page and pulled out the third newspaper from the magazine rack. Maikel had bought the Sun yesterday and I remembered our conversation about officers behaving badly. It had been a dire week for the Army, publicity-wise: a recently-retired lieutenant colonel had been arrested for robbing a post office at gunpoint, and pages seven and eight of the paper bore the headline, Major Perv’s Privates. Major Perv, AKA Captain Bavister. I retrieved a pen and pad from the bureau, and read the article all the way through, making notes as I went.

  Charles ‘Chas’ Bavister was a major in the 1st Battalion of The Yorkshire Regiment with thirteen years’ service. He had married his fiancée, an Oxfordshire barrister, and was currently assigned to the Army recruitment office in York. In June 2012 he’d been sent to Afghanistan in a staff position, but his tour had been cut short after only three months following allegations of lewd behaviour from his subordinates. They included: telling a young male soldier to masturbate over a female corporal; asking a male corporal how he masturbated; offering to give a male medic oral sex; and suggesting to a male signaller that he try and blackmail a female soldier into having sex with him. Further accusations had been made while he was working at an unnamed Army barracks in 2011. Following an SIB investigation, the Army Prosecuting Authority had charged Bavister with eleven counts of misconduct, and his court martial was due to start on Monday – today.

  Bavister had been an associate of Gordon’s in 2009, and was now based in the same town as Haywood. Though there were several barracks in York, the size of the garrison was small, and there was a good chance the two men knew one another. It could have been coincidence, but it was definitely a start. I wondered about Haywood’s sexuality and if the victims had been found naked because there was a sexual element to the crime or if it was for practical purposes, in order to make identification more difficult.

  I checked my watch: nearly two o’clock. Siân hadn’t made much progress with whatever she was knitting, but she looked calm beneath her haggard exterior. I took my mobile to the balcony and dialled, watching her through the glass door as she stood and picked up the rest of the wool. She gave me a small wave and a timid smile, and headed for the bedroom. Lawson hadn’t followed his own advice and his phone went straight to voicemail. I didn’t bother with pleasantries.

  “It’s me. Look for a connection between Haywood and Charles Bavister.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  I woke shortly after seven, when Maikel left the bedroom in search of orange juice. I was lying on the larger couch, quite comfortable, but tired from lack of sleep. The pages from the murder file were still scattered all over the table, and I wanted to explore a couple of threads, starting with sex-pest Bavister and his current court martial. There were more pressing matters, however, as it was Maikel’s last – and Siân’s first – day with me. I went for a run with Maikel, leaving Siân a note in case she woke to an empty flat. We returned seven miles and forty-eight minutes later: an easy lope for him, a struggle for me. I retrieved my Asp from the car boot while Maikel headed for the shower. Once I’d hidden it under the sink, I tapped on Siân’s door. She was awake, but still in bed, looking drawn and exhausted after another bad night.

  While I waited for the shower, I secluded myself on the balcony, and dialled Mac.

  “Hello! Did your girlfriend find you, then?”

  “She did, thanks. And she is in a state. It’s called cold turkey.”

  “Brown or white?” he asked.

  “White. I’ll fill you in later. What can you tell me about the late Lance Corporal Haywood?”

  “Plenty, seeing as I knew the bloke. Not well, like, but we’d met a few times.”

  “Did you meet Lawson?”

  “Aye, what a tosser.”

  “I know. He’s asked me for help with Haywood.” Mac started to say something, but I cut him off. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep out of trouble. I only said I’d help because I might need a hand with Siân. Have you heard about Gordon?”

  “Aye. Paul went next door for the briefing this morning.”

  “Shit, I was hoping you’d be liaison.”

  Mac laughed. “No chance, mate. I’m 2-i-c at the minute; there’s only five of us left here, counting Paul. It’s absolute chaos.”

  Mac wasn’t exaggerating: 33 Section HQ and York Detachment’s establishment was eleven Investigators. “What about Major Bavister?”

  “What about him? Graeme’s been working on the inquiry. He’s up at Catterick for the court martial today.”

  “Do you know he was an associate of Gordon and is currently based in York?”

  �
�You serious? I didn’t, but I’m sure Paul does. How did you find out so quickly?”

  “Raw intelligence.”

  “Raw sewage, more like; you’re full of shite.”

  “Impress me: is there a connection between Bavister and Haywood?” I asked.

  “I don’t know much about Haywood. He was an athlete and fancied himself with the ladies, but not full of himself. Seemed like a nice bloke.”

  “I’d like to have chat about the murders if you can spare a couple of hours sometime soon.”

  “With the amount of time I’m owed, I should be able to get away for a long lunch tomorrow. I need to speak to you anyway. Will you be at the flat?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Champion. I’ll see you in about twenty-four hours.”

  “Cheerio.”

  I had no intention of risking my career any more than necessary on Lawson’s behalf. I was curious – all cops are curious – but I only wanted to keep Lawson onside until I’d dealt with Bell. Once Siân was safe, Lawson could crawl back under his rock, and I’d sit tight until I was officially back on duty. Sooner or later Lawson would realise that the SIB police liaison, Paul Battle, was in a much better position to assist him than I was. I hoped it would be later, when I no longer needed him.

  When we were all ready, I took Maikel and Siân across Skeldergate Bridge to the Wetherspoons in Piccadilly for a late breakfast. Siân gratified us by having an ice cream dessert and a cup of tea. Afterwards, we spent a few pleasant hours in the town centre, the larger part of which was on this side of the river. Then I drove us to the Tesco in Clifton Moor, so I could stock my shelves with Siân’s choice of food. On arrival, I pointed her and Maikel in the direction of the pay-as-you-go phones, and went to the in-store pharmacy. The chemist suggested a selection of vitamins for someone in Siân’s condition, and I added plenty of them to the trolley. On the way back to the flat, I registered Siân at a nearby doctor’s surgery, booking an appointment for Friday morning.