Bloody Reckoning Read online

  He might not, but I did. Just as Lawson didn’t want to be seen with any gangsters, I didn’t want to be any part of the implication that Cowan was a suspected serial killer. I’d have been wary even if I hadn’t been suspended. We’d never met, but I knew of her, like everyone else in the Army. Apart from the Prince of Wales, Theresa Cowan was the most famous serving soldier. Her Olympic medal and OBE aside, she’d been promoted from the ranks and been mentioned in despatches for bravery. There were only two women with a Military Cross – one soldier and one sailor – and very few wore the MiD oak leaf, like Maikel and I. She was a bit of a looker too, from the photos and TV footage I’d seen. I suspected Lawson and I were coming to a parting of ways.

  I decided to leave catching killers to Lawson and concentrate on my own problems, namely arranging a meeting with Bell.

  And surviving it.

  *

  There was a knock at the door while I was clearing the table after lunch on Thursday. I opened up to find Mac, holding a camera in a grey pouch.

  “Hello! Did you get my message about Cowan?”

  “Yeah, I did thanks. Come in.”

  He greeted Siân cheerfully, but she wasn’t in the mood for company and retired to her room, the wind making the balcony temporarily uninhabitable. All I’d told her about last night was that Lawson and I had had a scuffle with Hampton and co., which was enough to explain my headache and swollen jaw. The headache was gone, and the swelling shrunk, but the whole left side of my face hurt like hell. I’d tried not to let it show, but Siân was still scared.

  “She’s struggling today,” Mac said, looking at the closed door.

  “Yeah, she is. Do you want a drink?”

  “No, thanks. I can’t stay long; I just came to drop these off and find out why you were asking me daft questions about Cowan.” He put the camera down on the dining table, followed by a set of keys, a manila envelope, and a clear plastic bank bag with what looked liked a black lens cover inside.

  I pulled a chair out and he sat opposite. “I passed your message on to Lawson. He said they’re going to treat her as a suspect.”

  “Are you serious, mate?”

  “Why not? She knew Haywood, she was based at Hohne with Keogh, and Gordon claimed he was shagging her – I think he did, anyway.”

  Mac frowned. “Aye, I suppose. I printed off a summary of her service for you.” He touched the envelope. “Do you really think the killer could be a woman?”

  “It would be unusual, but it’s possible. I think I’m calling it a day after going to the crime scene, anyway. I need to keep out of trouble until I’m back on duty and I don’t want to be involved in investigating a celebrity soldier.”

  “Aye, but you can start being sensible tomorrow. Have you recced my job yet?”

  “No.”

  “You better get a move on; it’s all happening tonight.”

  “I know, don’t worry. I’ll walk over this afternoon.”

  “The keys are for the disused building I was talking about. Red-brick with Harvey-Scruton written on it. Used to be a manufacturing chemist, but it’s been empty for ages. The O Club is held in the building opposite, which has a blue door. You can’t miss it because of the doormen, and the guests, like. I reckon you should use one of the upstairs windows to take the photos. If you can get Strong coming and going, that would be champion.”

  I picked up the camera and removed it from the pouch. It was a silver digital Canon, slightly larger than my hand. “I just switch this on and let rip? If I’m taking photos from across a narrow lane, aren’t the doormen going to see the flash?”

  “I’ve disabled the flash. That’s what this is for.” He picked up the plastic bag. “What you need to do is zoom to the right distance, then fit this over the lens. Nice and tight, but don’t force it. When it’s on, point and press.”

  “What is it?”

  “An infrared filter. I made it myself. The photos won’t be perfect, but they’ll do.”

  I was sceptical. “How long will the battery last and how long is the delay before standby mode kicks in? I’ve got visions of Strong spending half the night in there.”

  Mac tossed his perfectly gelled hair. “For fuck’s sake, just do your best. I don’t mind if you don’t catch him leaving, but I want a couple of shots of him going in, alright?”

  I was still dubious. “I’ll do what I can, but maybe you should use someone who knows a bit more about cameras next time.”

  “If I had someone who knew what they were doing, I wouldn’t need you. And then I wouldn’t be doing all Lawson’s bloody work for him, would I?” He touched the envelope again.

  “Point taken. I’ll get something.”

  “I’ve got to go. Ring me whenever you’re done; I’ll check for messages when I get up. And don’t play with it when you’re finished. Just bring it back here as is and I’ll come and fetch it.”

  “Okay. Cheerio.”

  I showed him out and knocked softly on Siân’s door. She didn’t answer. I opened it and looked in. She was lying on her back on top of the bedcover, sleeping, her skinny chest rising and falling. I didn’t want to disturb what was probably a rare moment of peace for her, so I closed the door quietly and padded back to the lounge. I picked up the manila envelope, sat down on the couch, and regarded the three chunky folders stacked on the coffee table. I’d been so worried about Hampton and Bell that I’d not bothered to go through the information on Keogh, and had no intention of doing so now either. Cowan was different. Claymore aside, I wanted to take a look at the woman behind the legend. I opened the new envelope and removed the contents, half a dozen pages.

  Where Bavister and Vaughan’s respective careers had been unremarkable, Cowan’s was the complete opposite. She was an Army brat and had first tried to join as an officer in 2000, aged nineteen. She’d failed selection and joined as a soldier in the Royal Signals later that year. She qualified as a radio technician and was promoted to lance corporal in December 2001, joining 30 Signals Regiment in Poole. Three months later she was sent to the Regimental Information Team and competed in the Bislett Games in Oslo. She went to Northern Ireland in September that year for her first operational tour. On her return she was promoted to corporal, competed in the World Championships in Athletics in Saint-Denis, and played hockey for the Army team.

  In 2004, Cowan completed a tour in Iraq, with the Royal Anglian Regiment, and was mentioned in despatches. In January of the next year, she’d joined the Army Physical Training Corps as a PTI. Her first posting in her new role had been ATR Winchester. She was promoted to sergeant in 2006 and took a silver medal in the 400m at the Commonwealth Games in Melbourne. She won another silver at the World Championships in Osaka in 2007, and a bronze medal at the Olympic Games in Beijing in 2008. Her triumphal return had been marked by her promotion to staff sergeant, based at ATR Bassingbourn.

  Cowan competed in the Commonwealth Games in Delhi in October 2010, winning the gold in the 400m, and received an MBE two months later for her efforts in Army recruiting. She received her commission in 2011, serving in Camp Bastion from June until the end of the year. Thereafter, she’d been posted to the HQ of the Desert Rats in Hohne, and had won another bronze medal at the London Olympics last year, which had catapulted her into the public eye. She’d had her MBE upgraded to an OBE, retired from athletics, and taken up a position as second-in-command of the Army Foundation College in Harrogate.

  I wondered what Cowan was still doing in the Army, but that was probably naïve. Athletes didn’t make anything like the kind of money footballers did. Very likely she felt that a career as a coach wasn’t guaranteed, whereas she only had another ten years to do in the Army before she could start drawing a pension at the age of forty-one. She could begin a full-time coaching career then, or stay on in the Army until she was fifty-one, in which case she’d probably retire as a lieutenant colonel.

  I was still concentrating on Cowan when I absently picked up Keogh’s document wallet. My attention was
attracted by a Post-it stuck to the first page. It was difficult to read Lawson’s scrawl, but it was something like: What do you think of this one? I realised that the first few pages were separate from the rest, and had nothing to do with Keogh.

  The decomposing body of Private Russell Marillier had been found in a shallow grave in a place called Crab Wood, a couple of miles west of Winchester, on New Year’s Day 2008. The person responsible was another dog walker, Ian Morrison, who had extended his usual route in order to walk off his hangover. Shortly after his dog started digging, Morrison had realised he was looking at the body of a naked young man, part of whose head and face had been chewed away by foxes. The cold weather had retarded the decomposition process and Marillier was initially identified by what was left of his torso, as he’d been an amateur bodybuilder. The Hampshire Constabulary confirmed his identity with his dental records.

  Marillier was an eighteen-year-old Liverpudlian who’d been recruited to the Intelligence Corps. He’d only been in the Army for two and a half months and was doing his Phase 1 Common Military Syllabus Training at Winchester. He’d last been seen alive leaving the camp on Friday the 24th of October, on a weekend pass. He’d failed to return on Sunday night, and been reported AWOL on Monday morning. The cause of death was traumatic brain injury from impact on the cranium. There were depressed skull fractures in three places, caused by multiple blows from an edged metal implement which might have been a spade.

  I flicked forward to the postmortem report. The pathologist had found a narrow groove in the skull, four inches long, running from the right temple to the back of the head. He noted that it could have been the result of a small calibre bullet, but couldn’t be certain; nor could he be certain when it had been inflicted, due to the damage from the foxes and the decomposition.

  The pathologist might not have known, but I did. I knew exactly what it was. I also knew Vaughan and Cowan had both been instructors at Winchester in October 2007.

  I reached for the phone and dialled Lawson.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Lawson’s answering service picked up, proof that he could annoy me without even trying. I left a curt message for him to contact me ASAP, but I was more angry with myself than him. Lawson did have a finely tuned talent for aggravation, but I’d known that all along. What really irritated me was that my resolution to keep away from Claymore hadn’t even lasted eighteen hours. I blamed it on my fascination with Cowan rather than a lack of self-discipline. It was already half-three and I had a list of things to do before I took up my surveillance. Top of these was familiarising myself with the O Club premises, preferably in a manner that wasn’t too obvious. I pocketed the keys Mac had left and was just starting a note to Siân when she appeared, wiping the sleep from her eyes.

  “Hello,” I said, “Fancy a stroll?” She yawned, smiled, and nodded. “You’d better dress warmly, it looks windy out there.” She went back into the bedroom.

  Perfect. No one ever looks at couples, whereas solitary males are often – quite rightly – regarded with suspicion. She reappeared a few minutes later, with a pink jumper under her cord jacket. I handed her my beanie and slung on my own jacket.

  “Where are we going?” she asked as I locked the flat.

  “Around the corner to Micklegate. Mac wants me to do a job for him. Remember the conversation about the S&M club? That’s the one.”

  “I never reckoned you for S&M.”

  “I’m not going in,” I replied, descending the stairs ahead of her.

  She gave me a shadow of a smile. “Then I never reckoned you for a voyeur.”

  We left Emperor’s Wharf and turned right into Skeldergate. I took hold of her hand as we walked along the pavement. She looked so frail, I feared even the mild breeze might unbalance her. Despite the sexual intensity of our previous relationship, there was nothing sensual in our touch now. The woman whose body and beauty I’d enjoyed so much and so often wasn’t the same as the one who’d knocked on my door four years later. The emotional change was even more dramatic than the physical. She had been broken, mentally and materially. Where I couldn’t keep my hands off her before, all I wanted to do now was keep everyone else’s hands off her while she put herself back together again.

  “How are you feeling?” I asked.

  “Better after my nap, as it goes.”

  “No, I mean generally. I know it’s only been four days, but I wondered…” I tailed off. I was hoping that staying with me had at least fulfilled some of her needs for security, and that the healing process was starting.

  “My appetite is coming back – you can see that, and it’s cool because it gives me more energy. I don’t feel as tired as I used to all the time. But I still can’t sleep. I’m still cuckoo, and I’m still worried about Mick and – and everything else.”

  “Try not to. You know I’ll look after you.” I squeezed her hand very gently and she responded with another smile. It was the saddest, most destitute smile I’ve ever seen before or since. That was when the change inside really hit me. More so than finding a human skeleton turn up on my doorstep or watching her twitch, fidget, or knit. I turned away, so Siân wouldn’t see my eyes water. There wasn’t any point in adding to her distress by revealing my own. I led us across Skeldergate as a further distraction, trying to concentrate on the pain in my jaw rather than the pain in my heart. We reached Micklegate, connecting the medieval walls with Ouse Bridge, and turned left, walking up towards the gate itself.

  “Are you ready for the doctor tomorrow?”

  “Yeah. It’s time I found out exactly how much damage I’ve done my body. Hey presto, you were right about the drugs all along. I remember you told me a story about three of your friends on cannabis. Was that just a load of off-putting rubbish?”

  “Unfortunately not.” Early on in our relationship I’d told her one of the reasons why I wouldn’t tolerate her using drugs while we were together. I’d expected her to tell me to go to hell, and been amazed when she hadn’t. “Nobody likes a sermon, but it was true. Three friends of mine, one from school, two paras. They all smoked cannabis – just cannabis, nothing else. By the time I was commissioned two had disappeared, one was dead.”

  “One died?” she asked.

  “Yeah, my friend from school became a long-distance lorry driver. He smoked too much before or while he was driving, fell asleep at the wheel, and killed himself. The part that scared me was that when I first found out about it, they were all smoking one or two joints a week. The last time I saw each one of them, it was every day. I think Ken was smoking three or four times a day, maybe more, before he disappeared.” I shrugged.

  “I never found cannabis addictive myself, or cigarettes or alcohol.”

  “Obviously all of them had other problems as well, but the drugs made things worse, not better. I’m not saying that’s how it is for everyone, but I don’t believe cannabis, or any other drug, is harmless.”

  “I thought I was in control; I suppose everybody does. Until the last few months, then I couldn’t care, I just wanted the next snort.” Siân touched a nostril with her fingertip. “But that’s it now, no more. Never again. Never, ever, ever. I’ve not even had drink since I came off, you know. When I feel I’m ready, I’ll treat myself to a glass of red or a vodka with ice. But not yet.”

  We crossed Micklegate and passed George Hudson Street. The Holy Trinity Church came into view on our left, with much of its eight-hundred-year-old stone still intact. We turned right, into Barker Lane, which was also like stepping back in time, albeit a much smaller step, perhaps fifty years or so. The lane was very narrow, with red-brick walls and houses on both sides.

  “What are you looking at?” Siân asked.

  “Apparently the sex club is held opposite an empty factory which belonged to a company called Harvey-Scruton. A chemist, I think Mac said. The premises I’m after has a blue door, and I’m supposed to hide in the factory and take photos. It’s not exactly a grid reference, but I’m hoping we’ll find them up ahea
d. Otherwise I’ll have to give Mac a call.” We still had about fifty metres to go before reaching the trees at the end of the lane. “That reminds me, will you be okay on your own tonight? I’ll be going out at about seven and I don’t know when I’ll be home.”

  “I’ll be fine. You don’t have to babysit me. Not that I don’t appreciate your loveliness, but you’ve already done more than I deserve.”

  “No, I haven’t. I said I’d get Bell off your back, and I will.”

  “I could keep you company tonight,” she suggested.

  “I’d love you to, but I don’t think so. If I get caught taking photos there could be some trouble.”

  “Yeah? I hope you’re going to be careful – there’s a blue door, and a green one.”

  We were near the end of Barker Lane, where it formed a T-junction with Toft Green to the left and Tanner Row to the right. There was a blue metal door set into the wall on the left and a large brick building opposite, windows covered in wire mesh. Further along the wall was a set of wooden doors, painted green, opposite a building which looked as if it had been converted into offices.

  “This must be it.” I checked that we were the only ones in the street and peered into the nearest window. I couldn’t see anything for the filth. I let go of Siân’s hand and removed Mac’s keys from my pocket. “Shall we? I hope one of these fits.” I tried the first key unsuccessfully. “Mac said the club is behind that door, but it looks like a curtain wall to me.”

  “Yeah,” Siân replied, “I reckon the blue and green doors both lead to the same courtyard.”

  I tried the next key. “That’s what I thought. I don’t know York as well as I should, but the brewery is close by, and that’s a maze of snickets and yards.”

  “Is that going to be a problem?”

  “Maybe. If the members use more than one entrance I might be wasting my time. I’m not too sure about this place either.” I had the correct key, but was having difficulty unlocking the door. The right combination of finesse and force eventually did the trick. “Let’s find out.”