The DCI found them gulping next to the kettle. “Ah, there you are. I’ve been waiting for you to get back.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I’ve got two officers from the Royal Military Police, Special Investigations Branch, in my office. A Warrant Officer Thornton and a Sergeant Simmonds. They want to work with you on the investigation.”
Yvonne pulled a face which the DCI ignored. “Apparently, they were involved in the original investigation into two of the deaths at Dale Barracks.”
The DI was awake now. Her eyes narrowed. She took a mouthful of coffee, swallowing it slowly. “They were the ones who concluded they were suicides?” Her face betrayed her gut-felt mistrust.
“Pretty much, yes.” The DCI sighed. “Look, like I said, you’re going to have to work with them, if you want to continue investigating inside Dale. Otherwise, you’ll only be able to work on Kate Nilsson’s case. You won’t be able to dig any deeper. Just give them a chance.” He placed his hands in his pockets. “Give them fresh insight and, who knows, their help could be invaluable. Did you find out anything at the barracks, today?”
‘Bits and pieces. All about Kate, though, not about anyone else. We need to go back. Probably more than once.”
“all right. Well, as I say, try to work with these fellows from the RMP. Extra heads and legs can only be a good thing.” Christopher Llewellyn left them to the rest of their coffee.
Yvonne scowled. “They got here fast, didn’t they?”
“Better go and meet them then, eh?” Dewi finished his coffee and grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair.
“Guess so.” Yvonne’s face relaxed a little. Perhaps she ought to give them the benefit of the doubt.
The DCI looked at his watch, as they pushed open the door. He appeared tired and impatient.
The taller of the two RMP officers introduced himself as Harry Thornton. Greying, sandy hair and a sharp, dark brown suit, he had the look of a man expecting everything to be in its place.
The shorter of the two men was almost equally dapper. Charcoal-grey suit, dark hair and very shiny shoes. He reeked of aftershave and, after they had greeted, so did Yvonne’s hand.
“Sergeant Richard Simmonds,” he introduced himself.
She eyed him coolly. “I understand you’d like to help us solve the murder of Kate Nilsson.”
Harry Thornton cleared his throat. “I understand you’re wanting to poke around the barracks.” His gaze was equally cool.
Dewi adjusted his tie and placed his hands on his hips. “Kate Nilsson was assassinated with a weapon smuggled in from Bosnia.”
“So, what are you saying?” Harry frowned.
Yvonne leaned back against the desk. “We think the weapon may have been smuggled in by someone from the regiment, during the Bosnian conflict.”
“Weapons are smuggled in from Bosnia all the time. The internet makes anything possible, especially since the introduction of the dark web and bitcoin.” Thornton looked at the DCI.
“The regiment was in Bosnia in the nineties.” Yvonne wasn’t giving up. “The pistol used to kill Kate was a nineties model.”
“Even so.” Thornton’s gaze was back on her, challenging her to argue further.
She didn’t. She was too tired. She had the feeling these two were going to make things much more difficult than they needed to be. “Will that be all, sir?” She directed the last at Christopher Llewellyn, who nodded.
“I’ll let you liaise with Harry and Richard.” He turned to Thornton and Simmonds. “We have your details?”
They nodded and handed cards to Yvonne and Dewi. Simmond’s hand lingered on the card he gave to the DI, his twinkling eyes attempting to hold her gaze.
She made a point of looking down at the card, pulling it out of his hand and placing it in her pocket.
That evening, she telephoned her sister and spoke to the children and her mother. She wished them merry Christmas, promising she would get back down in the next few days. She was more than aware that her mother would be returning to Australia in two weeks.
Following their chat, she showered, made herself a hot chocolate, and went straight to bed. She dreamed she was taking lots of photographs of her kitchen, and the military were banging on her front door. She woke up several times, heart racing, sweat soaking her hair.
It was nearly three am before she finally fell into a deep sleep, which lasted until her alarm went off.
The following day, Yvonne and Dewi set about finding out as much as they could about the deaths at Dale Barracks. Mostly from press reports. They had requested the files from Cheshire police but that process was still bogged down in red tape. A few phone calls gave them some information, but it was clear that Cheshire did not think it necessary to reopen the cases. Regardless, Yvonne stuck to her guns. She needed those files.
The first death had been that of Kevin McEwan, or ‘Scotty’. Dewi summarised the news report for her. “Kevin ‘Scotty’ McEwan was found hanging from a tree on the boundary at Dale. His blood alcohol measurements showed him to be five times over the legal limit for driving, and yet he had somehow managed to climb up to a twenty-foot-high branch.” Dewi ran his finger along the next line. “Friends who found him, stated they had seen tyre tracks, footprints, and what looked like the imprints of a ladder. These had supposedly gone by the time investigators got there. The site had become boggy with water. It had been raining, though an anonymous source close to Scotty had stated that the light drizzle could not have accounted for the soaking the ground appeared to have received.” Dewi looked up at Yvonne. She was deep in thought.
“Surely, there was enough there to warrant a thorough investigation.” She leaned back, hand on her chin. “Right, who else have we got?” She read out the next one, herself.
“Private Helen Reynolds died from heat exhaustion whilst doing heavy exercise in the gym hall. Her temperature had risen to forty-two degrees by the time she was rushed to hospital. An anonymous source, close to Helen, stated she had been carrying out prescribed physical punishment when she collapsed. This was denied by official sources.”
“How old were these two?” Dewi twisted his head to scan through the article.
“Kevin McEwan was nineteen. Helen Reynolds was…eighteen. Just turned eighteen. The alleged physical punishment was known as beasting,” she finished. “Oh my god.”
“There’s one more which stands out.” Dewi examined the last article. “Thomas Rendon, aged twenty. He allegedly shot himself after suffering depression. He’d sustained two bullets to the chest and one to the head. When asked, the MOD stated that the automatic rifle had carried on firing as he fell to the ground, explaining the number of wounds.”
“Really?” The DI appeared sceptical.
“Automatics do get off several rounds very quickly, ma’am.” Dewi tapped his pen on the desk. “I’ll google for more info. See what’s out there until we can get those files from Cheshire.”
“We can speak to Lars Nilsson again, too. I’m sure there’s more he’s not saying. If he encouraged his daughter to look into those deaths, I’ll bet he was expecting her to keep feeding back to him.”
“Didn’t you say you thought his wife looked scared, too?” Dewi asked, hands deep in pockets.
“Yes. I wonder how much she knows.” The DI put her pen down. “One thing’s for sure, we’re unlikely to get anything from Hayley Nilsson. At least, not yet.”
“So, what’s the next step, then? Back to Dale?” Dewi got up from his chair.
“We talk to the ordinary soldiers. The friends of Kate and the others. Find out what they know.”
“If they’ll talk to us.”
“We’ve got to hope they’ll at least give us something.” She sighed. “Before that, we go back to Lars Nilsson and find out the identity of Kate’s closest friend at the barracks.”
“I’ll give him a call. Set it up.” Dewi set off down the corridor, leaving Yvonne to write her ‘to do’ list. It was drizzling outside. She stared out at the gre
y sky, watching the rivulets wend their way down the pane. The last snow on the ground was fast disappearing. So much for Christmas.
Lars Nilsson’s eyes flicked from side-to-side. “Kate had a number of friends at the barracks-”
Yvonne was losing patience. “Mr. Nilsson, either you wish your daughter’s murder solved or you don’t. We’re currently working in the dark. The leads are all at that barracks. We have to start somewhere…with someone.”
Lars looked pained.
The DI relented. “Look, I know you’re grieving the loss of your daughter. She was a good and courageous young woman. I just need to know who she might have confided in at the base. If you know something, and you want us to catch your daughter’s killer, please help us.”
Lars ran a hand through his hair. His eyes were rimmed with red and they glistened with tears, barely held back. “Don’t doubt that I loved my daughter. My concern now is for her best friend. She didn’t want him dragged into it. She begged me not to mention him, if anything happened to her.”
The DI’s gaze was soft. “Lars, he’s probably already in danger. His best hope may be us finding the killer or killers. Whoever killed Kate will be wanting to cover all tracks. Remove all traces of any information she had uncovered. Kate’s best friend may already be in the firing line. Sorry…no pun intended.”
Lars picked up a photograph of Kate from the mantlepiece and stared softly at it. “His name is Wayne Hedges. Private Wayne Hedges.”
“Do you have a home address for him?”
“Home?” Lars raised an eyebrow.
“Well, I’m guessing he’ll be on home leave right now, and that may be the safest place to talk to him.”
“Err…yes, we should have that. We’ll need to go up to Kate’s room. There are some letters in her top drawer. There are several from Wayne.”
It was Yvonne’s turn to raise an eyebrow.
“Well, doesn’t every father keep a check on their daughter’s activities?”
“I guess so.”
“His home address should be on them.”
Yvonne smiled and nodded her thank you. Lars Nilsson had redeemed himself.
Armed with an address, she rejoined Dewi at the car. “Got it.” Her eyes shone. “Let’s go there now and speak to him, before he heads back to the base.”
“I take it we’re not taking Dick and Harry.” Dewi grinned at his own cheeky reference to Simmonds and Thornton.
“No, the SOBs, err… I mean SIBs,” Yvonne grinned back, “are to be kept in the dark about this one. They can join us when we go to Dale.”
“Roger that.” Dewi laughed out loud.
“Do you mind staying in the car again?” Yvonne smiled apologetically at Dewi, placing a hand on his arm.
“What, again?” Dewi wore a hurt look which she suspected was purely for effect. He sniffed under each of his arms. “Is it B.O.?”
She smacked him lightly on the shoulder. “Behave. You know full-well I’d tell you if you’d suddenly developed a problem with personal hygiene. I just want to dip a toe in the water. Get the lie of the land. If Private Hedges is running scared, he might balk at two detectives turning up at his door.”
“Don’t worry, ma’am,” Dewi smiled. “I get it. I’ll wait here. You could have told me earlier, though. I’d have brought some donuts.”
“Dewi, we’re not in America.” She laughed as she left the car but it was short-lived. She was already mentally rehearsing what she wanted to ask Wayne.
The address in Merthyr Tydfil, in Mid-Glamorgan, was a tiny, terraced house in a long street of the same. Built as miners’ cottages, there were many of them in the valleys of South Wales.
The area carried the dubious title of one of Europe’s poorest regions. Dewi had explained that the people would argue it was also one of Europe’s most friendly. That the people there would give you their last, if they thought you were hungry. The Merthyr coat of arms on the town’s welcome sign would surely support that. It read, ‘Nad cadarn ond brodyrdde’. Dewi had translated that as, ‘Only brotherhood is strong’.
The DI was hoping that Wayne would give her Kate Nilsson’s last thoughts.
She took a moment to gather her thoughts, then knocked twice on the door.
Feet pounded down the stairs and the door was opened by a young man in his mid-to-late twenties, wearing only a pair of jeans. Both his feet and his torso were bare. His blonde hair was closely cropped to his head. His striking blue eyes peered questioningly at her.
“DI Giles,” she introduced herself, flashing her warrant card. “I’m looking for Wayne Hedges.”
The young man’s face darkened. “Why? What’s he done?” He peered around her, as though expecting to see more officers or a marked vehicle.
“He hasn’t done anything,” she reassured, guessing this must be Wayne. “I just want to talk to him about his friend, Kate Nilsson.”
The young man stepped back, attempting to close the door. The DI put her foot in, and winced at the pain. “Please, I want to help.”
He opened the door again, staring at her foot. “Help with what?”
“You do know Kate was murdered?”
He paled and opened his mouth, as though to say something, but shut it again. He shook his head.
“I’m so sorry, Wayne. I thought you would have known. It’s been all over the news.”
“I didn’t tell you I was Wayne.” His tone was sullen.
“You didn’t need to.” Her gaze was soft. “May I come in? Is anyone else home?”
“No. My parents have gone around to friends.” He was frowning, as though trying to digest what he had just heard. “You said Kate was murdered. When? Who?”
“Several days ago. We’re still trying to establish who.”
He stepped back to allow her into the hallway.
She continued. “We thought you might be able to help us-”
“You alone?” Once more, he furtively glanced around the street outside.
“No. My DS is in the car.”
“I didn’t see any car.”
“It’s unmarked.”
“Good.” He had the appearance of someone who did not know what to do or think next.
“Can I make you a cup of tea?” she asked. “Where’s the best place to talk?”
He nodded and led the way to the kitchen, through the narrow hallway.
A small table and three chairs, stood to one side of the small, square kitchen. Wayne filled a whistle kettle and placed it on the gas hob, which he lit with a match after several attempts with the knob. Several dead matches lay strewn around the countertop.
“How long had you known Kate?” She pulled out her notebook.
“We met at the start of our basic training. What happened to her?” His eyes pierced her. “How did she die?”
“She was shot, Wayne. Several times, with a pistol.”
He turned away. “Where?”
“Not far from her home in Llydiart.”
He was staring out of the kitchen window. The kettle whistled low and soft, moving to a harsh noise as the DI jumped up to rescue it from the hob. Wayne appeared not to notice.
“We were seventeen. That was eight years ago. She said she liked me because I treated her like a person and not a piece of meat.”
“Who treated her like a piece of meat?”
“Other recruits. Some of the officers.”
“NCOs?”
“Yeah. One NCO in particular.”
“Who was that?” Yvonne’s delivery was gentle.
Wayne had fallen silent.
“Wayne?” She poured water onto the teabags. Steam curled up. She watched the myriad tiny droplets in it, waiting for him to answer.
“Sergeant Callaghan.”
“Sergeant Callaghan-”
“She said he’d come onto her so many times. Didn’t want to take no for answer. She wasn’t that sort of a girl, you know?”
“And what sort of a girl was that?”
�
��The sort who uses her looks to get favours outta the officers and the lads. She was just like the rest of us. One of the lads, almost. She’d showed the Talies on a few occasion.”
“The Talies?”
“The Taliban.”
“That was in Afghanistan, right?”
“Yeah. ‘Course. She was a good shot and a good soldier. She was a fantastic friend.”
Yvonne saw the drips falling into the sink. He was still looking through the window.
“How did she deal with Sergeant Callaghan?”
“Avoided him whenever she could. When she did have to deal with him, she kept it to a minimum. He’d punish her for the least little thing. Have her running round the parade ground at midnight.”
“Did he only do that to Kate?”
“No. To be fair, he was pretty harsh with the lads, as well. He just seemed to be particularly harsh with Kate.”
“Did any of the other officers know what was happening?”
“Some of them, definitely. Others? I don’t know.”
“Did the major-general know?”
“What, ole Broddy Forster?”
“Yes.”
“No. He didn’t know. Head in the clouds. Ole Broddy thinks the regiment runs like a well-oiled machine. He’s a good sort, he is. His heart’s in the right place. None of the officers put a foot out of line when he’s around.”
“Well, that’s something. What about the other officers?”
“Some of them, straight as an arrow. Others…” He finally turned to face her. “You’d see them getting pissed-up in the mess. Pints going down-range like there’s no tomorrow. Be in there all night sometimes. Stumble out when it was light the next morning.”
“Were they disciplined?”
“If Forster heard about it, yeah.”
“How did this affect Kate?”
“Well, she reckoned a few times they’d been banging on her door in the small hours, begging to be let in.”
“Did she let them in?”
“No. No.” He gave her a hard look. “I told you, she wasn’t that sort of girl.”
“What did they do when she refused to let them in?”
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