They sat on lounge cushions, on the floor in front of the massive sliding doors. Tasha got up to put some light jazz on. They sipped their wine, while the smells from the kitchen grew ever-more enticing.
Neither spoke. Maybe Tasha sensed that was what Yvonne needed, and a relaxed silence was easy with the DI.
The moon, bold and strong, danced on the water. Forming, breaking, and reforming. Yvonne thought of the moonrakers - an ancient people, who believed they could catch the moon from the water’s surface with their nets. They could only break it into a myriad shards, however, each time their nets broke the surface. The moon had parallels with the answers to her case.
“I messed up. A young man died.” As she said the words, she continued to stare out of the window, knees against her chest, chin pressed against the rim of her glass.
Tasha turned to look at her and, realising her friend was still trying to get her head around something, turned back to watch the sea. Her eyes followed the silhouettes of the boulders and rocks, on down to the sand and sea. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Yes. But I’m not sure where to start.”
“You’re chasing another killer.”
“Killer or killers. Could be one, could be a shadowy web.”
“I see.”
“If I have to narrow it down, then I’m after the person who pulled the trigger and murdered a female soldier in her mum and dad’s back yard, in cold blood.” The DI continued until she had poured it all out. As she finished, the tension eased away.
“Why do you blame yourself for Corporal Whyte’s death?” Tasha asked the question in hushed tones, fearful her friend might clam up again.
“I thought his talking to me might put him in danger. That’s why I let him choose the place and time. I thought he had an idea who was doing the killing.”
“He would have known he was putting himself in danger. He wouldn’t have met you if he thought it wouldn’t be worth the risk. He wanted justice for his friends. He wanted that, even if it put his life in danger. He had faith in you. It’s your job now to make sure that he, and they, get that justice, and I know you can do it. Stop wallowing now, please, and get down to doing what you do best. Bring the guilty in.” Tasha reached out to put a hand on her friend’s shoulder. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Actually, I was going to ask you if you’d like to be involved. I would dearly love for you to come and talk to some of those characters on that base. Get your take on them.”
“Okay. Let’s do it.”
“It’s not going to be that easy. I doubt you’d get clearance as an unofficial psychologist. I don’t think you’d get past army security or RMP officers, Dick and Harry.”
“Dick and Harry?” Tasha laughed. “Is that their real names?”
“Yeah.” Yvonne grinned. “They’re from the Military Police Special Investigations Unit.”
“Oh, I see.”
“Anything I do on the base has to be with them or fully endorsed by them. And, since what happened with Corporal Whyte, I’m on a very tight leash.”
“So how do we go about it? Covert video?”
Yvonne grimaced.
“How about I masquerade as one of your team. DC Tasha Phillips has a certain ring to it.” Tasha grinned.
Yvonne sat bolt-upright. “You know, that might just work. We could let Dewi in on it. Dick and Harry haven’t met my whole team. They won’t know any different. Hopefully, they would leave us to it. The guards at the entrance know myself and Dewi, they wave us through. We’ll show a badge. That should be enough.”
“I could blag that I’d left my badge at the station.”
“Okay, let me sleep on it. First, though, I think I need to sample that delicious-smelling food you’ve got going on in there. If you make me wait any longer, I’ll pass out.”
After dinner, they walked along the beach for an hour or so, wrapped up like eskimos. It cleared both their minds, and Yvonne had to admit to feeling a million times better. When they got back, the DI’s mobile was bleating loudly inside her bag.
Expecting it to be Dewi, she was surprised that the caller was Private Wayne Hedges. “Wayne?”
He sounded breathless. “They got to Stephen, didn’t they?”
“They? Who’s they?”
“If they’re worried about what he said to you, they’ll be after you, too.” He hung up, leaving a shocked Yvonne staring at her mobile.
“Everything all right?” Tasha took the mobile out of her hand.
“That was Private Wayne Hedges. I think he was warning me that I’m in danger.”
“Is he right?” Tasha frowned. “That’s not good.”
“Probably no more than I deserve.” The DI clenched her hands. “Well, bring it on. I’m a police officer. I have a whole team behind me. I’ve faced danger before, it’s nothing new. I’m going to find the murderer of these young soldiers, even if it kills me. I’m not going to be put off.”
Tasha gave her friend a hug. “Right, I’m going to that base with you.”
13
Fake detective
Staff-Sergeant Jones gave Yvonne a stern look, as she and Tasha entered Forster’s office. He ushered them in faster than he would normally and there was a stiffness about him, like there was somewhere else he needed to be.
Broderick Forster rose from his desk and came over to shake their hands. He was in military fatigues.
“Major-General Forster, I’ve brought another member of my team today. This is Tasha Phillips.”
“Tasha.”
The psychologist’s smile was broad and relaxed.
“Tasha and I have worked several successful cases together. She’s an excellent member of my team.”
“Pleased to meet you.” Forster held onto her hand. He gave her a warm smile. “So,” his attention returned to Yvonne. “How are you getting on with with SIB?”
Yvonne thought about her answer. There was so much she wanted to say. Instead, she settled for, “Fine. I’m quite surprised they’re not already here, actually. They were supposed to be meeting us.”
Forster called Staff-Sergeant Jones. “Can you check if the RMPs have arrived on base?”
“Sir.” Staff-Sergeant Jones saluted and left.
The DI felt a sense of relief.
“So, how can I help you today, Inspector Giles?” Forster flicked his gaze between Yvonne and Tasha.
“With your permission, we’d like to speak with Staff-Sergeant Jones and Sergeant Callaghan. We’d also like to see Kate’s room again, if possible. Also…” She took out her notebook. “Are there any other officers who would have had direct contact with Kate Nilsson? Any who might give further insight? I have the name Robert Wyn-Thomas in my book.”
Forster rubbed his chin, clicking his tongue. “Hmm. Rob Wyn-Thomas is the RSM. That is, the Regimental Sergeant-Major. He’s the most senior of my NCOs. He has responsibility for the whole battalion. He’s also one of my most senior advisors.”
“Would he be available to speak to us?”
“I’ll have one of my men find out where he is.” With that, Forster picked up his phone and barked instruction down it.
Yvonne gave Tasha a wink. So far, so good.
Staff-Sergeant Jones accompanied them to Kate’s room. He didn’t speak, as he led them down Kate’s barrack block corridor. Once he got to Kate’s door, however, he turned to face them. “Where’s Thornton?”
The question took the DI by surprise. She searched his clean-shaven face. His expression impassive, he paused with the keys in the lock.
“Didn’t you manage to find them?” Yvonne asked, wide-eyed.
“No, I didn’t.” It was an accusation. “They haven’t been through the gate. Shouldn’t you wait until they get here?”
“Oh, I’m sure they’ll be here any minute. We’ve been through the room with them, previously. There will be nothing they haven’t already seen. We just want to take another look, for the sake of completion, and to remin
d ourselves about the victim.”
He still hadn’t turned the key in the lock and, for a horrible moment, Yvonne thought he wasn’t going to let them in. However, he did turn the key, and took a step back.
“Thank you.” The DI stepped into the room, quickly followed by Tasha. “We’ll be about twenty minutes.”
He stood at the door and Yvonne was afraid he was going to stay there. She heard laughter and voices from down the corridor. Staff-Sergeant Jones turned on his heel and she closed the door and leaned on it.
“Phew.” Tasha blew out a large breath, puffing her cheeks. “Thought he was never going to leave.”
Yvonne took a a bunch of photographs from her bag. “Tasha, these are prints of photographs found on Kate’s mobile phone. It seems she repeatedly took photographs of her room over several months.” She scattered them on the surface of Kate’s bed.
“Are they all the same?” Tasha had begun to peruse them.
“Yes, they are, as far as I can tell. They’re pictures of this room, and all from two, slightly different, perspectives.”
“Okay…” Tasha divided them into two groups. “Why so many, and why the two perspectives?”
Yvonne sat on the edge of the bed. “Beats me. Except, I think she may have been recording the scene so she’d know if anything had been disturbed.”
“Was she a keen photographer?” Tasha pursed her lips, tapping one of the photographs against them.
“I don’t know.” Yvonne frowned. “Why do you ask?”
“Rule of thirds. You make the object of interest, in a photo or painting, two-thirds of the way in and two-thirds of the way up. It’s where the eyes like to fall.”
“What are you saying?”
“Well, even though these two groups are of slightly altered perspective, they have the same wall picture at the sweet spot.”
“Oh, I see.” Yvonne looked at the photographs, and then the actual picture on the wall, walking over to take a closer look.
It was a photograph of Kate with Wayne Hedges and Stephen Whyte. They had their arms around each other’s shoulders and were smiling into the camera. It looked like it was taken at some sort of ball night. The guys wore tuxedos and Kate, a shimmering dress. It could have been several years ago, they looked like teenagers. The caption read ‘James Bond Casino Night, 2010.”
The DI read the caption aloud.
“Did something happen that night?” Tasha asked, looking around the rest of Kate’s room.
“I don’t know.” Yvonne shook her head. “The only person still alive in that photo is Wayne Hedges.”
“Maybe we should talk to him.” Tasha walked back to the photos on the bed.
“Let me think about it. I do need to talk to him, but don’t want to put him at risk.” She sighed, gathering the photographs. “I still think she was monitoring her room.”
As they checked through the rest of the room, Yvonne told Tasha about the Manilla folder, with the personnel files, and its connection to the soldiers who died on the base.
“So, why had she obtained copies of the personal files?” Tasha scratched her head. “What was she looking for?”
“I don’t know, but there was obviously something in their histories which interested her. We examined the files. There was nothing obvious, aside from the fact they all joined the army at the same time. All three of them. Scotty McEwan, Helen Reynolds and Tom Rendon. They were a similar age. They’d been to pretty much the same war theatres. It’s no surprise that they formed a strong friendship.”
Tasha nodded. “It would have been a tight bond. Joining up together, going through the trials of basic training and adjusting to army life and fighting together. Those sorts of bonds last a lifetime.”
“Especially when those lifetimes are cut short. Yvonne gazed through Kate’s window with hollow eyes.
“Staff-Sergeant Jones will be back at any moment.” Tasha glanced at her watch.
Yvonne nodded. “I expect this room will be cleared soon. Kate’s things will be returned to her family.”
As though on cue, there was a rap on the door and Staff-Sergeant Jones walked in. He had Simmonds with him. Yvonne paled.
Simmonds walked up to her and shook her hand. “Everything all right, here?” Staff-Sergeant Jones explained you were here. Came to see if you needed any help.” He looked at Tasha, as though waiting for an introduction. None came.
“We’re just finishing in here, actually,” Yvonne’s tone was clipped. “We were about to speak with Staff-Sergeant Jones. Also, Sergeant Callaghan and the RSM, Robert Wyn-Jones.”
Sergeant Jones looked surprised. “What about?” he asked, rubbing his forearm.
“Oh, a few things. For example, weapons smuggling, when soldiers are returning from assignments abroad. Also, the whereabouts of officers and men, when Stephen Whyte was killed.”
“Corporal Whyte?” Simmonds interjected. “That’s not your case. Not your jurisdiction.” He smiled, but it felt like a threat.
“We’re working with Cheshire Police.” It wasn’t a lie. “There’s more than a possibility that Stephen and Kate’s deaths are linked. We are working to that premise.”
Simmonds looked at Tasha and his eyes narrowed.
Tasha appeared remarkably calm. “A killer is taking down members of this regiment.” Tasha eyed him with clear, piercing eyes. “We don’t know where he, or she, will strike next. It’s in everybody’s interest to cooperate with this investigation.” She turned her attention to Jones. “Except for the killer’s, of course.”
Yvonne was impressed with Tasha’s performance. Hell, she’d make a good DC.
“I felt like a naughty schoolgirl.” Tasha leaned back against the toilet cubicle. “I feel like any moment now they’ll realise I’m an imposter.”
“You handled that really well. And, so far, we’ve managed to avoid having to give a job description for you. So we haven’t really lied to anyone. But, I do wonder what the hell I’m doing. I feel like I’m losing my grip. I don’t think it has ever been so difficult to investigate a case. It’s like I’m doing it with my ankles tied and my hands behind my back. And anyone I interview could become a victim.”
“You need to speak with Wayne Hedges, though I understand your reluctance.” Tasha headed for the door back to the corridor. “Come on. Let’s start with those NCOs. You ask the questions and I’ll observe. I’ll tell you what I think, later. Make sure you ask them, specifically, what they think happened to Kate and Stephen.”
Sergeant Callaghan’s pace stick was tucked under his arm, having just put his platoon through their paces. He walked over as soon as he saw them. Simmonds hovered behind, sipping coffee from a paper cup.
“Inspector Giles.” Callaghan’s stiff back gave him an air of self-importance, but he smiled openly at them.
“Sergeant Callaghan, is it all right to talk to you now?” Yvonne shot a glance behind her, at Simmonds. His eyes watched her over his paper cup.
“Certainly. How can I help you?” Callaghan drew alongside.
“When you’ve been on tour, for example Bosnia, Iraq or Afghanistan, have you been aware of any of your troops smuggling back weaponry to the UK?”
Callaghan frowned. “It has happened. It’s rare, though. Are you asking this because of the weapon used to kill Private Nilsson?”
“Yes. What do you know about that weapon?”
“I know you’ve identified it as a Bosnian pistol.”
“And how would you know that?”
“Ole Forster, himself. He said that’s what you told him.”
“Is it possible someone on this base has been in possession of such a weapon since your tours of Bosnia?”
He nodded. “It’s possible, though I’m not saying it’s likely.”
“Sergeant Callaghan, last time I spoke to you, you told me about an argument Kate had with Private Billy Rawlins, a few days before her death. Have you any idea what that row was about?”
“Afraid not, Inspector. When
I got there, they had ceased arguing and were talking quietly. The rumour was that Rawlins had a crush on her and she was putting him off.”
“Might we speak with Private Rawlins?”
He tapped the brass tip of his pace stick a couple of times on the floor. “I’m sure the argument had nothing to do with Kate’s death.”
“Sure? What makes you so sure?” Yvonne cocked her head to one side.
“Okay.” He sighed. “What I meant was, I doubt the argument had anything to do with Private Nilsson’s death.”
“So, may we speak with him?”
“Very well. I’ll have him meet you in one of the offices in one hour.”
The DI nodded her appreciation. “Thank you, Sergeant Callaghan.” She exchanged glances with Tasha, then added, “Sergeant Callaghan, can I ask where you were the night Stephen Whyte was murdered?”
He turned to face her directly, breathing out very slowly, before asking, “Am I a suspect?”
“One of many,” Yvonne said, truthfully.
He shook his head. “What did Corporal Whyte say to you?” There was a steeliness to his delivery.
“He said I should start by looking at the officers.” Her own delivery was calm and direct.
Callaghan frowned. “Did he?” he asked, but it was rhetorical, as he wandered away.
It was the first time that Yvonne had met the Regimental Sergeant-Major. Robert Wyn-Thomas was not at all how she expected. She had imagined him with a full and twirling moustache, greying sandy hair, and tall. In fact, he was of average height, clean-shaven and dark-haired, with only a hint of grey developing at his temples.
He was buried in paperwork, and appeared to be pouring over battle plans.
“Planning exercises,” he explained, when he saw them craning their necks to see.
“Should we come back at a better time?” Yvonne could feel Simmonds breath on the back of her neck, as she stood next to Tasha, just inside the office doorway.
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