DI Giles BoxSet

by Anna-Marie Morgan

  “No. No, it’s fine. I was about to take a break, anyway.”

  “How long have you been in the army?” Yvonne asked. She’d read that an RSM was at the pinnacle of his army career and would be nearing army retirement age.

  “Twenty-seven years.” He stifled a yawn. “I’ll be retiring next year.”

  “You must have seen a lot.” Yvonne felt awkward at probably the understatement of the year.

  “Been to every war theatre the UK has been involved in, since 1987. That includes Northern Ireland.”

  “Wow.” She was genuinely impressed. “So, that would include Bosnia?”

  “Bosnia, Iraq, Afghanistan, Africa and Europe - in peacetime.”

  “Can I ask if you were aware of weaponry being smuggled back from any of these places. Any of your men caught doing it?”

  “It went on, if that’s what you mean. We stamp on it, though. Anyone involved is punished and the weapons confiscated, when we find out. The soldiers face jail-time. Mostly, it’s been fairly innocent. American troops gave our boys some stuff, from boots and other bits of kit, to the occasional hand gun. Why do you ask?”

  “Kate Nilsson was killed with a 1990’s-issue Bosnian pistol.”

  Simmonds perched on a chair, against the wall. He was busily making his own notes. Yvonne found that strangely annoying.

  The RSM rubbed his face. “I heard rumours that weapons had been taken, it was a bit of a free-for-all, at times. But I never found any. If some were taken, by any of our men, they were well-hidden.”

  “How well did you know Private Nilsson?”

  “Kate? I knew her as well as I know any of the soldiers in my regiment. But I didn’t know her beyond that.”

  “Did you know Scotty McEwan, Tom Rendon and Helen Reynolds?”

  He looked at her as though she had slapped him. “Yes.”

  Simmonds made a loud throat-clearing noise, as he looked up from his notes.

  “Why do you ask that?” The RSM frowned.

  “We found copies of their personnel files amongst Kate’s belongings.” Yvonne kept her tone matter-of-fact.

  “If I hadn’t before, I came to know them very well after their deaths.”

  “So, you didn’t know them that well before their deaths?”

  “I knew them, of course. But only as well as I know every other young soldier in my command. I was Scotty’s platoon sergeant, so I knew him better than the others. What has all that to do with Kate’s death?”

  “Maybe nothing, but I believe she was carrying out an unofficial investigation into their deaths before she was killed.”

  “You think that’s why she died.” It was a statement, not a question.

  “I think that it’s at least possible the two are connected, yes.”

  “Kate was a very popular soldier.” He folded his arms. “Especially with the men.”

  “You mean romantically?”

  “I’d say it’s just as likely she was killed by a jealous lover or wannabe lover. And that could have been a civilian just as well as a fellow soldier.”

  “But that brings us back to the weapon that was used. The 1990’s Kosovan pistol. Ballistics have confirmed the ammunition. Also 1990’s Kosovan.”

  “You can get anything on the black market-”

  “Hmm.” Yvonne pursed her lips. “I wasn’t aware of Kate having a boyfriend. Did you have anyone specific in mind?”

  “No, but Callaghan told me he’d seen her having a spat with Billy Rawlins. You might want to start there. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to my plans. Exercises have to be planned ready for the weekend.” He turned, only to swivel back, again. “We miss her. We cared about her. I hope you find her murderer.”

  And that was it. They were dismissed.

  Private William Rawlins sat in the adjutant’s office, constantly looking about. There was a tremor in his hand, as he twirled a pencil round and round. He dropped the pencil twice, as a result.

  Poor sod. Yvonne felt for him. He hardly presented as someone willing to assassinate anyone. Still, looks could be deceiving. She signalled for Tasha to take a seat next to her, before Simmonds grabbed it. Simmonds settled for a seat at right angles to both Rawlins and the DI.

  Rawlins sneezed several times, and Yvonne reached into her pocket and took out a hanky. He accepted it, his face tense.

  “You know why we’re here, Billy?” the DI began.

  “Staff said you’re looking into Kate’s death.” Billy looked into her eyes. His own were red-rimmed, and in need of a good night’s sleep.

  “That’s right, we are.”

  “Do you think I did it?”

  “We’re keeping an open mind. Did you?”

  “No. I would never have hurt Kate. I told her not…” He looked sideways, at Simmonds, and fell silent.

  Yvonne clenched her fists under the table and changed tack. “Billy, can I call you that?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Do you know of anyone on the base with a smuggled, Kosovan-issue pistol?”

  He looked surprised and shook his head.

  “Were you aware of anyone with a grudge against Kate?”

  He cocked his head to one side, looking at the ceiling. “Not specifically, no.”

  “Not specifically? What do you mean?”

  “Just, no.” He shook his head and his eyes darted to Simmonds again.

  “You know,” Yvonne leaned back in her chair, “I’m really thirsty. I could really do with a drink of water.” She looked directly at Simmonds. “I’m not familiar with this base, could I trouble you to fetch us some water, please?” She gave him a grimace, by way of apology.

  He hesitated before roughly pushing back his chair with a loud scrape. “Certainly, I’ll be right back.” He said it like a warning, not to discuss stuff whilst he wasn’t there.

  As soon as he had gone, the DI leaned towards Billy. “What were you going to say? What was it, that you told her not to do?”

  Billy also leaned in. “I told her not…” he flicked a look towards the door and licked his lips. “I told her not to meddle in those suicides.” He bit his lip. “There are dark forces involved.”

  “Dark forces? What dark forces?”

  Rawlins swallowed hard, and sat back in his chair. Simmonds was standing in the doorway.

  “Do you have water, already?” The DI looked at Simmonds’ empty hands.

  “I’ve asked one of the lads to bring a jug and some glasses. Myself? I’ve requested coffee.” He grinned, but his eyes were glass.

  Yvonne felt hot dislike creeping through her. She wanted to shout at him at get out. She had been about to get somewhere. No use now. Billy Rawlins was sitting tight-lipped.

  She put her hand in her pocket, gripping one of her cards. As soon as Simmonds got up to accept the drinks, from the young soldier who delivered them, Yvonne slipped it to Billy.

  She thought at first he wasn’t going to take it. But, with a glance towards the RMP officer, he palmed and then pocketed the card. The DI gave a nod to Tasha. She asked a few more questions. Routine. Then drank the water and rose, ready to leave. Simmonds was still sipping hot coffee. Billy headed out at the same time as Yvonne and Tasha.

  The smell of aftershave was overwhelming.

  “I’m here to help.” Simmonds stood to his full height, glaring at Yvonne in the corridor, after Billy had left. “You’re treating me like a parasite.” He said the last through gritted teeth, saliva shards bursting forth with the words.

  Yvonne wiped her chin. “Where’s your colleague?” If he’d been expecting an apology, he was to be sorely disappointed.

  “Thornton? He wasn’t able to make it at such short notice. He had something else on.”

  “We have one more officer to interview today.” The DI studied Simmonds’ face. “Staff-Sergeant Jones. Do you want to be in on the interview?”

  Simmonds looked at his watch. “It’s getting on,” he said, screwing up his face.

  “
Fine, we can discuss the interview with you another time. We’ll go on ahead, without you.”

  She was surprised at Simmonds’ lack of interest on the interview with Jones. She watched him leave, then turned to Tasha. “I can’t work him out.”

  Tasha nodded. “It’s hard to see what he can really add to the process and I think he knows it. He’s angry because he’s been ordered to be here.”

  “Billy didn’t want to talk in front of him.”

  “That may just be because Simmonds is a symbol of army authority.”

  They found Staff-Sergeant Jones talking to Forster, just as it was getting dark. Both were heading to their respective messes.

  Forster acknowledged them with a wave, obviously content that they were getting on with it. As he walked away, Jones walked over to them.

  He rubbed the faint stubble on his chin. In the lamplight, Yvonne could clearly see his right hand knuckles were enlarged. She suspected he had done a lot of punching of people or things. She tried to get a look at his left, while Tasha began conversing with him. She didn’t manage it.

  “Is there somewhere we can go?” the DI asked, eventually. “We’d like to check a few things with you before heading off for the night.”

  “I can find us a quiet corner in the mess,” he offered. “There won’t be more than a few NCO’s in there, anyway.”

  “That’ll be fine.” She nodded and checked her watch. It was nine o’clock. She and Tasha had eaten nothing since lunchtime, and nothing decent, even then. She was grateful when he suggested they all eat in the mess.

  “I’ll get food ordered. I’ll see you in there.” With that, he was gone to organise food, leaving Yvonne and Tasha to attempt to get into the mess without an NCO with them.

  “Will we get in?” Tasha hesitated outside the door.

  “Let’s at least try.” Yvonne palmed her warrant card, in case she needed it.

  She needn’t have worried. The young man from behind the bar, whom she had seen on a previous occasion, let them in without even checking their ID. He was satisfied he’d seen her with Sergeant Callaghan.

  They were sipping sparkling water, when Staff-Sergeant Jones arrived back with a tray of sandwiches. “Sorry it’s not hot food.” His smile appeared forced. “Things are still not back to normal. They won’t be until the New Year.”

  “Not a problem, thank you for this.” Yvonne was just happy to have something to eat. She picked up a tuna triangle and flicked through her notes. “Staff Sergeant Jones-”

  “Call me Staff. Everyone does.”

  “Staff. Where were you the night Steven Whyte was killed?”

  He looked like he’d been slapped. He paused, mouth open, before answering with a question. “I thought this was supposed to be about Kate Nilsson?” he said, crossing his arms and sitting back in his chair.

  “It is.” Yvonne smiled by way of apology. “But, the two deaths may be linked, and I’m just trying to place everybody. I will ask the same question of others. I’d also like to know where you were when Kate Nilsson was murdered.”

  “What did Stephen Whyte say to you?” His eyes were half-lidded.

  The DI flicked her own up from her notes. There was silence for a second or two, then, “Why do you ask that? Are you afraid of what he might have told me?” She didn’t move her gaze from his.

  He huffed. “Well, something’s made you suspect me of murdering my own soldiers. Why would I do that? Give me one reason.”

  “I’m not saying you did. But, since you ask, I don’t know…perhaps they saw something in Iraq or Afghanistan, that you would rather they hadn’t, or that you wanted to cover up.”

  He shifted in his seat and looked towards the glass doors. “That’s pretty fantastical thinking.”

  The DI thought she detected a faint flush of colour in his tanned face. “Do you mean nothing bad happened? Or that you wouldn’t try covering it up?”

  He locked eyes with her. “If you’re talking about me, both apply.”

  “What about anyone else?”

  “If anyone else had anything to hide, I didn’t hear of it.”

  “So, you can’t think of any reason why those two soldiers would be cut down in cold blood, back on civvy street?”

  “Have you considered terrorism?”

  “We have. It’s a way down the list, however, and no-one has claimed responsibility.”

  “I see.”

  “I’m sorry, Staff, you still haven’t answered my question.”

  “I was in my quarters, watching television and getting an early night, when Stephen was killed.”

  “Can anyone verify that?”

  “No. I mean, not likely.”

  “What about when Kate was killed?”

  “I may have been out in Chester. No. No, wait a minute. I was in my quarters then, as well. I had the day off, athough I was still here at the base. I’m due to go on leave next week.”

  Yvonne noted the lack of alibi in her notes.

  “Listen, I don’t care what you think. I didn’t kill those two, decent soldiers. Neither did I have a hand in it.”

  “Do you know who did?”

  “No, Inspector. I do not.” He emphasised each word, as though to underline the fact and convince her to look elsewhere.

  Yvonne glanced at Tasha, who was quietly munching on a sandwich, observing and saying nothing.

  “How well did you know Kate?”

  “I knew her as an officer knows their soldiers. There was nothing inappropriate, if that’s what you’re suggesting.”

  “I’m sorry, I wasn’t suggesting anything. Forgive me, I have to ask these questions.”

  He grunted, and a frown creased his forehead.

  “Are you aware of anyone else having a close relationship with her?”

  “Only Wayne. Private Hedges. And that was only as close friends. As far as I am aware, there was nothing romantic between those two. Oh, there was banter, sure. A few of the lads would make the odd remark and cheeky wolf-whistle but, otherwise? Kate wasn’t romantically involved.”

  “What about Private Rawlins?”

  “Schoolboy crush. Knew he wasn’t going to get anywhere and, as far as I know, was resigned to that fact.”

  “So, Kate knew of his crush on her?”

  “She couldn’t miss it. None of us could.”

  “How did she reject him?”

  “She wasn’t unkind with it, if that’s what you’re thinking. Kate had a knack for letting people down gently. She knew how to smooth things over. I’m not saying it’s impossible, but I doubt her death was over some failed romantic triste.”

  “I’m inclined to think you’re right.” Yvonne nodded.

  Staff Jones took a long swig of his pint, a moustache of froth lingered on his upper lip, until he licked it off. “Anything else I can help you with?”

  “Maybe. Who had or has access to Kate’s barrack room?”

  “No-one.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. Ever since her death, it’s been closed, except for yourself and SIB. At some point soon, it will be cleared and her things sent home to her parents.”

  “Who authorises that?”

  “The Major-General.”

  “Broderick Forster?”

  “Him and SIB, yes.”

  “I see. Anyone else have keys?”

  “All keys are in Forster’s office. The room is locked when he’s not in there.”

  Yvonne brushed the crumbs from her lap. “Well, I think that is pretty much everything, for now. Thank you, Staff, for speaking to us. I know your time is precious.”

  “It’s a murder investigation, Inspector.” He shrugged. “Of course I’d speak to you.”

  On the journey back to Newtown, Yvonne was quiet. Tasha broke the silence after about twenty minutes. “He seemed genuine, when he talked about Kate, didn’t he? I didn’t detect signs of lying.” The psychologist paused, making a right turn. “However, there were times he pulled back. Got defensive.”


  “Like when I asked him if anything untoward had happened in Iraq or Afghanistan.”

  “It looked like it got him thinking. Sparked something off.”

  “Like he knows something.”

  “Or suspects someone.”

  “Well, if he does, he’s not telling us.”

  Be interesting to know what he does next. Shame we couldn’t stay on the base.”

  “I keep coming back to what Stephen Whyte said. Start with Jones and Callaghan and work up. He was convinced someone high-up was behind Kate’s death.”

  Tasha pursed her lips. “If it’s murder to cover up something, then the information or the event must be pretty explosive.”

  “Could we be looking at torture of prisoners, I wonder? Or unlawful killing? Stories like that hit the headlines every now and then.”

  “And careers are ruined.”

  “Exactly. But if that’s what we’re looking at here, and Stephen was correct, then the cover-up went pretty high up the food chain.”

  “Forster?”

  Yvonne pulled a face. “I just don’t see that. I don’t get that sort of vibe about him.”

  “Psychopaths are often charming.” Tasha glanced at her friend.

  “I know. I know.” The DI sighed. “I’m keeping an open mind, Tasha. I want to go back to Kate’s things. Her photos and stuff. I’ll speak to Llewellyn and see if we can bag some of it up as evidence and study it at at the station.”

  “Do you think Forster and SIB will let you do that?”

  “Sure, why not. I’ll go through those photos with a fine tooth comb. I have to know what she was on to.”

  “Another hour and we’ll be back.”

  Yvonne sat upright. “Oh God, you’ve got that drive to your house after that. Stay at mine. It’ll take minutes to get the spare room ready and you can drive up to your cottage tomorrow morning.”

  “That would be great. But, if you need some help convincing Llewellyn, I’ll be happy to hang around until lunchtime.”

  Yvonne grinned broadly. “It’s no bloody wonder you’re my best friend.” And, within ten minutes, she had fallen asleep.

  Tasha chuckled to herself. “I’ll try not to take that personally,” she said, to no-one in particular. She finished the drive back to Newtown in silence.