Bloody Reckoning

by Rafe McGregor

  “Be rude not to, but don’t rush off yet when you’ve told me half a story. You mentioned three suspects; who are the other two?”

  I shouldn’t have given Webber any of the details of the inquiry without permission from Marie, but there was a chance he would have something to offer. Besides, he’d just done me a favour by talking to me, and it never hurts to make new contacts. “So long as you understand that this is just between us?”

  “Fine.”

  “The second suspect is Colour Sergeant Kevin Vaughan, 3 LANCS. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time, every time, and knew the second victim intimately. He’s also gone AWOL and the police are hunting him down as we speak. DCI Hardy believes he’s their man; it’s Lawson who thinks it’s Bavister, because of the psychological profile and the S&M photos. The third suspect is – was – Theresa Cowan.”

  “The runner?” he asked in disbelief.

  “The very same. It looked like she could be involved initially, but there isn’t anything to tie her to the second or third suspect.”

  Webber leant further back and rested his long arms on top of the sofa. “I am surprised, but not for the reason you think.”

  “Then why?”

  “Because I interviewed her in connection with a disappearance in 2011.”

  The hairs on my neck stood on end and my skin tingled. He must be mistaken. I composed myself and sat forward. “I didn’t see anything in her CCRIO file and the police have checked all outstanding AWOLs.”

  “It wasn’t an Army inquiry. I was assisting the Mod Plod, sort of like you are with the civvy police now.”

  I remembered what Maikel had said, but I knew Webber was wrong. My Adam’s apple suddenly felt very large and my throat dry. “Go on.”

  “It was in Lashkar Gar in October 2011. I was detached to 62 SIB at Camp Bastion – I’m surprised we never met.”

  I swallowed before I answered. “We probably spoke on the satphone, but I didn’t spend a lot of time at Bastion that year.”

  “But you’ll know the Mod Plod had a detachment of about a dozen coppers in-country at the time?”

  “Yeah.”

  “One of them was a young constable named Barry Richardson. He disappeared in…the second week of October I think it was. He’d spent the last month knocking off Cowan. I suppose you know about her reputation with blokes?”

  I was afraid I’d vomit if I opened my mouth, so I just nodded.

  “Richardson disappeared. Obviously AWOL was out the question, but so was kidnapping – not from the base at Lashkar Gar. There were two Mod Plod CID blokes based there and I lent a hand, but there wasn’t much we could do. Richardson was listed as missing, presumed dead, and still is. Cowan was one of the last to see him alive. He left his accommodation one night and never came back. I always thought she knew more than she was prepared to say, although I’m not sure why she wouldn’t tell us…are you all right?”

  Webber’s voice faded into the background and time seemed to slow down. Blood pounded in my skull as my mind raced. Everyone had missed the clues, but I was the only one stupid enough to actually fall for her. I was the one who’d first identified her as a suspect, so how had I ended up caring about her – assisting her, even, when I discussed Claymore with her. I couldn’t believe how credulous I’d been. Was I so fascinated by her from the media and her file that I’d taken her side the moment we’d met? How and when had admiration become attraction? Had I started thinking of her as a victim when I’d found out about Adamson-Woods, or Bourg, or Coleman? Suspect to victim and back again while I stood on the sideline and lapped up those green eyes and Olympic legs.

  What a fucking idiot.

  “Hutt.” I looked up to see Webber standing over me, his hand on my shoulder. “You look like you’re in shock. Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, sorry.” Man up, Hutt. That’s what Lawson would’ve said. “I’ve just realised something. I have to go.” I stood, tried to keep calm. “Thanks for your help, I really appreciate it. We’ll have lunch when I’m next down this way.”

  “Yeah, give me a bell. You sure you’re all right?”

  “Yeah, thanks.”

  I didn’t hear what else he said. I just mumbled goodbye and floated to my car in a daze. As soon as I had the door closed I switched on my phone and dialled Lawson.

  “Where the fuck have you been! I’ve been trying to reach you for the last half hour.” My message-waiting alert beeped in confirmation.

  “Don’t arrest Bavister.”

  “What!”

  “Do not arrest Bavister unless you want to make a fool of yourself…or do arrest him, I couldn’t care less. I’m leaving Colchester now; I’ll be at your place in about four and a half hours. Do what you want, but make sure you’re there.”

  “What the –”

  I terminated the call, switched off my phone, and threw it in the back. Then I took a deep breath, started the BMW, and went to fetch Siân.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  At half-past nine on Sunday evening Lawson and I were sitting in his car, in the small housing estate across the road from the AFC where the instructors were accommodated. Cowan’s house, like the others, was a semi-detached with a patch of grass at the front. Unlike most of the others, it was illuminated by an exterior light only. We were on the opposite side of Burley Lane, three houses away, where we’d been waiting for the last hour and a half. None of the houses had garages, so the absence of the gold MX5 meant that Cowan wasn’t home yet. Even if she had seen Lawson’s Audi before, the light in the road was poor, and there were enough parked cars to camouflage us. We were both old hands at this sort of work, and maintained our vigil in patient silence.

  Lawson had confirmed that PC Barry Richardson had been reported missing in Lashkar Gar on the morning of the 9th October 2011, when he’d failed to report for duty. A contingency plan had immediately been set in motion and soldiers and police officers had scoured the town and surrounds without success. The MDP had led the inquiry, with the help of 62 SIB and the Afghan National Police CID, but Richardson was never found. His colleagues had confirmed he was having an affair with Cowan, and she had spent time with him at the base the day before. I had no doubt his remains were in a shallow grave somewhere.

  Marie had sent four detectives to Lisanelly Barracks, in Omagh, first thing this morning. With assistance from 38 Section SIB and 1 YORKS’ CO, they’d spent all day interviewing members of Keogh’s platoon. Two of his friends confirmed that Keogh had met Cowan in private on at least one occasion. DI Flight and another detective had been despatched to Cyprus, to interview Corporal Nicola Lynch, who was decompressing after her tour in Helmand. Flight would go through the statement she’d made in 2009 to ensure she’d be happy to repeat the contents in court, and to check that there was nothing else to add now that the identity of the fit woman was known.

  Lawson spoke. “You still haven’t told me what you’re doing here.”

  I turned to look at him, but he was watching Cowan’s house. “No, I haven’t.”

  “Get on with it.”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Everything matters. I’m an inquisitive son of a bitch and I want to know why you volunteered to be our honey trap. At first I thought you wanted a share of the spoils, but I’ve changed my mind. You’re not here for the glory, are you?”

  Lawson was right; I did owe him an explanation. “No. I’m here because I fell for her.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “We had dinner together in King’s Lynn. I fancied her. I was supposed to give her a call when I got back to York tomorrow. We were going to have dinner again, maybe more. It’s not rocket science.”

  I was expecting a strong reaction of some sort, derision being top of the list, but I’d underestimated Lawson again. He was silent for a moment, then he nodded. “Yes, she’s an attractive woman, isn’t she?” When I didn’t answer, he continued, “That still doesn’t explain what you’re doing here. You’ve already done your bit
– more than your bit.”

  “As soon as Marie tells her she’s under arrest, she becomes part of the legal system and I won’t have an opportunity to speak to her alone again. Assuming all goes well in court, that’ll be it. I don’t want to have to wait until she’s released from prison to talk to her.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up over it.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Could’ve happened to anyone.”

  “Have you ever bought a serial killer dinner?”

  “Not that I know of. Listen, you’re not going to do anything stupid, are you?”

  Coming from Lawson, I thought this was a bit rich. “What do you take me for?”

  “I take you for a good copper, but I also know your reputation. I’m not as thick as I look.” He was still watching the house and it was too dark to see his face.

  “I know you aren’t, and I’m not going to do anything stupid.”

  “How long do you want inside?”

  “Twenty minutes should do it.” I was wearing covert recording equipment underneath my shirt and suit jacket, taped to my chest. The device looked like a minute MP3 player with a microphone instead of earphones. Marie, another detective, and four plainclothes Firearms Officers were standing off from the scene in three vehicles. As soon as Cowan arrived, they’d close in. Twenty minutes later, they’d make the arrest. Marie hadn’t been happy about leaving me alone with Cowan either, although her concern was my safety rather than Cowan’s. “I’ve just thought of something: what if she runs as soon as she sees me?”

  “That happen a lot with women?” He laughed to himself. “Don’t worry, I’ll be ready.”

  “You sure, she’s an Olympic athlete?”

  “I’m not going to chase her for four hundred metres. I’ll catch her in the first hundred. I squat two-fifty kilos.”

  He probably would, too. I smiled for the first time that evening. I was still smiling when the interior of the car was temporarily thrown into relief by a bright light. Cowan’s MX5 passed us, stopping in front of her house.

  “Get ready,” said Lawson. I switched on the recorder, which was voice-activated. Cowan climbed from the car, removed two shopping bags, and walked to the house without even glancing in our direction. I waited for her to go inside and shut the door behind her before debussing. As Lawson picked up his mobile, he said: “Twenty minutes. Don’t get naked.”

  I crossed the road and gave the door my best police officer’s knock.

  Cowan opened up ten seconds later. She was wearing an ankle-length dress with buttons down the front. It was sleeveless and low-cut, hugging her breasts and hips. She had a tight, long-sleeved blouse on underneath, and her silver necklace. Her lips were copper-coloured, and the overall effect was understated, perhaps even prudish. She was still sexy as hell – sexy enough to lure me into the woods. She was also startled, and the easy familiarity with which she’d treated me on Friday night was gone.

  “I’m not going to have a problem with you, am I?” she asked.

  I shrugged. “Don’t let me in if you don’t want to. I just came to tell you about Coleman before the police do. I know you don’t like them much.”

  “No, I don’t.” Her manner eased a little and she inclined her head, causing a lick of hair to fall over her left eye. “Come on.”

  She stepped aside to let me into the tiny vestibule, and directed me to a small lounge while she closed the door.

  I thought I heard the key turn in the lock, but I wasn’t sure. The room was sparsely furnished, with two purple two-seater couches, a glass coffee table, and a silver cabinet which stretched across one of the walls. The cabinet shelves supported a television, hi-fi, mirror, and a dozen or more framed photographs. Most of the photos depicted Cowan in a military or sporting setting, but there were two of her with her granddad. She was in uniform in one; a girl of about thirteen in the other. They were the only family photos. I sat on the couch furthest from the two doors.

  She sat on the other, at the same side of the table where she’d dropped her handbag. “Have you been waiting for me?”

  “Yeah. It is creepy, I know, but it’s Coleman again.”

  Cowan’s expression was difficult to read, and I wasn’t sure if she believed me or not. “Don’t tell me he’s also waiting outside.”

  “No, but a police traffic camera picked up his Saab near Leeds this afternoon. I could’ve phoned you, but I wanted to check he wasn’t here first. Once I’d done that, I thought it was easier to tell you in person. I hope you don’t mind.”

  She smiled briefly, just a ripple along her lips. “No, that’s fine. Thank you. I don’t think you’re a weirdo, but I was surprised to find you on my doorstep.” She paused, then smiled again, more fully this time. “I’m flattered, actually.”

  I watched the suspicion ebb from her face and smiled back.

  “What about the police? Are they going to do anything about Coleman, or am I going to have to deal with him myself?”

  “They don’t think you’re in any danger.”

  “Typical!” She shook her head. “The bastard kills my grandfather –”

  “He told the police he had unfinished business with you when they picked him up on Friday. Any idea why he’d say that?”

  Cowan snorted. “Christ, what next? I told you he was fucking cracked.”

  “I’ll tell you something else: I believe him.”

  She understood immediately. “You have a sick sense of humour. Get out.”

  I looked into her bewitching green eyes. “They found Barry Richardson’s body yesterday.”

  She leant forward and the cylinders on her necklace swung gently. I counted five of them. “Who?”

  “If I didn’t know you were guilty when I walked in here, I do now. Even if the rumours about you aren’t true, you’d remember Richardson. You were interviewed when he went missing in Lashkar Gar.”

  She placed her hands on the edge of the table. “Then why are you here rather the police?”

  It was time to raise the stakes, to try and extract any incriminating evidence I could. “Because I haven’t told them yet.”

  “And why would you do that? Are you embarrassed that you were wrong about me, or are you so smitten that you’ve come to help me escape?”

  “I made a mistake, so I came to arrest you myself. There are two things I want to find out before I hand you over to the police.”

  Cowan appeared to relax. “Your nobility is going to be the death of you someday, but I have to admit it’s very attractive.”

  “The first one’s a minor point. The real reason you didn’t stay in King’s Lynn on Friday night was because you thought I’d respond better if you played hard to get, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. Actually, I really liked you. I knew exactly who you were when you turned up at my office. I’d seen you at Bastion, from a distance, and I was impressed. After we had a drink, I realised there was more to you. I knew you’d be a good lover and I wanted to sleep with you in King’s Lynn, but I also knew you’d prefer it if we didn’t.” She must have seen my confusion, because she asked, “Am I wrong?”

  “No, I suppose not.”

  “I was still using you to find out about the investigation – and would’ve continued to – but I also thought you were something special. It’s such a shame that you worked it all out.”

  Something special. Not really a compliment coming from a serial killer. “The second, more important, point is about Bavister. It occurred to me earlier that the only evidence in Bavister’s favour was Keogh. Despite his supreme arrogance, I didn’t think he was stupid enough to bump off someone from his own battalion. Certainly not third time around, anyway. The police seem to have regarded it as evidence against him. I didn’t, but the coincidence worried me.”

  She frowned. “What coincidence?”

  “That someone else had chosen a victim from Bavister’s regiment as his or her third kill. Then I realised that it wasn’t coincidence. You made the choice deliberatel
y, to implicate Bavister, didn’t you?”

  “You are a very, very clever man, even if I did have you eating out of my hand so soon. What a shame it had to be my hand. We missed a treat, you and I.” Her mouth opened, her tongue darted between her lips, and her eyes flashed. Her features, face, and figure exuded lust. It was pure and raw – disturbing and erotic at the same time.

  I couldn’t think of anything to say; I was overwhelmed by the power of her animal magnetism. Conflicting thoughts and emotions vied for dominance of my mind as I wondered if this was my first glimpse of the real Theresa Cowan. I was grateful when she broke the silence.

  “It was hard not to notice Chas, the moronic, ineffectual sex pest. When I found out he’d been fucking Neville, I made a mental note and took advantage of the happy coincidence when 1 YORKS turned up in Hohne. Clint was just luck. He was a very good-looking guy, so I’m not surprised Chas was trying to get his grubby paws on him. You see, it isn’t good enough to distance yourself from a murder, you have to give the police someone else to chase.”

  “Did he abuse you as well?”

  “What?”

  “Your grandfather, I mean.” Suddenly, Claymore no longer seemed important. I wanted to know how the psychopath in front of me had been created.

  Cowan threw her head back and giggled, an unnerving sound. Then she leant forward and placed her hands back on the table. “Oh come on, Garth, such a cliché! Is that what you really think?” She affected a falsetto: “My grandfather made me a monster! He never laid a finger on me. He never touched my mother, either, but both my parents despised him. I knew I was just like him, and when I was ready, he showed me his world. Why do you think those little boys trusted him so much in Chappel?”

  My mouth was dry and I swallowed before answering. “Because there was a pretty girl there to keep their attention.”

  “It was good practice for later. All men think with their cocks. Little boys who don’t know what it’s there for yet, and men of honour like you who want to do the right thing. Even though you know I’m a murderer, I could still have seduced you tonight. We both know that. The problem is that you wouldn’t be able to live with yourself – with me – afterwards, and you’d end up turning me in. Like I said, it’s a shame, and I’d much rather fuck you than kill you.”