‘Really?’ Karen was puzzled. Why the big build-up, she wondered.
Out loud she said: ‘Well, spit it out, then.’
‘I-I met him yesterday,’ Kelly continued. ‘And I recognised him. At once.’
‘What?’ Karen was even more puzzled by the air of mystery Kelly was creating. ‘Not the man who attacked you on the beach? I thought you said you couldn’t see him.’
‘I couldn’t. No, not him. Well, not as far as I know, anyway.’
He paused again. Infuriating man, thought Karen. Even in the state he was in, he was still playing to his audience, going for the biggest possible dramatic effect. She realised the quickest way to be put out of her misery was to play along with him.
‘Well?’ she prompted, expressionlessly.
‘It was Gerrard Parker-Brown. I am absolutely sure of it. Really I am. Colonel Parker-Brown.’
Twenty
Karen felt as if she too had been run over by a truck.
‘Kelly, no,’ she said. ‘It couldn’t have been.’
‘I’m telling you, Karen.’
‘But, for God’s sake, those E-fits you and Janet Farnsby came up with, neither of them looked a bit like him.’
‘You said yourself that they are hit and miss. I did my best, but I knew they were both pretty terrible likenesses. And, anyway, Parker-Brown and the other man were wearing woolly hats and had their coat collars turned up.’
‘So, you couldn’t see his face properly?’
‘Quite enough, I promise you. I could see his eyes, Karen. I didn’t really think about how special they were until I saw him at Hangridge. Then it hit me. Big brown eyes, with long eyelashes. They’re like a woman’s eyes. You must know how distinctive his eyes are.’
Karen knew. She also knew how attractive they were. And that she had very nearly fallen for their appeal and, indeed, for Gerry Parker-Brown’s all-round charm. It seemed that she could have had a very narrow escape, indeed. Thank God, that for once in her life, a degree of common sense had triumphed over her natural impulsiveness. ‘Like a woman’s eyes’, Kelly had said. And that had to be the clincher. She had, after all, thought the same thing herself.
‘Shit,’ she said. ‘And when you met him yesterday, do you think he recognised you? You went in as an investigator representing the families of the dead soldiers, didn’t you? Do you think he realised that you had been in The Wild Dog with Alan Connelly? That you were probably the witness I had told him about.’
‘I have no idea. But if he did, he gave absolutely no sign of it, I can tell you. Even though I stared at him all the time. I couldn’t help it.’
‘Well, maybe you gave yourself away, then?’
‘Maybe. I hope not. I tried not to.’
‘But he gave no indication of recognition?’
‘Not at all. I mean, for whatever reason, he and his sidekick were obviously extremely relieved to find Connelly that night. It’s quite possible he barely noticed who else was in the pub.’
‘Maybe. I’ll tell you one thing, Kelly, I’ve had enough to do with Gerrard Parker-Brown to come to the conclusion that he is some performer in every sense of the word. He’s a devious manipulative bastard, actually, and more than likely, I’m beginning to have to accept, quite an actor. A much better actor than either you or I, that’s for certain.’
‘You could be right.’
‘And if I am, if he did recognise you from The Wild Dog, well, then, he would consider you to be one hell of a threat to him, wouldn’t he? Do you think it could have been Parker-Brown out there on the beach? Don’t tell me the thought hasn’t occurred to you?’
‘Of course it has.’
‘And?’
‘I just don’t know. Anyway, do senior army officers like Parker-Brown do their own dirty work?’
‘No idea. But, if you’re right, Parker-Brown was doing his own dirty work, and very possibly murderous dirty work at that, the night Connelly died, wasn’t he?’
‘Yes, he was.’
‘So, could it have been Parker-Brown who attacked you?’
‘Yes, it could. But I have no way of telling. I told you. The bastard approached me from the back, half strangled me. Then he shone a torch in my face. I never got a look at him. It was pitch-black …’
‘Think, Kelly, think. Why did whoever attacked you shine a torch at you? Why did he back off like he did, run off into the woods?’
‘I don’t know. I’ve been trying to work it out ever since …’
‘Think, Kelly. I know you’ve been bashed over the head, but you’ve got a really good brain when you choose to put it into operation …’
‘Good God, a compliment to my brain? Have you been knocked over the head too, Karen?’
‘Get on with it, Kelly. Think!’
‘Well, it was like he was taking a look at me when he shone the torch at me. But why would he do that? After all, presumably he damned well knew who I was.’
‘None the less, your attacker shone a torch at you, full in your face, presumably took a look, and then he hit you with the torch. How did you describe it? Carefully. He hit you carefully. And then he buggered off.’
‘Yes. That’s it, exactly. And no, it doesn’t make any sense to me either.’
‘OK, let’s go back over it all. I mean, for a start, are you absolutely sure it was a man who attacked you?’
‘Yes, well, I think so.’ Kelly was initially slightly hesitant, but sounded quite decisive when he spoke again. ‘Yes. I am sure. I couldn’t imagine any woman being that strong, and I’m also pretty sure, somehow, that it was a male arm I bit. Muscle tone, that sort of thing. And I have a vague memory of body hair, too.’
‘Right. Good. So, again, could it have been Parker-Brown? I mean, how tall was he? At that close quarters you must at least have got some sense of your assailant’s height and build, surely? Concentrate, Kelly.’
‘Yes, I suppose I did.’ Kelly’s voice was thoughtful. Karen could tell he was really concentrating. ‘Yes. He was a tall man. Probably about my height, six two. But thinner than me. Definitely thinner, and much fitter. Does it sound crazy that I’m so sure of that? It was the way he moved – the stealth, the power. The way he grabbed hold of me. He was strong and fit and he knew what he was doing. I was convinced, somehow, as soon as he got hold of me that he was a pro. Somebody military, I’d bet anything you like on that. So yes, I suppose it could well have been Parker-Brown.’
‘Jesus,’ she said. ‘Then let’s get the bastard, shall we?’
Karen took Kelly with her back to the station, just as she had said she would before Kelly had dropped his bombshell, and arranged for him to be seen by a police doctor.
By around half past three in the morning, she decided there was little point in bothering to go home to bed. Often, when her night’s sleep was interrupted, she fared better dosing herself with coffee and staying up than returning to her bed for a further snatched two or three hours.
Instead, she began straight away to set up the initial investigation into Kelly’s attack. She organised a SOCO team to go out to Babbacombe, and when Kelly decided, after his medical examination, that he’d rather carry on and give his formal statement then, Karen interviewed him herself, along with a young, uniformed, woman constable on night duty. By the time she had done that and finished setting up the rest of the investigation, it was getting on for 6 a.m. In view of having had her entire night’s rest disrupted, she allowed herself the rare treat of a full fried breakfast in the canteen, and, shortly after 6.30 a.m., set off for headquarters in Exeter to confront the chief constable.
She knew that Harry Tomlinson was an early bird, who was often at his desk at Middlemoor by around 7.30. She had also been told that he was frequently in a better mood at that hour than he was inclined to be later in the day, although it had always seemed to Karen that Tomlinson was never in anything remotely resembling a good mood when he had to deal with her, whatever time of day she chose. The two of them were like chalk and cheese �
�� Karen, the sometimes reckless maverick, who knew that she could be inspired on occasions but whose police career was not without a smattering of perhaps unnecessary errors, and Tomlinson, a neat, dapper, by-the-book, little man with a bristly manner that matched his bristly moustache, a jobsworth and a paper-shuffler, in Karen’s opinion. And a police officer promoted way beyond his station. She also had a pretty good idea what Tomlinson thought of her. Indeed, she reckoned it was something of a miracle that, with him in charge of the Devon and Cornwall Constabulary, she had ever made detective superintendent.
None the less she had no choice but to deal with Harry Tomlinson, and certainly, if she was going to get the result she was looking for from him, on such a sensitive matter as Hangridge, she had to tread with extreme care.
She did not see, however, how Tomlinson could have any choice now but to authorise a full-scale investigation into Hangridge. And, as she drove herself to Exeter, she was cautiously optimistic that at last she would be able to do something really positive towards finding out what had happened to all those young soldiers.
Her mind was racing. Ever since Kelly had dropped his bombshell, she had been trying not to think about Gerry Parker-Brown and what a narrow escape she had had. She would not have needed many more dates with him to have willingly jumped into bed with him, she suspected. After all, he was extremely attractive, and he had, quite calculatedly, she was absolutely sure now, set out to charm her. It had been, of course, a highly sensible decision to back off almost as soon as she had any doubts about him, but that could be regarded as having been somewhat out of character for Karen. When it came to matters of the heart, let alone of the flesh, she had rarely shown much sense before.
At least one half of her still couldn’t believe that Parker-Brown really was involved in the mysterious deaths connected with the barracks, but he was now certainly a prime suspect.
Karen arrived at Middlemoor at almost exactly 7.30 a.m., and, just as she was locking her car, she saw the chief constable’s black Rover saloon, driven by a uniformed PC, pull up outside the main doors.
She hurried across the car park, calling out to him as she did so. This was no time to stand on dignity.
‘Sir! Sir!’ she cried.
He turned at once, eyes wide with what she thought was probably ninety per cent affected surprise.
‘Good God! What on earth are you doing here at this hour in the morning, DS Meadows? I always had you down as a night owl, going by the trouble you usually seem to have keeping early morning appointments, anyway. Couldn’t you sleep?’
She smiled wanly, ignoring his sarcasm. This was no time to be petty, either.
‘I had to see you urgently, sir,’ she said.
‘Really? So urgently that you couldn’t make an appointment in the proper manner?’
She had known that would annoy him, of course. To a man like Tomlinson, his diary was a bible.
‘Sorry, sir,’ she persisted. ‘But yes. It is that urgent.’
The chief constable’s small mouth puckered up. His eyes looked even more as if they were likely to pop out of his head than they usually did.
‘Very well,’ he said eventually. ‘You’d better come into my office, then.’ He checked his watch. ‘I can give you fifteen minutes, maximum. I have a breakfast meeting at eight with the chairman of Exeter Chamber of Commerce.’
‘Yes, sir.’
She followed him meekly. Once inside his office he did not even bother to invite her to sit down, but she did so anyway, automatically choosing the upright chair opposite his desk, in much the same way as she had during her last meeting with Parker-Brown. She didn’t want Tomlinson looking down at her, either. After all, the CC couldn’t be much more than five foot five or six, and the only time he could come close to looking down on her was when he was sitting in a higher chair.
‘Well?’ he enquired tersely.
‘It’s Hangridge, sir,’ she began. ‘There have been some further—’
‘Oh, please, Detective Superintendent,’ Tomlinson interrupted brusquely. ‘Not again!’
‘Sir. Do let me explain. There have been some further incidents, important incidents, the death of another Devonshire Fusilier which could well be connected, and an assault on a member of the public—’
‘A member of the public?’ Tomlinson interrupted. ‘Who exactly?’
Damn, thought Karen. She hadn’t wanted to go into that at this precise moment, but the chief constable had given her no choice.
‘On John Kelly, sir …’
‘John Kelly?’ The words came out like a small explosion. ‘Why am I not surprised. That man is a total loose cannon. He should not be allowed to get involved in something like this. When will you ever learn, Detective Superintendent?’
‘Sir, John Kelly was assaulted, in such a manner that he thought he was about to die, and the incident occurred after he had discovered some rather extraordinary information concerning Hangridge,’ she persisted grimly.
She told him everything quickly then, before he could find an excuse not to listen. She told him about Jimmy Gates and Jimmy Gates’ friend, Robert Morgan, who had been murdered in London, and about how Kelly had recognised Gerrard Parker-Brown as one of the two men who had come looking for Alan Connelly on the night he died.
‘Can Kelly be sure?’ responded the chief constable. ‘I saw those E-fits. I wouldn’t have recognised Parker-Brown from either of them, that’s for certain.’
‘I know, sir. Kelly admits they weren’t a good likeness, but yes, he really is quite sure. And, of course, it was right after he confronted the colonel that he was attacked. It could well be that Parker-Brown also recognised Kelly from The Wild Dog that night and realised what a danger he could be …’
‘Oh, come, come, Detective Superintendent. You are not suggesting, surely, that it was Gerry Parker-Brown who attacked John Kelly last night?’
‘Well, sir, it must be a possibility—’
‘Actually, Superintendent, no, it isn’t a possibility. Gerry and I had a late supper together at my club here in Exeter last night. And it was after midnight when he left. Indeed, it was the clock striking midnight which made us both break up the party. Such good company, Gerry. So I’m afraid you will have to take him off your list of suspects, after all, Miss Meadows.’
Karen winced mentally. She might have known it. What a clever bastard Parker-Brown was. Supper with the chief constable at his club, just when Kelly was being attacked. Obscurely, it went through her mind that she hadn’t been aware that Tomlinson had a club, or even that the kind of club she somehow imagined he was referring to existed in Exeter.
‘Sir, don’t you think that is just a tad convenient?’ she ventured.
‘It was an engagement that has been in my diary for nearly two weeks,’ responded the chief constable, as if that answered everything. Karen waited for him to continue and to clarify exactly what he thought that proved, but obviously Harry Tomlinson didn’t think it necessary, so she decided to try again herself.
‘Look, sir, a man like Parker-Brown is not really likely to do his own dirty work, is he? It is rather more possible, I feel, that someone – a real professional, Kelly thought – was instructed to dispatch Kelly on his behalf.’
‘Really? In which case, if the attacker was so professional, why is John Kelly not dead?’
‘That is one of the many mysteries of this case, sir.’
‘It certainly is.’ The chief constable stood up and walked to the window so that he had his back to Karen.
‘All right, Karen,’ he said eventually, in a resigned sort of voice. ‘I do see that there are now a number of unanswered questions here …’
And at that inappropriate moment, just as Karen began to believe she was about to get the go-ahead she was seeking, the chief constable’s desktop phone rang. Someone else who understood the advantage of getting to the boss early in the day, she thought.
‘Good morning, Detective Inspector,’ said Tomlinson into the phone,
peering over it at Karen in a particularly curious manner, she thought.
‘Yes, yes, I see,’ he continued. ‘Well, well. You had an anonymous caller, did you? Well, would you believe, DI Cooper, that I have one Detective Superintendent Meadows here with much the same story to tell, but with a few additional literary details. Different source, of course. Now isn’t that a coincidence?’
Shit, thought Karen. Another most unhappy coincidence was that Phil Cooper had chosen to contact the chief constable just when she was with him. She remembered then that Tomlinson had made comments in the past which had indicated that he had known about her relationship with Cooper. But, of course, it would have been hard for even him to have missed it. After all, she suspected that the whole of the Devon and Cornwall Constabulary knew about their ill-advised affair. And now Tomlinson had put two and two together, and quite correctly come to the conclusion that she and Cooper had conspired in their attempts to persuade him that there should be a major police investigation into the Hangridge deaths.
Karen waited for him to finish the call, wondering how he would react. The really annoying thing was that the death of Robert Morgan, combined with Kelly’s additional information concerning Parker-Brown, and indeed the very fact that Kelly had been assaulted, meant that it had probably been quite unnecessary to bring in Phil and his Major Crime Incident Team. But she hadn’t known that last night.
Tomlinson had a broad smile on his face and now looked as if he were thoroughly enjoying himself, thought Karen, who was not actually surprised by the pleasure he seemed to be getting from watching her mounting embarrassment.
‘Right. I’ll need to talk to Detective Superintendent Meadows, and I’ll get back to you in a few minutes,’ were his last words into the phone.
He turned to Karen.
‘Well, well, Karen,’ he began, and as ever when he used her Christian name it made her feel all the more uneasy. ‘It seems that your former b—’
He paused. Karen looked at him in amazement. Had he really been about to say boyfriend?
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