Six
Max dressed for dinner in the uniform he wore only when the occasion demanded he must. As he knotted his tie he acknowledged that he was as excited as a youth anticipating his first date. He had definitely emerged from the bleak emotional hiatus following Susan’s tragic death. Tonight would be make or break time. Livya Cordwell wore no rings, but that was no real indication of a footloose situation. If she declined his invitation to dinner it would be a bad blow. Livya had taken him by storm and time was his enemy. His father would doubtless have secured his objective by now. Max was less experienced in the seduction game.
There would be a seating plan tonight, so it was unlikely that they would be within speaking distance during the extended meal, even if they happened to be at the same table. That curtailed his opportunities severely. Her manner towards him suggested a return of interest, but that could be due to two things. The fact that he knew little or nothing about chess, which made for relaxing communion after the intensity of play during the day, or because he was Andrew Rydal’s son. He could not help wondering how closely associated they had been.
Making a last check on his reflection in the long mirror, Max headed for the ground floor ante-room pushing to the back of his mind for tonight all professional problems. Before leaving his office an hour ago the latest pathologist’s report had come in, stating that it was still impossible to determine the cause of Treeves’ sudden death. This was bad news for Corporals Meacher and Stubble who were anxious for a conclusion that would remove any suggestion of culpability.
Then there was Kevin McRitchie’s accusation against his mother that had to be followed up. Several women had attested to Mavis’s unbroken presence at the Badminton Club, which supported SIB’s belief that the boy had made a wild claim due to agitation over her sexual approach to him. That aspect had to be taken seriously and acted upon.
In addition, Tom had presented a new slant on the assault because he had overheard a telephone call from Lucy Farmer to someone called Alan. In theory, it was the most attractive lead so far, if the Alan was Sapper Rowe and if they could uncover a motive.
Max smiled as he started down the stairs. He had once quoted Scarlett O’Hara saying hopefully, ‘Tomorrow is another day’, and Tom Black had replied, ‘Yeah, but we never got to see what tomorrow brought, do we?’ Right now, Max Rydal felt he could bear to wait until tomorrow came. Tonight was more vital.
The seating plan showed that Max would be next to Lucy Farmer on table two, while Captain Cordwell was to be flanked by a chess-playing squadron leader and a lieutenant of Royal Engineers on table three. Entering the ante-room, Max spotted Livya with a lively group holding drinks in one hand while simulating chess moves with the other.
As he approached she smiled warmly, which encouraged firm action. Taking her arm in a light clasp, he said to the men around her, ‘Sorry, guys, Captain Cordwell is wanted for questioning.’
She was laughing as he steered her between the assembled officers to a deserted corner. ‘Am I under arrest?’
‘No, I’m just holding you on suspicion of being too popular with other eggheads. Am I right in thinking they were replaying all the clever moves they made today?’
‘I’m afraid so. We tend to do that unless someone reminds us that there are other things in life.’
‘Such as?’
‘Such as talking to someone like you who knows a game is only a game. You have your feet firmly on the ground, Max.’
‘Is that good . . . or extremely dull?’
She looked him deep in the eyes. ‘It’s what you make it, don’t you think?’
Feeling that it was no real answer, he asked rather bluntly, ‘How well do you know my father, Livya?’
‘Professionally, or personally?’
He hesitated. ‘Both, I suppose.’
‘We’ve worked together on three occasions and I have enormous respect for him. He’s clever, experienced and utterly dependable. Courageous, too. On the personal side, he has great charm and knows how to use it to his advantage, but look a little deeper and you see a sad, lonely man.’
‘What?’ Max was startled.
‘He carries a photograph of your mother wherever he goes. Although she died twenty-two years ago, I think he has never fully recovered from that loss.’ She paused. ‘Have you?’
He frowned, wishing he had not begun this topic. He was wasting time. ‘I was only six when she died.’
Her hand rested on his sleeve with great gentleness. ‘Poor little boy!’
Changing the subject swiftly, he said, ‘I’m a big boy now, and I want to spend some time with you away from here. Will you have dinner with me on Saturday at a hotel in town?’
‘Yes.’
Relief made him smile. ‘Hoorah! A woman who makes swift decisions.’
‘No, Max, I decided two days ago to spend Saturday with you. If you hadn’t asked me, I’d have asked you, but as a chess player I wanted to lure you into making the first move.’
His smile broadened. ‘You’re welcome to lure me into doing anything you want.’
Her dark eyes assessed him for a moment or two. ‘I believe you really mean that.’
‘I believe I do, too,’ he agreed, sobering. ‘Livya, is there anyone important in your life back in England?’
The moment of truth was lost as a bugle call announced that they should take their places at table. Tonight’s host was once a distinguished cavalry regiment, which these days went into battle on wheeled tracks but retained old traditions with determination. Although this was not a VIP dinner, with regimental silver adorning the top table and all attendant ceremony, it was a guest night which called for mess dress and semi-formality. Hence the bugler to announce dinner.
The chess-playing squadron leader appeared too promptly to escort Livya to the table, leaving Max to mutter, ‘Punctilious bastard!’ But he was on a high, and feasted his eyes on Livya’s neat curves in her regimental long dress and green monkey jacket as she walked ahead of him.
Lucy Farmer also looked disturbingly attractive despite the clash of red hair against her scarlet jacket. She greeted Max with typical heartiness, eyeing his uniform.
‘So you’re a soldier tonight, not a detective. Good. I shan’t have to watch my tongue.’
Max took his place beside her. ‘So long as you’re a soldier tonight, not a police groupie.’
She laughed, her lively eyes sending a blatant message that fell on stony ground. ‘You look even more impressive in uniform. Enough to set a girl’s heart beating faster.’
Shaking out his napkin, Max smiled at her. ‘Careful, Lucy, or my detective half will start thinking that flattery is designed to hide the fact that you’ve been up to something.’
It was only momentary, yet Max saw a flash of awareness cross her face and wondered if Tom had truly discovered a significant piece of evidence. She was equal to the occasion, however.
‘I’m forever up to something, Max. Life’s too short to sit back and wait for old age. Isn’t that why you’re spending so much time with a certain female chess player?’
Very smart, he thought, but two can play games. ‘You mean Captain Cordwell? She works with my father. He’s been unwell lately and I’ve been unable to get over on a visit. She’s revealing the facts he’s hiding from me.’
‘Oh, not serious, I hope?’
Unsure whether or not she believed him, Max shook his head and said lightly, ‘He’ll live until I take a three-day break at Christmas.’
A steward came between them to serve their starter, another to pour wine. Max took the opportunity to turn to the regimental subaltern seated on his right to ask about the list pinned up, asking for volunteeers to take part in an informal mess entertainment in the week before Christmas. He was then treated to an enthusiastic description of last year’s hilarious sketches and antics performed by the more outgoing mess members. Max vowed to avoid this year’s offerings like the plague.
They were well into the main course when Lucy stopped flirting with the man on her left, and the two facing her, then turned her attention back to Max.
‘Are you allowed to take leave in the middle of a case?’ Seeing his momentary incomprehension, she added, ‘Three day break at Christmas.’
He nodded. ‘The wheels don’t stop turning if I’m not there.’
She ate more carrots and lamb cutlet, then gave him a sideways glance. ‘Anywhere near to discovering who assaulted young Kevin?’
‘Yes,’ he replied deliberately. ‘The lad’s memory of it is improving and he’s given us a strong lead.’
‘How exciting! I suppose you’re not allowed to give me a clue.’
‘You suppose correctly. You’ll have to wait until we make an arrest, I’m afraid.’
‘Soon, I hope, then you can visit your sick father with an untroubled mind.’
He recognized provocation in her attitude, but it was surely based on disbelief of his reason for interest in Livya. Lucy had betrayed no concern about the lead Kevin had given them. Yet that young woman had something to hide. His experience in dealing with people told him so. Before he could probe further, he was approached by one of the stewards who told him Sergeant-Major Black had called asking Captain Rydal to ring him at the first opportunity.
‘He said it’s urgent, sir.’
Max stood, offered his excuses to those around him then approached the Commanding Officer, quietly explained the situation, and asked permission to leave. Walking past table two he caught Livya’s eye and attempted an optical apology. Up in his room he called Tom’s mobile number. It was answered immediately.
‘I’ve just come upon the body of a young soldier outside the Recreation Centre. A savage blow to the head. The lad’s dead, sir.’
‘Be there in ten,’ said Max swiftly, cutting the connection and reaching for his boots and greatcoat. This was a serious development. The venue, the modus operandi and the choice of young male victim must surely link this attack with the one on Kevin McRitchie. Were they dealing with a serial offender? Would Kevin have been killed if the attacker had not been disturbed by the advent of the Clarkson boys?
As Max drove along the perimeter road, fine snow began drifting gently from a sky that had been clear and star-filled an hour or so ago. When he reached the Recreation Centre he climbed from his car and trod over the deeper snow to where Tom was in the middle of another call on his mobile. He was still wearing his dark trousers, but had replaced the tailored jacket with a padded anorak. His breath was vaporizing in the chill atmosphere as he ended the conversation. He looked unusually upset.
Max guessed why. The small body lying curled in a foetal position, on which snowflakes were silently settling, looked grotesque flanked by the large overturned figures of a red queen and black bishop. The Recreation Centre was closed and in darkness, but the security lights outside the building illuminated the scene – a pool of brilliant light piercing the hushed surrounding darkness. Had nobody witnessed the boy’s last desperate moments?
‘George Maddox is getting a SOCO team underway, and the Duty Doctor will be here as soon as he’s dealt with a lance-corporal who slipped and cut her head.’ Tom’s voice grew harsher. ‘He said a corpse can afford to wait, the girl can’t.’
‘Don’t tell me. The Duty Doctor is Clarkson again.’
Tom’s expression gave the answer.
‘He’s right, of course. Pity about his manner.’ Max squatted beside the body. From the portion of the face half-buried in snow that was visible, Max could see he was little more than a boy. His head was bloody, his blond hair matted with it. The snow around it was red. It had been a vicious attack.
He glanced up at Tom. ‘What the hell are we dealing with here?’
‘I know the lad, sir,’ he replied thickly. ‘Musician Tony Clegg, whom Kevin pestered for guidance on how to make it in the world of pop. Clegg was apparently a hugely talented lad with a truly worthwhile life ahead. I think we have a nutter on our hands. Who else would be attacking these innocent lads?’
‘Not Lieutenant Farmer. She was sitting next to me when you called.’ Max straightened, pulling his greatcoat collar up to prevent snow sliding down his neck. ‘And presumably not Mavis McRitchie. We are looking at the same perpetrator, aren’t we?’
‘It has to be. Clegg was struck with great force with this black chess piece. There’s blood and matter on it,’ Tom said. ‘I guess the red queen was snatched up by Clegg to defend himself.’
Max sighed as he looked around at the deserted white distance stretching in each direction. ‘What was the boy doing here? It’s completely off the route for the band offices or his quarters, and there doesn’t appear to be anything going on at the Centre tonight.’
‘I called the Bandmaster. No reply at home, and his mobile is switched off. Probably at some official function. He’ll maybe give us a lead on why Clegg was walking here. Sir, surely this suggests the link between the two attacks is music.’
‘Or repulsed sexual advances. Clegg’s build is small, like Kevin’s, and if music was his passion it hints at an artistic nature. Maybe a male killer was attracted to him.’ The snow was falling faster now, settling like a shroud on the curled-up body. ‘How come you found him, Tom? I thought you were heading home when I left the office.’
‘I went,’ he replied, pulling up the hood of his anorak. ‘Maggie had a party invitation, so I brought her in as far as the married quarters. I drove this way back hoping I might get some inspiration in the Recreation Centre. Didn’t know it was closed. I almost drove past until I noticed that one of the toppled figures looked human.’ He glanced down at Clegg’s frosted body. ‘Poor little kid.’
Mavis McRitchie sat on the settee made bright with the patchwork throw she had sewn and listened to the happy voices upstairs. Greg was tucking Shona and Julie in their beds and helping them to choose a story for him to read before ‘lights out’. It should have been a gratifying family time: a father who had been working all day, bonding with his children while the mother prepared supper for them both to share in the tranquillity following bedtime. There would be no tranquillity; there would be fireworks.
Greg had been holding down his anger for two hours, which would make its release all the more explosive. Couldn’t mouth off in front of the little darlings, Mavis thought bitterly. Might scare them. Might affect them in later life. Huh, she reflected, more likely open their eyes to what ‘Dadda’ was truly like. That was what he was really avoiding.
Too agitated to take up her sewing, Mavis listened to her husband’s deep voice, now and again interrupted by one of the girls asking a question about the story. They were carefully vetted before Greg would have books in the house. He would not allow anything he considered to be rubbish or a bad influence to assail his darlings’ ears. They appeared to love the harmless tales he read and begged for their favourites time and again. It was another of those private things they shared, which shut Mavis out.
Hearing Greg’s gentle goodnight before his heavy tread on the stairs, Mavis got to her feet and waited for what was certain to come. His face was flushed and working with anger as he crossed from the foot of the stairs to where she stood.
‘You’ve done it again! You’ve bloody done it again, haven’t you?’ he accused in a violent undertone low enough not to reach the upper floor. ‘You know my rules. Your duty is to be here when school’s over. You’re their mother. It’s your job to keep them safe.’
She stepped back from his thrusting face and offered her defence.
‘The bus from the hospital was late. There’d been a pileup at that five-way junction. Police were still clearing the wrecks away.’ She tried boldness. ‘You only drive around the base. The roads outside are icy and treacherous, Greg.’
He advanced on her. ‘As you’re so bloody knowledgeable about the roads, you should stay off them. Three times this week you’ve ignored the rules.’ His expression was coldly vicious as he said, ‘That little wimp of yours is being cosseted and watched over twenty-four seven. Yet you go to him and abandon your two daughters, who are half his age and open to all kinds of danger. What sort of mother are you, for Christ’s sake?’
Mavis sat abruptly on the settee to escape her dread of being seized and shaken – not that he had ever manhandled her – and protested vehemently. ‘I didn’t abandon them. Jean Slater knows my situation and takes the girls home with Bobby and Amanda if I’m not there on time. The girls aren’t left alone. Not in any danger.’
‘Yes, they are,’ he argued, thumping the arm of the settee with a clenched fist. ‘Those Slater kids are wild, they run rings around their mother. And their language! Mick Slater has the foulest mouth in the platoon, and he laughs when his kids copy him. I’ve told you time and again I’m not having Shona and Julie mixing with the dregs on this base.’ He leaned forward so abruptly, she pressed her body into the soft back of the seat. ‘You’re not to visit the hospital, understand?’
‘He’ll look for me,’ she said tearfully. ‘He’ll be anxious.’
‘Do him good to realize there are others in this family you have a duty to serve.’ Greg straightened up. ‘He’s had things easy too long. When he gets back he’ll find there’s a whole new set of rules in place.’
She stared at him. ‘Like what?’
‘Like that guitar has been chucked out and he gets down to some real book learning, for once. Time he found out the hard way that he has to knuckle down to discipline in order to make something of his life. No son of mine will shame me by becoming a drop-out.’ He pointed at his wife. ‘And you are going to stop fussing over him and start concentrating on my girls. They’ll soon reach the age when they badly need a mother’s guidance. Forget Kevin. They are the important members of this family. Time you realized that.’ He turned and began walking towards the kitchen. ‘Now, what’s for supper . . . or did you also get back too late to make any for me?’
There was a football game on TV so Greg ate his chicken and chips watching it. Mavis felt that food would choke her, but he failed to notice that she had only a cup of tea and a biscuit. She was sewing dolls’ dresses for the girls’ Christmas presents, so she worked on them for half an hour, then went upstairs to have a bath. The commentator’s frenetic voice penetrated the floorboards as she lay in the warm water, crying.
Even when angry Greg was overpoweringly attractive. It had been like that from the first meeting. Marrying him had been an impossible dream come true. Giving him a son had been her greatest gift of love. But baby Kevin had created a division between them; the girls had completed it. Shona and Julie had robbed her of her dream lover. They now owned him. Kevin had been thrust back at her as a substitute for what she had lost. He wasn’t. Nobody could replace the man who remained with her in person, but who had gone from her in spirit.
Wherever Greg had been posted, Mavis had made the temporary home bright and extremely comfortable. She cooked all the food she knew he liked. She dressed neatly and always tried to look pretty for him. She never complained when he had extra duties, or had the occasional night out with his mates. She went every Saturday to the Badminton Club, although she hated the game and was useless at it. What more could she do?
They still slept together, were intimate when he was in the mood, but it was no longer ‘making love’ it was purely satisfying his need. How could she get him back? How recapture the man she had fallen for so completely? Would it be possible once his darlings had married and left home? The tears flowed faster as she acknowledged that he would never let that happen. No men would be allowed near them because none would be considered good enough. Shona and Julie would be with them forever. And her unwilling substitute for her lost husband would depart and sever all contact, as soon as he could break free. Greg’s new rules would hasten that moment. When that happened she might as well be dead.
Major Clarkson straightened from examining the snow-coated body and looked at Max with a frown. ‘A massive blow to the head with the chess piece, as you deduced. Whoever wielded that black bishop was strong, probably an adult rather than a minor, and I’d guess the weapon was swung in a circular motion prior to hitting the victim with intent to kill. It’s hard to say if the boy might have survived had he received immediate medical attention. As it is, he was lengthily exposed to this sub-zero temperature following trauma.’ He tugged his coat collar closer around his neck. It was now snowing hard. ‘The pathologist will give you more precise info but, from the blood loss, I’d be inclined to believe death was immediate and inevitable.’ He began to move off towards his car. ‘You’d better get on top of this before there’s another attack; another young life snuffed out.’
Max and Tom did not need telling; two attacks on teenage boys in five days was a serious problem. This one was more difficult to follow up. The assault on Kevin McRitchie had occurred in a building filled with people, which gave SIB the opportunity to question them and collate their answers; gain leads to follow. Tony Clegg had been clubbed to death in a large open area which tonight was deserted. Yet one person had been there with him.
Leaving George Maddox and his uniformed Redcaps to reconnoitre and seal off the area, while the SOCO team searched for forensic evidence, the two detectives silently watched the body being driven away before heading back to their cars. By mutual consent they returned to Section Headquarters, where they were able to shed topcoats and make coffee to ease their inner chill while they talked.
Tom first brought up the computer details of the dead musician. Next of kin was given as Norman Clegg, father. What a blow he would receive just two weeks before Christmas, that special family time. On the screen was confirmation of Tom’s prediction of a really worthwhile life ahead for a young musician with dedication and talent. Tony appeared to have raced through each stage of his bid for qualifications.
Having downed half the mug of coffee, Max said, ‘We need an in-depth interview with Kevin McRitchie. He has to know more than he’s revealed so far. Accusing his mother was born of the dread of returning to the situation at home. With a psychiatrist present we have to get from him who he had arranged to meet in the toilets during the party. It’s surely significant that Clegg was at the Recreation Centre at roughly the same time this evening.’
Propped against the edge of a desk, mug in hand, Tom looked thoughtfully at the life just ended that was mapped out on his screen. ‘You think so?’
‘Don’t you?’
Tom glanced back at his boss. ‘Let’s review all that’s similar in these attacks. One: the victims are young, male, small in stature with slightly effeminate features. Two: they are both heavily into music. Three: they were clubbed around the head with a weapon that happened to be handy. Four: they were both attacked at about eight p.m., in or around the Recreation Centre.’
Max leaned back in his chair. ‘Get my point?’
‘Let’s list the inconsistencies,’ Tom insisted. ‘One: Kevin was assaulted when there was a high risk of someone arriving on the scene. In fact, the Clarkson boys did, and fetched help. Tony Clegg was alone in a deserted area. Two: different weapons.’
‘But blows to the head in each case,’ Max interposed.
‘Three,’ Tom continued doggedly, ‘Clegg is a soldier, Kevin isn’t.’
‘And four, Clegg died and Kevin didn’t,’ Max finished with a sigh. ‘What does that leave us with?’
‘I’ll tell you what it leaves me with.’ Tom put his empty mug on the table behind him. ‘I now believe Kevin was also meant to die. The convenient weapon was smaller and lighter than the chess piece, so it would have taken protracted cudgelling to kill. The advent of the Clarkson boys prevented that. We’ve been told only Kevin’s thin skull resulted in so much damage.’
Max nodded. ‘I also now believe it was not meant to be just a warning. That raises the question of whether the attacker will attempt to finish the job. We must persuade the hospital to hang on to him until we at least know who’s behind this violence.’
Staring again at Clegg’s details on the screen, Tom muttered, ‘It’s a real stinker. No leads whatever. Far from Mrs Robinson’s advice that the culprit will turn up saying sorry, the bastard has done it again.’
‘We’re not dealing with a recalcitrant child, as she seems to think,’ Max said wearily. ‘Nor are we dealing with someone in the music business. I can’t sit easy with that theory, Tom.’
‘Why not? It’s the one personal link we know of.’
‘Coincidence! I find it difficult to believe anyone could get so steamed up over music he’s prepared to kill twice.’
‘People have murdered for any number of bizarre obsessions. Rare stamps, birds’ eggs, prize orchids. If the yearning is great enough, killing is considered acceptable.’
‘But what is this killer getting in return for taking out these lads?’ Max asked pointedly. ‘Kevin’s merely a kid who plays a guitar quite well in a group with three pals who don’t take it as seriously as he. Nothing to gain in removing him from the scene, is there? Admittedly, Clegg was a very accomplished musician but, unless he’s written a brilliant symphony someone wants to claim as his own work, his death reaps no rewards. The lad didn’t play the violin, so there’s not even a priceless Stradivarius at stake.’
Tom stroked his chin thoughtfully. ‘So let’s concede there’s no obvious advantage as a result of these attacks. On the assumption that the Recreation Centre was a fixed rendezvous point in both instances, we have to seriously consider drugs or sex as the motive. I personally go for the latter.’
Max nodded slowly. ‘I agree. Although Clegg had the opportunity to deal in drugs by dint of the peripatetic life with the band, I don’t believe the McRitchie boy had the will or interest to become embroiled. We know male coupling is practised, however much we prefer to stamp it out so, unless Kevin gives us a name, we have to suss out who’s propositioning young, effeminate lads and won’t take no for an answer.’
‘Kevin is underage, and Clegg looked very young, so it’s probably someone with paedophile tendencies. It’ll be worth speaking to teachers at the school, and to those adults who run extracurricular classes or youth organizations.’
Tom broke off as his mobile rang. It was the Bandmaster, Captain Booth, responding to the message left on his answer machine. It was evident to Max from Tom’s comments that the Yorkshireman was very upset by the news, and took some time giving his account of the murdered boy’s prodigious talent to counter his grief. Tom ended the call by asking Christopher Booth to set in motion the business of breaking the sad news to Clegg’s parents, and a request to interview the members of the band next morning.
Tom laid his mobile on the desk and explained the problem to Max. ‘Bandmaster said they’re due to play at a winter carnival tomorrow afternoon, seventy-five Ks from here. They have to set off midmorning after a full rehearsal.’
‘Right. We’ll send Beeny and Connie Bush on the bus with them. Perfect opportunity for relaxed questioning. More likely to hear confidences there than in the band’s official quarters.’ He then registered Tom’s expression. ‘There’s more?’
‘Might be significant,’ he said with a small sigh. ‘Seems Clegg had just been told he’d passed his first exam on the French horn with distinction, and also been given a lance stripe. He parted from Captain Booth in a state of euphoria.’
‘So he called the killer to break the news and agreed to meet him at the Recreation Centre to celebrate? That would suggest . . .’
‘Either he hadn’t been approached for sex before, or that he was normally a willing participant and things went wrong tonight. Let’s face it, the assailant hadn’t taken a weapon with him. Just picked up the chess piece in sudden rage.’
Max gave him a straight look. ‘Of course, we could be looking at this back to front. What if Kevin and Tony Clegg were the ones making sexual advances?’
‘To the same target?’
‘Why not?’
Tom frowned. ‘You’re suggesting the killer might have been the one saying no?’
‘Very violently.’
‘But if he felt so strongly about being propositioned, why did he agree to meet up with his victims?’
‘Why, indeed? And that question remains equally vital whichever way around we view it.’ Max got to his feet. ‘Let’s go home and tackle it anew in the morning. By then, Sergeant Maddox may have some forensic evidence to offer us.’
‘And the pathologist may be able to tell us why Treeves died,’ Tom added heavily.
‘And Klaus Krenkel may have traced our missing equipment.’
‘And the moon might have turned into blue cheese.’
They donned their coats in silence, each feeling the weight of problems dogging them and still seeing that small figure of a lad who had been so elated until someone had struck him down. It had stopped snowing, but a new frozen layer covered everything, including their cars. As they walked to them, Tom said, ‘They’re running the teens’ disco on Saturday at the Recreation Centre. There should be a very evident police presence from start to finish. We can’t be sure tonight’s attack will be the last, and parents will see we’re doing something about the situation.’
Max unlocked his door and prepared to slide behind the wheel. ‘The situation is more complex than we have so far understood. My guts sense something very nasty behind the violence to those lads. I’ll fix it with the hospital doctors to tackle Kevin tomorrow. He must be made to realize that he has the answers to vital questions. If we can reassure him about conditions within his family he’ll be more likely to open up. Goodnight, Tom.’
‘Goodnight, sir.’
There were only a few nightbirds left in the Officers’ Mess when Max walked in. It was past midnight, he realized. He mounted the wide staircase, and along the corridor his thoughts were heavy. A middle-aged couple in Huddersfield were about to have their lives permanently darkened by the loss of their only child.
An envelope lay on the carpet a few feet inside the door. He picked it up and dropped it on the desk, believing it to be some communication concerning his mess membership. Maybe even an invitation to take part in the Christmas revels being arranged. He began to undress, remembering the enthusiastic description of last year’s entertainment related to him at the dinner table. Not his scene, by any stretch of the imagination.
On the point of getting in bed he noticed that the envelope just bore his first name. Not what he had imagined it was, then. The page inside had a brief handwritten message: ‘The next move is mine, I believe. Why not book a room at that hotel for Saturday night?’
Max sank on to his single bed assessing the import of Livya’s message. The surge of excitement he felt was tempered by the knowledge that there was a strong chance he would not be free to explore her challenge.