Nine

Saturday dawned dull and overcast. The sky looked full of snow: the Met boys said the cold snap was unlikely to end before the middle of next week, and that was only a maybe. A day when most people would flood the street markets to shop, drink hot punch, and generally have fun promised to be a long, hard slog for SIB.

They had already been at their computers and telephones for two hours, checking with relatives and friends in the UK to discover if Kevin McRitchie had been in touch about possibly taking refuge with them. A Redcap patrol had begun cruising the streets within a twelve kilometre radius of the hospital as soon as the news came in, searching bus shelters, doorways, pedestrian underpasses and any place where a boy could hide away relatively protected from the freezing temperature until early buses began running.

Nursing staff could not pinpoint the exact time Kevin had left, which meant he might have caught the last bus to run past the hospital, but that could not be checked until staff arrived for the first shift. All-night taxi companies were questioned, but no driver had picked up a young lad wearing an assortment of odd clothes. The nearest rail station was too far distant for Kevin to have walked there, but Redcaps checked for a sighting in case he had been given a lift by a late-departing sympathetic visitor outside the hospital.

Having drawn a blank at the most likely places, SIB’s fear was that the boy had been offered a ride by a cruising pervert seizing an unexpected stroke of luck. If that had happened, it was possible Kevin might not be seen again.

Knowing he could not have entered the base openly, anyone who had driven through the main gate after 23:00, which was when a nurse had last seen Kevin, apparently asleep in the side ward, was questioned and warned of the consequences of smuggling a passenger past the guards at the gate. No one had.

At first light, Johnny King, Malc Carpenter and Callum Peters of Swinga Kat were visited and asked if Kevin had contacted them about his plans. He had not. His classmates were similarly questioned, with no success. Redcaps manned the station as soon as trains began the daily timetable, hoping the lad would turn up there. Taxi companies, the bus system, police at the nearest airport were asked to contact SIB if Kevin should be sighted. Klaus Krenkel had been notified at the outset, so the Polizei had circulated a description of the runaway to all their officers.

Knowing they had done all they could for the moment, Max and Tom departed to freshen up and grab some breakfast. As they walked to their cars, Max said, ‘They were aware of the lad’s unstable state. Their lapse of responsibility towards a clearly disturbed patient should be cited when this case is eventually presented.’

‘Sure it should, but I hand the bulk of responsibility to his parents,’ growled Tom. ‘How could any father, no matter how disappointed in his son, respond to the news with the comment, “Stupid little bugger!”? She burst into tears, but he made no attempt to comfort her. I perfectly understand why Kevin was desperate to escape that situation. In the old days, lads his age ran away to a brutal life at sea, but there’s every kind of help for youngsters now. He was being offered it at the hospital. Why didn’t he grab that lifeline?’

Max rubbed his prickly chin wearily. ‘I suspect he thought falsely accusing his mother of attacking him at the party had landed him in serious trouble with us. Running must have seemed his only option.’

‘So we’re partly to blame?’

‘Inasmuch as we were trying to find who had used violence against him. You know, Tom, whoever did caused a can of worms to be opened in the McRitchie home.’

Tom prepared to slide behind the wheel. ‘When this case is tied up, it might prove to have been beneficial. That family needs sorting big time.’

‘Thankfully that won’t be our job. Let’s get some food, feed the sluggish brain.’

A shower, a shave, a clean shirt and underwear went partway to sharpening the senses, and a large breakfast designed as sustenance for the rest of the day made Max feel a different man. Seeing Livya would provide a real boost, but that was denied him. Surely she was not already concentrating on a chess board.

Back in his office Max enjoyed another black coffee with Tom. They could only now wait for news of Kevin to come in, so they tried once more to hit on a link between his attack and Clegg’s murder.

‘Music and the fact they are male are the only things they have in common, on the surface,’ Tom pointed out. ‘So what if there’s another that’s not obvious?’

‘Such as?’

Tom grimaced. ‘That’s why it’s not obvious.’

‘Let’s say it’s the Recreation Centre. One was inside it, the other was walking to it. What activities are held there that both lads might be interested in?’

Producing the handbill submitted by Jack Fellowes after the tinies’ party, Tom quoted the daily programme of classes and activities. A week later it still presented no enlightenment.

‘Ante-natal keep fit, Cookery for Christmas, Camera Club, Computer Training for Idiots, Creative Indoor Games, Turkish Belly Dancing, First Aid in the Home, American Line Dancing, German Language at beginner and advanced levels, Make Your Own Jewellery, and Self Expression in Movement.’ He cast a glance at Max. ‘That last is taught by Lieutenant Farmer.’

‘She certainly expresses herself in movement very well.’ Max then decided to mention her meeting with Sapper Rowe at the hotel yesterday, hoping Tom would not ask why he was there himself. ‘Rowe told Piercey he had to go to town to collect something. Maybe it was for tonight’s disco, which she is also helping with.’

‘What was he doing in a posh hotel with her at lunch-time? Hardly a chance meeting, surely.’ Tom’s eyes brightened. ‘Now here’s an idea! She runs that arty dance class on alternate Saturday mornings, and he shows how to create indoor games on the other Saturdays. She told Heather Johnson Rowe was so ingenious he could set up in business when he leaves the army. Those two are the common link.’

‘How so? Kevin and Clegg didn’t attend his classes, did they?’

‘No, but she and “Alan” Rowe are closely involved with the Centre, and both were in and out of the storeroom at the time Kevin was attacked.’

‘So one of them could have slipped upstairs to the toilets. Lieutenant Farmer was sitting beside me when Clegg was killed, but Rowe has no firm alibi.’ Max screwed up his eyes in concentration. ‘What if the two victims had something going with Rowe? Because he uses the Centre a lot he’s able to sign out the key with no questions asked. Piercey said he’d already taken it yesterday morning. In any case, he would have had plenty of opportunities to have the key copied to allow him entry whenever he chose. Uniform searched the building after Clegg’s murder, but Rowe would have cleared the vicinity by then.’

‘I can go along with that,’ said Tom thoughtfully. ‘But why kill Clegg out in the open?’

‘The meeting didn’t go as planned; Clegg walked out. Rowe followed, arguing with him. He pushes for a change of mind, full agreement. Clegg is adamant, says he wants out. Or he maybe threatens to report Rowe’s activities. Rowe snatches up the first weapon to hand and silences him for good.’

‘And the same with Kevin?’ asked Tom, frowning as he absorbed this hypothesis.

‘Yes, but the Clarkson boys interrupted that uncontrolled attack and saved Kevin’s life.’

‘So where does Lieutenant Farmer fit in?’

‘As I said last night, I believe she would be the driving force. Rowe’s the action man. I’ll give her credit for not condoning violence, but she can do nothing about Rowe’s ungovernable temper.’

Tom gave a long sigh. ‘It’s as good a theory as any, but what’s their game?’

‘I think you should bring Rowe in for questioning and find out. We’ve got to move on this, Tom. I know it’s pure speculation, but it’s all we’ve got right now.’

When Tom left, Max stared from the window reviewing all they had just discussed. Was Rowe the link they sought? If so, what deal had he with two lads who lived for music? Max recalled his own interview with Kevin. He had only come to life once they began to talk about Swinga Kat. How would nineteen-year-old Rowe, whose talent lay in creating competitions and games, tie in with someone six years younger and still very much a boy, who had no interest in anything save running a successful pop group?

All at once, the blood ran faster through Max’s veins to spur him into action. There was one obvious place for that boy to run to. He prayed he would not arrive there too late to save Kevin.

Mavis McRitchie watched her husband button their fur-trimmed coats, as Shona and Julie talked excitedly about what they wanted to buy with their pocket money. They were more than old enough to button their own coats, yet they were happy to be treated as babies. Greg then picked up the bright, tasselled hats Mavis had knitted and fixed them lovingly on their dark, shining hair.

‘By the time we get to the market you’ll have changed your minds half a dozen times.’

‘No, Dadda,’ they chorussed.

‘Yes, Dadda. I know you two all too well,’ he said laughingly. ‘Right, are we ready for the off?’

It burst from Mavis before she could stop it. ‘Greg, you can’t. Not today.’

He looked at her through narrowed eyes. ‘Why not?’

‘You know why. We have to be here in case Kev comes.’

‘You’ll be here.’

The two girls, in their warm clothes, moved to the front door and stood waiting. Mavis studied their bland expressions as they stared at her, and knew she had come to hate them. She moved up to Greg, who looked so handsome in the cream heavy-knit sweater she had made for him, and attempted to prevent him pulling on his padded topcoat.

‘I need you here. I can’t deal with this by myself. What’ll I say if they bring him home? They’ll ask all kinds of questions and I won’t know what to answer. If I say the wrong thing it could get you in deep trouble. You know what the Redcaps are. Have it in for you before you open your mouth.’

He pushed her hands aside. ‘Then don’t open it. When you do, nothing worth listening to comes out.’ He turned to his daughters. ‘Come on, you little rogues, take your dadda to the shops and let him help you choose your presents.’ At the door, he said over his shoulder, ‘Time supper for six and get the badminton gear ready. I’m playing a big match tonight.’

Mavis heard their shrill laughter as they climbed in the car, and the greyness in her mind turned a shade darker. They had a limpet-like hold on him. They had lured and cajoled, petted and flattered until he discarded everything he had once loved. They manipulated him, had him performing whatever tricks they chose. They despised her, regarded her as their servant. They had worked on him so that he now thought of her that way, too. In desperation, she had sought consolation from the other family outcast, given him the love and devotion Greg no longer wanted. But her boy had turned from her in disgust, threatened to leave her. Now he had, and his disgust would become public knowledge. She did not want him back. She wanted rid of those two, as well. Things would be different then. It would be like it was before they came.

Her hands reached for the vase which held the huge arrangement of ball chrysanthemums she had bought yesterday. Her fingers gently caressed the cool incurled yellow, rust and flame petals. They were so beautiful. Next minute, she seized the tall green vase and flung her expensive token of love against the wall. She sat for a long time among broken pottery and crushed flowers wondering what else she could do to make him care again.

In the harsh greyness of mid-morning, when the bitter wind sent paper and discarded food cartons racing across icy pavements, RAMSCH looked undeniably seedy. Collecting Heather Johnson, Max had driven to town as fast as conditions allowed. Refreshing his sergeant’s memory of his previous visit to the video studio, Max confessed he feared the worst.

‘I strongly suspect young Kevin phoned Gunther asking him to pick him up outside the hospital, which explains the lack of sightings. I know Gunther has a booking for this afternoon – he offered me a couple of hours before noon – so it’s unlikely that he’s taking Kevin to the house near the border right now. There’d be no time to get back for the filming. But if he went there directly after fetching the lad, he could return this morning with ease. If that’s the case, the chances of recovering Kevin before he’s severely violated are slim. If it’s part of a paedophile ring we may never get him back.’

‘That would be a disaster,’ sighed Heather. ‘He’s a nice kid. When I think of the understanding and encouragement my brothers get for even their wildest ideas, it makes Kevin’s case all the more tragic. No matter our situation, we all need someone, don’t we?’

‘Mmm,’ he agreed, thinking of his chances of spending tonight in the small double overlooking the car park.

He stopped right outside the black door of RAMSCH. No need for pretence this time. ‘If he’s here, you take him in hand. He’ll be frightened, desperate, liable to make a run for it. He liked and trusted you, told you intimate secrets concerning his mother’s petting. Convince him we pose no threat. Above all, assure him we don’t intend to return him to his family.’

Heather smiled confidently. ‘Leave it to me. I understand adolescent boys. Had lots of experience.’

Max pushed open the door and they entered the small scarlet-walled area, where the same blonde sat at the desk. Today she wore severe black and looked classier than ever. Her eyes widened at the sight of Max, then the professional smile appeared.

‘George! You did not come as arranged yesterday.’

He produced his police identity, and so did Heather. ‘This is an official visit. No need to announce us.’

Pushing through the black velvet curtain they entered the studio presently set up as a gymnasium, where naked actors would doubtless have sex in every possible position on the equipment. Gunther, in emerald stretch trousers and a matching silk shirt, came from his glass-walled control cubicle with eyes narrowed.

‘You did not come with euros within the time I said. The studio is now booked for filming. I have no deal with you.’

Max held up his identification. ‘No deal, Gunther, just a straightforward hand over. I’ve come for the soldier’s son you collected from the hospital in the early hours this morning.’

Gunther’s eyes closed to mere slits as the import of Max’s identity sank in. ‘There is no boy here. You have mistaken made.’ His precise English began to go awry. ‘I have filming here, that is all. You are please to go.’

‘I’ll go when you produce Kevin.’ Hoping to God he was right about this, Max upped the pressure by producing his mobile. ‘If he’s not brought out here within five minutes, I make a call. The Polizei are standing by, and they’ll be swarming all over this building before you know it.’

Visibly nervous, Gunther tried to brazen it out. ‘I do nothing wrong here. All is over the board.’

‘And a bloody sight more under it,’ he snapped. ‘I know about the talent scout living on the Dutch border you offered to take Kevin to meet. How many boys have you supplied him with? The local police will be very interested in that side of your business.’ He studied his watch. ‘Two minutes have already passed. Fetch that boy!’

Still Gunther made no move, and Max began to think Kevin had been taken out of reach. Then Heather began to speak in a silky tone.

‘Kevin is my sister’s son. Her husband is a very big man. Could easily make a meal of someone as puny as you. He has a lot of tough pals. If they should happen to learn about what you intended to do with his boy . . .’ She let that sink in, then added, ‘Ever seen what a team of angry squaddies can do to someone they don’t like?’ She held up her own mobile. ‘I make one call, they’ll be here faster than the Polizei and, believe me, you’d rather have German lawmen here than British soldiers bent on revenge. Well, what’s it to be, Gunther?’

He held up both hands defensively. ‘Please, not to call. I bring him. This is what I intend. After the filming I take him to his father. All along I intend.’

‘Then why say there’s no boy here?’ demanded Max, glancing again at his watch. ‘The five minutes are up.’

‘He call me. Said to fetch him damn quick. I go to help him, that is all,’ Gunther said swiftly, walking backwards in the direction of a rear door. ‘He call me. I do not take him. He said he has nowhere to go. I help him, that is all,’ he reiterated. ‘You have charge of him now. I have business in one hour.’

Max glanced at Heather. ‘Go with him. I don’t trust that emerald snake.’

He waited for about five minutes and was about to explore the back area when he saw, with relief, his sergeant leading Kevin forward with her arm around him. No sign of Gunther, but that did not matter. He was not the concern of the British Military Police.

The boy’s face was ashen and streaked with tears. He looked pathetic in bright pink fur-lined boots, pyjama trousers, a padded coat with a company logo across the left breast, a football scarf and a scarlet pull-on knitted hat with a pompom.

‘Hallo, Kevin.’ Max greeted him gently and smiled. ‘Johnny, Malc and Callum have been worried. They told me Swinga Kat can’t function without you. During the drive back you can call them on Sergeant Johnson’s mobile, if you like. Tell them you’ll be in charge soon.’ He laid a reassuring hand on the lad’s head. ‘Let’s get going.’

Before starting the engine, Max called in to report that they had found Kevin, unharmed. He asked Jakes, who had fielded the call, to notify the hospital and request that the doctor dealing with the case be available when they arrived with his patient in about forty-five minutes.

Getting underway, he heard Heather, on the back seat with Kevin, telling him he was not in trouble with them for saying his mother had attacked him, because they had known all along she could not have done. She talked easily, as she probably did with her brothers, while assuring him that his theft of clothes and money could be sorted by returning what he had taken and apologizing to his doctor. Then she asked why he had sought refuge with Gunther. His reply was so quiet Max could barely hear him.

‘He said he knew a man who promoted young musicians. He was sure the man would be enthusiastic about my talent.’

‘Gosh, how exciting,’ said Heather warmly.

‘I can’t go home. I just can’t. So I thought if Gunther took me to the man, I could start working for him until I had enough money to recruit my own group. That’s what I want, Heather. That’s the only thing I want.’

‘Of course it is. When you have a talent of any kind, you have to use it. My brother Keith’s a whizz at making model aeroplanes. He wants to work for Boeing when he leaves uni. That’s a few years ahead, so he’s reading up as much as he can about aircraft design, and he’s made friends with a former pilot who’s restoring a wartime bomber at the local transport museum. Keith helps him sometimes on a Saturday. He doesn’t get paid for it, but he’s learning a great deal and making useful contacts for when the right time comes.’

There was a short silence, then she said quietly, ‘Gunther’s friend wouldn’t have been able to help you, Kevin. It’s difficult for foreigners to get work here unless they specialize in a field in which there’s a national shortage of experts. I reckon the music scene is just as difficult to break into in Germany as it is elsewhere. You’re also under age. D’you know what I reckon is the best thing you can do?’

‘What?’ It was faint, but interested.

‘Johnny, Malc and Callum are dead keen on building up Swinga Kat. You’re talented enough to do that, make it good enough to do gigs for the younger kids on the base. Why don’t you talk to Sar’nt-Major Fellowes. See if he’d help with it? Add your share of the entrance fee to your pocket money, and see about having music lessons. I might be able to help you sort that out.’

‘Would you?’

‘I’ll ask around. But, Kevin, first of all we have to let the doctors at the hospital sort out your problems. Once they’ve done that we can get started on those plans. No, don’t put on that face. Until they know why you don’t want to go home, they can’t help to make things easier for you there. Isn’t that common sense?’

A moment or two of silence, then, ‘I s’pose so.’

‘You’ll talk to them, let them help you?’

He must have nodded, because Max heard her say, ‘Great!’

‘Will you come and visit?’

‘Sure I will. I’ll bring Johnny, Malc and Callum, too.’

A long pause. ‘Your Keith’s lucky. My sisters are right little bitches. I hate them.’

Tom first drove to the Recreation Centre, where Alan Rowe should be giving instruction on how to create ingenious indoor games. A notice on the door advised that all regular classes had been suspended until the second week of January to allow for special Christmas and New Year events to be held. The building was locked. A telephone call to Jack Fellowes revealed that preparations for the disco had been completed yesterday. He and the other helpers would be there at 19:00 to add the final touches. He did not know the present whereabouts of Alan Rowe.

The young Sapper was not in his room; his neighbours said he went to town. On his tod, as usual. They believed he visited a bird. Why else would he go at every opportunity and refuse their company? Piercey had reported Rowe as having said his girl was on UK leave, so Tom asked when she was due back. Blank expressions all round. They knew nothing of a relationship with a female squaddie.

Tom had no better luck at the Officers’ Mess. Lieutenant Farmer had driven to town last evening and stayed overnight. She planned to return in time for the disco. Sitting in his car, pondering the continuing link between those two, and trying to hit on what motive they could have for attacking two lads crazy about music, Tom was alerted by the sound of his mobile in his pocket.

‘Tom Black.’

It was the Padre. ‘Ah, glad I caught you. Young Tony Clegg’s parents are having coffee with us and Captain Booth. They’re naturally very upset after talking to the Bandmaster about their talented son, and Mr Clegg is demanding to be told what efforts are being made to apprehend the killer of their only child. I contacted Captain Rydal, but he’s unable to help at the present moment. Is it possible for you to come for a short while to calm his agitation, and to give these bereaved parents some degree of assurance that everything possible is being done?’

Tom made a U-turn after saying he would be there in ten. What could he tell the Cleggs? That they had no idea who had killed their son, or why? From the outside the house was a copy of other senior officers’ quarters, but Tom thought the interior bland and rather soulless. Justin Robinson greeted him warmly, then introduced Tom to Norman and Phyllis Clegg. Both looked drawn and heavy-eyed. Norman was a short, small-boned man with the ferocity of a terrier. Brushing aside Tom’s murmured condolences, he launched into a sharp-voiced attack.

‘Have you got him yet? Him who did for our Tony?’

Tom made allowances for grief and replied quietly. ‘It only happened thirty-six hours ago, sir. We’re following up every lead.’

Clegg’s foxy face inched closer to Tom’s. ‘I read the papers, you know. Not your trashy tabloids. The classy editions. I know very well that if a murderer isn’t caught within the first twenty-four hours the trail goes cold. Those are the words of high-ranking men, not your bobby on the beat, mind.’ He drew in breath so sharply it pinched his nostrils. ‘I want some real policemen brought in on this case.’

It was a line Tom had heard before from distraught relatives. ‘We are real policemen, Mr Clegg.’

‘I mean Scotland Yard. Proper detectives.’

‘Your son was a soldier, the crime was committed on military property most probably by another soldier. The case therefore becomes the responsibility of Special Investigation Branch. There’s an entire team working on it, I assure you.’

‘With nothing to show for it!’

The Padre intervened at that point. ‘Mr Clegg, why don’t we all sit down and let Mr Black tell us of the measures being taken? I can add my assurances that the Branch is manned by personnel highly trained in detection procedures.’ He waved a hand at the chair vacated by the overwrought father. ‘Please, sir.’

Mrs Clegg was crying into a wet handkerchief. Beside her, Estelle Robinson was patting her hand and smiling. Glancing up at Tom, she said, ‘Sit there!’

It sounded like an order, despite the smile. Swiftly conjuring up words that would convince Clegg SIB were hot on the trail of the killer, Tom perched on the chair and was instantly handed a cup of coffee and a plate bearing two mince pies. Without asking, the Padre’s sunny wife refilled every cup from the large percolator and dispensed pies from a china bowl resembling a woven basket.

Ignoring the Christmas largesse, Tom looked steadily at Norman Clegg while giving him some idea of the exhaustive questioning they had undertaken.

‘I can support that, sir,’ said the Bandmaster. ‘Two members of Mr Black’s team travelled with the band yesterday in order to find out all they could about Tony. Who were his friends, what were his interests, what kind of lad he was.’

‘I can tell him that,’ came the sharp response. ‘He were liked by everyone he met. His interests were music, music, music, and he were blessed with a great gift for it. What kind of lad was he? The best son anyone could wish for. Honest, loving and hard-working. Our Tony was the salt of the earth, that he was.’

Phyllis Clegg let out a wail and buried her face in the wet handkerchief. Mrs Padre patted her shoulder and smiled.

Tom allowed a moment of silence. ‘Our questioning has given us the same information. Your son was popular with his colleagues; his musical talent aroused no resentment or hostile jealousy. He was a clean-living young man with no interest in drink, drugs or unsuitable women. So, sir, you can see our difficulty in trying to understand who would have a reason to attack him.’

Clegg’s nostrils grew pinched again as his rage increased. ‘I can tell you that. You called our Tony a soldier. Not so. He was a musician. You’ve just admitted he didn’t do any of the offensive things soldiers get up to. I’ve seen ’em, pissed to their ears on Saturday nights, tumbling from pubs to urinate in the street while calling out obscene invitations to decent girls passing by. Many’s the time the local landlords’ve had to call out you lot to break up fights started by men from the nearby camp. Uniformed thugs is what they are!’ He pointed a shaking finger at Tom. ‘You find out who was crazy with drink or drugs on Thursday and it’ll be one of them. When you get him, I hope you put the bugger against a wall and shoot him.’

‘No, no,’ protested Estelle Robinson, still smiling consolingly. ‘He will already be repenting his sin. We must find it in our hearts to understand and forgive.’

‘Sanctimonious claptrap,’ stormed Clegg, rising from his chair. ‘I’d like to hear you say that if it was your son been battered to death.’

‘Norm!’ cried his wife through her sodden handkerchief.

The Bandmaster got to his feet, upset and embarrassed by Clegg’s grief-stricken outburst to people doing their best to help him cope with his traumatic loss. ‘Perhaps you’d like to collect Tony’s personal things from the rehearsal rooms before returning to your hotel.’

Tom’s mobile rang, giving him an excuse to step out to the hall away from the emotional tension. As he did, he noticed that the smile had finally been wiped off Estelle Robinson’s face as she sat stiff as a statue beside the weeping Phyllis. Stupid woman, he thought. To quote pious nonsense at a time when these loving parents had lost all belief in God and humanity was almost an insult.

The call was from Roy Jakes with the news that Kevin had been found, unharmed, and was being returned to the hospital. ‘Major Clarkson has been informed, sir. He says he’ll confer with the German psychiatrist about the boy’s treatment and report back.’

‘That’s not our concern, apart from knowing when we can question Kevin. Have his parents been told?’

‘Yes, sir. Connie Bush drove there. She’s just phoned in. The mother’s been left on her own while he takes the girls for their usual Saturday shopping spree and lunch-time treat.’

‘That fits. No concern over his missing son.’

‘Connie says Mavis McRitchie seemed less than grateful for the news, just relieved the boy won’t be going home.’

As Tom disconnected he grew aware of the Cleggs leaving with Christopher Booth through the side-door. Devoted, caring parents robbed of the great light of their lives, while the selfish, perverted McRitchies had their talented, unwanted son restored to them. Where is the justice in that? Tom thought grimly. Small wonder Clegg lashed out on being told to understand and forgive. Tom did not understand it, and if anyone ever harmed one of his girls he would never forgive. He would have to be restrained from taking physical revenge. And if that smiling fool quoted religious forbearance at him, he would have to be restrained from attacking her, as well.

The Padre came to the sitting-room doorway looking strained. Tom could see the room was now empty. Coffee cups and plates of mince pies were abandoned around the room. Estelle was probably seeking righteous solace with her Bible, Tom thought with lack of charity.

‘I’m sorry about that. When we met them at the airport last evening they were calm and polite. Still in shock, of course. We invited them here to talk with Christopher because we felt a meeting in the band’s headquarters might prove too upsetting.’ He sighed. ‘Talking about their son’s musical gift broke through their numbness and . . .’ He spread his hands. ‘Well, you saw for yourself. Good, hard-working, honest souls who can’t accept this terrible blow.’

Tom nodded. ‘I wish I could have given them something more positive to hold on to, but we have no real leads as yet. I’m sure they’re asking the same questions we’re asking. Why him? What could he have done to prompt violence? Who would want to kill such a blameless lad? Nothing adds up.’

The Padre began edging towards the front door. ‘You don’t think it could have been a squaddie high on crack, or pissed out of his skull?’

Tom took the hint and moved with his host, taking his car keys from his coat pocket. ‘As I said, we have no leads, but both those hypotheses would have created greater disturbance at the crime scene. Men driven by drugs or alcohol are vocally noisy and unsteady on their feet. The snow would have been churned up enough to be still visible beneath the fresh fall. And someone might have heard voices. Apart from that, all the signs point to Clegg being totally unprepared for the attack. He didn’t struggle or try to run. Evidence so far suggests that he met with someone he knew, they fell out, and Clegg was hit during a sudden fit of rage.’

Robinson grew thoughtful as he opened the door. ‘Why arrange to meet in a deserted spot when it was snowing?’

‘You see our problem, sir?’

‘I do, indeed. Thank you for coming. You and I are inured to the toils of the bereaved, hasty words forced out by unbearable inner pain. My wife has been with me in this work for only six months. She still takes things to heart. She asked me to say her goodbyes.’

‘Of course,’ murmured Tom, wondering why she did not follow her own advice to understand and forgive.

Back in his car Tom was suddenly seized by an urgent need to see his family, to be with the children who were so precious to him. He felt a sharp pang at the undeniable truth that they were growing up fast. All too soon they would leave home and follow their own desired course, like Kevin McRitchie and Tony Clegg. Fearful for what might lie ahead for Maggie, Gina and little Beth, Tom knew he must cherish and protect them while he still could.

Setting the car in motion, he headed for the main gate. With the emergency over Kevin at an end, he was free to join his family for lunch at Bertrum’s. There was a lump in his throat as he pictured their astonishment and pleasure when he appeared.