No Reason To Die

Sixteen

The following morning Kelly spent an hour or so at his computer, checking a few facts on the Internet. Before confronting Colonel Gerrard Parker-Brown, he wanted to familiarise himself with any statistics he could find concerning non-combat deaths in the military, and also to bone up on the history of the Devonshire Fusiliers.

He already knew that this was a long-established regiment, and indeed learned from its website that it had been founded during the Napoleonic Wars, in 1812, just three years before the Battle of Waterloo. Kelly thought for a moment. Of course. The then newly formed regiment had served with distinction at Waterloo, and its part in Wellington’s historic victory was recorded on the towering stone monument to the Iron Duke, which had been built high above the little Somerset town which bore his name. Kelly had several times visited the unique 175-foot phallic tower because its site, on the highest point of the Blackdown Hills, just two or three miles from the Devon border, presented one of the finest views in the West Country. On a clear day, you could see for miles right across the lush Taunton Vale to Exmoor and the Bristol Channel beyond.

He read on. The Devonshire Fusiliers also appeared to have served with distinction in every major war since, and when Britain’s other four English fusilier regiments — the Royal Northumberland, the Royal Warwickshire, the Royal Fusiliers, City of London, and the Lancashire — had been united in 1968 to form the Royal Regiment of Fusiliers, only the Devonshire had retained its autonomy.

This was one of Britain’s premier fighting units, with the proudest of histories. It was pretty obvious that a regiment with that kind of tradition to look back on would not take kindly to having its affairs scrutinised by any outside agencies.

And, as Kelly logged off the Net, he found himself wondering just how far even the most decent of men within the Devonshire Fusiliers would go to protect their regiment’s hard-won reputation.

He eventually set off at about 10 a.m. to drive across the moors to Hangridge, a journey he reckoned would take around an hour, or maybe a little more depending on the traffic. He had to negotiate the busy market town of Newton Abbot in order to hit the moorland road, and that was rarely easy. But as soon as he pulled away from his parking space, he became aware of a familiar, unhealthy banging sound at the rear of his car. It was, of course, the exhaust, and broken exhaust pipes were the curse of MGs because the cars were built so low. Kelly couldn’t even remember hitting the exhaust, but it was extremely easily done, and, whatever the cause of the problem, the entire system now sounded as if it were about to fall off. He certainly could not drive the car over Dartmoor. Cursing, he took a detour to his regular garage, Torbay Classic Cars, where Wayne, the rather morose young man who ran the place, expressed his dismay with characteristic gloom, said the car wasn’t going anywhere and he wouldn’t even be able to look at it for two days. But he did, at least, immediately offer Kelly the big old Volvo which passed for Torbay Classic’s courtesy car.

Kelly didn’t like the Volvo, which he thought was slightly less manoeuvrable than your average bulldozer. He was, however, grateful for any transport because he was determined to get out to Hangridge somehow, in order to confront Parker-Brown.

Having visited the barracks once before, as an Evening Argus reporter covering its 25th anniversary celebrations, Kelly had the advantage of Karen, in that he knew exactly where Hangridge was. He was pretty sure Colonel Gerrard Parker-Brown had already been in command at the time of the anniversary, but he did not remember the officer at all. However, the press had been safely corralled well away from the top brass, who had been seen only briefly, alongside their visiting minor royal, commander in chief, when assembled for a photocall. Kelly, like the rest of them, had only had direct contact with an army press officer, down from the MoD in London for the day.

Kelly had worked on a lot of army stories and, by and large, got on well with soldiers. Journalists usually did, in Kelly’s experience, as they did on an individual basis with police officers. All three of these tough professions had a lot in common, Kelly reckoned. They provided more than a measure of excitement, tinged on occasions with fear, they involved crazy hours and confrontation with sides of life most people living in a halfway civilised society were fortunate enough never to have to face. And all three were run in a thoroughly autocratic way. Indeed, Kelly sometimes suspected that the unquestioned, absolute control an editor had over his newspaper and its staff probably made the newspaper world the most autocratically governed of the three. One way and another, soldiers, journalists and police officers routinely faced their own individual kinds of firing line at the discretion of their top brass. It was, perhaps, not surprising that the individuals concerned were inclined to be extremely comfortable in each other’s company, sometimes even those who rather thought they should not be.

A light drizzle was falling as Kelly approached Hangridge. The headquarters of the Devonshire Fusiliers loomed on the hillside, a sprawling development of low angular buildings within a wire perimeter fence that snaked over the rolling terrain almost as if it had been drawn on in pen and ink. And, even when you were expecting it, the barracks, with its curiously suburban aura, still came as a surprise in the remote heart of one of Britain’s wildest moorlands.

Kelly motored slowly to the sentry point, taking careful note of every possible detail as he did so. After all, this was where at least two of the young people involved had allegedly killed themselves. Wide verges of springy moorland grass flanked the big gateway. It occurred to Kelly that there was no cover of any kind. Anything going on in that area could be clearly seen from most parts of the camp.

He drew the big Volvo to a halt alongside the open gates to Hangridge, and handed his letter from Margaret Slade to the sentry who had immediately approached the car.

‘I wonder if you could pass this to Colonel Parker-Brown and ask him if he has a few minutes to spare to see me,’ he said.

The sentry nodded his assent and directed Kelly to park to one side, clearing the gateway for other traffic. There was not another vehicle moving anywhere in sight, but presumably this was the correct procedure. Kelly found himself smiling as he watched the young soldier then use the phone in his sentry box. Within a minute or two another soldier, a corporal judging from the stripe on the uniform sweater he wore over his khaki trousers, hurried out of the main administrative building and across the quadrangle, hunching his shoulders against the drizzle. Glancing curiously towards Kelly, he took the letter from the sentry and began to make his way back.

Would Parker-Brown call to a higher authority for guidance, or might he simply refuse to see Kelly? Kelly didn’t think the colonel would do either. Everything that he had learned about the CO of the Devonshire Fusiliers indicated a man who made his own decisions, a high-flier who was not afraid of responsibility and taking control. Kelly could picture clearly in his mind the officer reading his letter and pondering what to do. He settled more comfortably into his seat as he waited, but he somehow didn’t think he would have to wait long. Parker-Brown was, after all, trained to make fast decisions under pressure.

After just a minute or two more, Kelly was proven right. The sentry answered his phone and then beckoned Kelly forward, telling him that the colonel would see him shortly, and directing him to the visitors’ parking bays just to the right of the main administrative building.

A sergeant, sternly uncommunicative, was waiting to escort Kelly into the CO’s office. The Devonshire Fusiliers were taking no chances with him, he thought. He found his heart was pumping in his chest. He felt that a lot rested on this meeting.

Parker-Brown was sitting at his desk when Kelly entered. He rose to his feet at once, greeted Kelly warmly and invited him to sit in one of the room’s two armchairs, as he lowered himself into the other, just as he had done when Karen had made her first visit only a couple of weeks or so earlier.

‘Anything I can do to help, I will,’ the colonel said at once. ‘I do feel for these families, you know. I’m a father myself.’

It was an innocent enough remark, but for once in his life Kelly was rendered speechless. It was not the words, but just meeting the man which had had a devastating effect on Kelly. Parker-Brown did not seem to realise, but he had already shocked Kelly rigid. Still standing, Kelly found that he could not stop staring at the commanding officer of the Devonshire Fusiliers.

Parker-Brown’s soft brown eyes, which gave so little away, returned Kelly’s gaze steadily. Kelly remained standing. The colonel, looking puzzled, glanced at him enquiringly.

‘Do sit down, Mr Kelly,’ he said.

Still without speaking Kelly sat down on the second armchair, trying desperately not to stare any more.

‘So, what would you like to ask me, Mr Kelly?’ Parker-Brown smiled easily and leaned back in his chair, stretching his long legs before him. He looked totally relaxed. Well, maybe he was relaxed, thought Kelly. He was, after all, quite patently, a pretty cool customer. Kelly still said nothing.

The colonel looked even more puzzled.

‘So?’ he queried. ‘Please fire away, Mr Kelly.’

Kelly made a big effort to pull himself together.

‘The families want some answers, they are very concerned, Colonel Parker-Brown,’ he began eventually, struggling to keep his voice calm and controlled. ‘There have now been five deaths in a period of just over a year, at least three of them highly questionable—’

The colonel interrupted smartly.

‘Allegedly questionable, Mr Kelly. As I said, I do understand how upset the families that you represent are, but sadly what we are talking about are the kind of deaths that do happen in the army, even in peacetime. There is nothing sinister here, Mr Kelly, if that is what you are insinuating. In addition to the obvious danger of handling guns in potentially volatile situations, the pressures on our young recruits, some of whom do not always come from the most helpful of backgrounds, are immense. We do try to give all the help and support we can, but sometimes they simply cannot cope. Military life is not without its perils, and peril comes in many guises, not just when you are facing the enemy.’

‘We agree on that, Colonel,’ responded Kelly quickly. ‘Within the past ten years there have been around a hundred non-combat deaths through firearm incidents in the British armed forces, and, according to the latest figures I could find, a further one hundred and fifty-six suicides. Don’t you think that is rather a lot?’

Parker-Brown frowned and tapped the fingers of his right hand on the arm of his chair, in what Kelly thought was probably a gesture of impatience.

‘I couldn’t possibly comment on those figures, as I don’t even know whether or not they are correct. That kind of thing is a matter for the MoD, not a regimental CO. All I can do, Mr Kelly, is repeat what I have just told you. Army life is not without its dangers, even in what passes for peacetime.’

Unexpectedly, Parker-Brown stopped tapping his fingers, held out his hands in a conciliatory manner and flashed a big grin at Kelly, crinkling up his whole face as he did so. The man was a charmer, and quite obviously knew it. It appeared to be his first line both of defence and attack. He was, Kelly suspected, pretty used to his charm getting him whatever he wanted.

However, the charm offensive was wasted on Kelly, who leaned forward, once more locking his gaze on the other man.

‘Don’t you think that at the very least the army must be guilty of a breach of its duty to care for these young people, Colonel?’

‘The utmost care is taken, Mr Kelly, I can assure you. Every new batch of recruits is the army’s future. Beyond that, again, I cannot possibly comment. I can only discuss matters over which I have direct responsibility.’

Very deliberately Kelly settled back in his chair, stretching his own legs, trying to appear considerably more relaxed than he actually felt. To his great relief, however, his brain did appear to be working again.

‘OK, so let’s concentrate on events concerning Hangridge, shall we, and perhaps you will allow me to throw a few facts at you, Colonel,’ he said. ‘Shall we begin with the case of Jocelyn Slade? She died after suffering five gunshot wounds to the head. Now I know just a little about the SA80, and what it is capable of, the damage it can do in literally just a flash. But I put it to you, Colonel, that even with a volatile, fast-action automatic weapon like the SA80, it is highly improbable that anyone attempting to take their own life would be physically able to shoot themselves five times, would you agree?’

‘That would be a matter for a pathologist and for a ballistics expert, Mr Kelly, not for me.’

‘Precisely, Colonel. So perhaps you could explain to me why, according to the records of the inquest which I have seen, it appears that no ballistics expert was asked to examine the circumstances of Jocelyn’s death before the military police decided so arbitrarily that she had killed herself and then managed to persuade the coroner’s court to go along with their conclusion.’

The colonel grinned again, but in a rather more forced fashion. “Persuade the coroner’s court to go along with their conclusion”?’ he repeated. ‘I rather take exception to that, Mr Kelly.’

‘Well, perhaps then, you could tell me why the SIB investigation did not include any reference to a ballistics expert, particularly when the military is presumably full of them.’

‘That is a matter for the Royal Military Police, in particular the SIB itself, Mr Kelly, who, I am sure, conducted their investigation thoroughly and quite properly.’

‘All right, Colonel.’ Kelly had forgotten everything now except concentrating on the job in hand, and he was in full flow. ‘Perhaps we can switch to the case of Fusilier James Gates, who was on sentry duty the night Jocelyn died. His evidence at her inquest indicated, did it not, that her body had almost certainly been moved—’

‘Look, Mr Kelly,’ Gerrard Parker-Brown interrupted. ‘I agreed to see you out of courtesy to the families of dead soldiers from my regiment, and in addition to assure you, and therefore hopefully them too, that we have nothing to hide here at Hangridge. Indeed, I will do everything in my power to further reassure these families, and I am quite happy to meet any of them who might wish to see me. But I cannot — and will not — go into the kind of details you are asking for, Mr Kelly. Young lives have been lost, after all.’

‘I’m all too aware of that, Colonel, and indeed that is why I am here,’ said Kelly. ‘But please, the case of Fusilier James Gates is particularly curious and there are certain events, which occurred that night, which apparently Fusilier Gates knew about but which were not revealed in the coroner’s court. You are aware, of course, Colonel Parker-Brown, that Jimmy Gates is also dead?’

‘Well, yes. I am. But his death had nothing whatsoever to do with Hangridge.’

‘Really? Well, it could all have been an extraordinary coincidence, of course, but Gates was posted to Germany two weeks after the inquest, and then died in, to say the least, rather unlikely circumstances five days later.’

‘Soldiers work hard, and play hard, Mr Kelly. They are inclined to get drunk sometimes, and sometimes they get far too drunk. Then freak accidents happen. Or they simply fall under a lorry. Which I believe is what started all this, is it not?’

Kelly detected a distinctly patronising note in the colonel’s voice, but decided to ignore it.

‘Speaking of drunkenness, Colonel,’ he continued levelly. ‘Fusilier Gates said that he confronted an Irishman, who he said was drunk and had no identification papers, trying to get into the base on the night that Jocelyn Slade died, and that an officer came out of the officers’ mess to OK his entry. He also said that he saw a figure running across the playing field away from the perimeter fence, just after he heard the shots fired. Now, none of this was brought up in court. Don’t you find that at least curious?’

‘I really have no idea whether it is curious or not, Mr Kelly. To begin with, perhaps you could tell me how you could possibly know this? After all, as you point out, Fusilier Gates is dead.’

‘I was given this information by someone Gates talked to about it before he died, someone very close to him.’

‘Then it’s hearsay, Mr Kelly. Nothing more than hearsay. And it gets you nowhere. I do remember, now I come to think of it, that we had some civilian building contractors on site at the time and I believe a couple of them were Irish. We can all make a mystery out of almost anything, if we choose, Mr Kelly. And it is upon hearsay and rumour, and nothing else, that this whole matter hinges, is it not?’

‘Colonel, I am told that Fusilier Gates faithfully related all this to the military police during the initial inquiry, in which case it should be on record somewhere. And that is not hearsay, is it?’

Abruptly, the colonel rose to his feet, and when he replied, his voice was much louder.

‘Mr Kelly, I have repeatedly told you that I have agreed to talk to you today merely out of respect for the families you are representing, and that I cannot and will not go into details concerning events which are not only military matters and quite probably classified, but also involve loss of life...’

At that moment Kelly, who was sitting with his back to the door of the colonel’s office, heard it open behind him. Parker-Brown, still standing and directly facing the door, almost imperceptibly shook his head. Instinctively, Kelly turned around and glanced over his shoulder but saw no one, just the door closing again.

The colonel barely paused.

‘I can only repeat that yet again,’ he continued equally loudly. ‘And as you seem unable or unwilling to accept it, then I must ask you to leave now and request that you make any further approaches to me or to anyone else connected with the Devonshire Fusiliers through the proper channels.’

Kelly stood up at once. He was almost exactly the same height as the colonel, albeit in comparatively pretty dreadful shape, and he didn’t want the man looking down at him. No way.

‘Colonel, I too will repeat what I said earlier. Five young soldiers serving in your regiment and stationed at this barracks have died in questionable circumstances. Their families are demanding to know the truth about their deaths, and if you won’t talk to me, then, frankly, they and I will move forward to the next step. They are demanding that a civilian police investigation should be put into operation and that a public inquiry should be held. And they are planning to march on Parliament, within the next few days, to make their demands in public. If you think that by refusing to discuss this matter with me you are going to make it go away, then you are very much mistaken, Colonel.’

There was no longer any sign of Parker-Brown’s big grin. His charm offensive had failed and he was now every inch the soldier. Stern, and more than a little forbidding. Kelly, however, had never been particularly impressed by authority in any form. And he had his own reasons for being even less impressed by Gerrard Parker-Brown than he might have been by any other army officer trying to browbeat him. As the colonel began to reply, Kelly glared at him defiantly.

‘Mr Kelly, all I am trying to do is to make it quite clear to you that I prefer to accept coroners’ verdicts based on information provided by the SIB, to this mishmash of regurgitated hearsay which you have brought to me today,’ Parker-Brown countered, the note of anger clear in his voice. ‘And I’m pretty damned sure that every agency of law in this country, right up to government level, would back me up on that. These deaths have all been properly investigated by the correct authorities. There is absolutely no need either for a civilian police investigation or any kind of public inquiry.

‘Now, I have told you once. I really think you had better leave, Mr Kelly.’

Kelly glared at him for a second more. There was something different in Parker-Brown’s eyes, which no longer looked warm at all. Kelly suspected that he had really shaken the army officer. And he liked the thought of that. He liked it a lot. But he had no idea whether it was what he had actually told the colonel concerning the families’ plans, or if it was something else. None the less, he was sure that the real reason Parker-Brown had agreed to see him was exactly what he would have expected it to be. The colonel had wanted to find out what Kelly knew. Well, Kelly had been deliberately frank in many respects. But he had not revealed everything. Not by a long way.

Certainly, he could see no benefit in attempting to prolong the interview. Instead, and without saying anything further, not even goodbye — after all, the time had passed, he reckoned, for any pretence of pleasantries between him and the colonel — Kelly merely swung round and headed for the door. But as he reached for the handle, Parker-Brown spoke again.

‘Who told you about what Fusilier Gates allegedly claimed to have seen, anyway?’ he enquired with a kind of studied nonchalance.

Kelly looked back over his shoulder. He was beginning to like Gerrard Parker-Brown less and less, and to distrust him more and more.

It was Kelly’s turn to force a big grin. After all, it wasn’t only Parker-Brown who could pretend to turn on the charm.

‘You have to be joking,’ he said.

But as soon as he was outside the door, he stopped grinning at once. His legs felt shaky and he realised that he was trembling from head to toe. He could not wait to get away from Hangridge, to assimilate his thoughts.

‘Shit,’ he thought. ‘What is going on?’

Once in his car, Kelly drove as fast as he could along the Hangridge approach road, right through the valley and up on to the moor at the other side. He swung off into a tourists’ parking area, empty at this time of year, and drew the borrowed Volvo to a halt.

He switched off the engine and jumped quickly out, drawing in big gulps of the heady moorland air. It was several minutes before he felt he was breathing normally again, and only then did he remove his mobile phone from his pocket and dial Karen’s number.

She answered at once. But then he didn’t think she would be playing call-dodging games with him for some time to come, or at least until some significant progress had been made in solving the mystery of the Hangridge deaths.

‘I’ve seen Parker-Brown,’ he announced. ‘And I have something extraordinary to tell you. I can’t get over it, to be honest.’

‘What?’

‘No. You were right before. Not on the phone. Can we meet tonight?’

There was the briefest of pauses.

‘Later on. I’ve already got a meeting at seven. How about 9.30-ish?’

‘Great. Where?’ Kelly didn’t know what venue to suggest. He would much prefer their liaison to be private, but wasn’t sure that he dared suggest that after what had happened the other night.

Again there was a brief pause.

‘Come to my flat again, if you like,’ she said eventually.

He hesitated. ‘If you’re sure?’

‘Of course I’m bloody sure, Kelly. We are grownups, aren’t we?’

Kelly found that he was smiling as he ended the call. That had been typical Karen Meadows. She had made him feel much better. Much more normal. And suddenly, John Kelly craved normality like nothing else in the world.