No Reason To Die

Twenty-one

As soon as she left Middlemoor, Karen’s first impulse had been to drive straight to Hangridge and to confront Gerrard Parker-Brown face to face. But she also knew that this was now the time for consolidation. So instead she headed back to Torquay in order to assemble her troops and to study fully every jot of the potential evidence gathered so far.

In addition there was just a chance, in spite of Kelly’s conviction otherwise, that there might be some evidence gleaned from the Babbacombe crime scene, or at least some meaningful forensic evidence gathered from Kelly’s clothing.

She already knew that the doctor had found some tiny fragments of what appeared to be alien skin in Kelly’s teeth, but it would be several days before she would receive a DNA profile from the scraps of skin, and even then, unless Kelly’s attacker had a criminal record, it would not be much use to her without a suspect to compare the DNA with. And whatever part Gerrard Parker-Brown may or may not have played in the deaths of Hangridge soldiers, it appeared that he could not have been guilty of attacking Kelly. Not personally, anyway.

There were other lines of inquiry to be followed up. She managed to acquire a photograph of Parker-Brown from the chief constable’s commendations ceremony the previous year, and dispatched an officer to The Wild Dog to see if the landlord might also be able to identify him as having visited the pub on the night that Alan Connelly died.

Then she spent the rest of the day making sure that she was up to speed on every development, while at the same time sending off teams of detectives to interview the families of the various dead soldiers. In cases where the families lived out of the Devon and Cornwall Constabulary’s area, in particular Alan Connelly’s family in Scotland, Jimmy Gates’ brother, Colin, in London and Jocelyn Slade’s mother in Reading, she liaised with the various regional forces so that statements could be taken as soon as possible by officers already on the spot.

She also rang Phil Cooper and suggested that they stage a joint blitz on Hangridge the following morning, by which time, hopefully, several other lines of inquiry would have been followed up.

‘I suggest we get there early, about seven a.m., and hopefully take them by surprise,’ she told him. ‘And we’ll go mob-handed, Phil. I don’t know quite how you put the fear of God into the arrogant, bloody British army, but let’s give it a damned good try, shall we?’

‘Yes, boss.’ Cooper’s response was short and sweet. He really was a good man to have on your side, and she was glad that she was no longer troubled by confusing personal feelings about him.

‘You and I will confront Parker-Brown first of all, and then we will systematically work through the whole damn camp, if necessary,’ she continued. ‘The place is no doubt a hotbed of gossip, and I intend to make the most of that. It must be full of people in the know. And I want to know what they know, even if we have to talk to the lot of them.’

‘Yes, boss.’ No nonsense. No arguing.

She ended the call swiftly, as soon as she had said all she needed to. There was still a lot of work to be done that day. Then she had to make sure she got a good night’s sleep, in order to be fresh for that early-morning confrontation with the commanding officer of the Devonshire Fusiliers.

And for once in her life she couldn’t wait for dawn to break.

Kelly knew that he should phone Margaret Slade to keep her in touch with developments. Or at least those developments which he was prepared to share with her. But somehow he just didn’t seem to have the heart or the energy to do it.

He still didn’t feel at all well. There was something he desperately wanted to do, something which involved a long journey, and he still didn’t feel capable of driving, or indeed embarking on a journey of any kind, by any mode of transport.

He decided that he may as well return to bed and was just about to make a move, when his phone rang again. He checked the display panel and saw that this time his caller was Margaret Slade. He still didn’t want to speak to her, but reckoned he owed her that much, at least. She sounded extremely excited.

‘John, I’ve had two local CID round, sent on behalf of your mob down in Devon, apparently. They wanted to know everything about my Jossy and how she died and about what people said to me at her funeral, absolutely everything. They’ve launched a full-scale police investigation. Isn’t that great, Kelly? Isn’t that great?’

Kelly was so preoccupied, and so worried by his preoccupation, that he just couldn’t keep up with her enthusiasm.

‘It certainly is, Margaret,’ he said eventually, as warmly as he could, ‘It certainly is.’

‘Yes, it’s a real result,’ she went on. ‘They also told me about that other soldier who’s been killed in London. I’m dreadfully sorry for him and his family, of course, but it’s another reason why the authorities can’t pretend any more that there isn’t something very wrong at Hangridge. And we haven’t even had to use our people power yet. You must have really stirred things up, John, you really must have.’

‘Yes, I think you can say that safely enough,’ responded Kelly, with absolute honesty.

‘So, what should we do? You must be itching to get some stories into the press. It speaks for itself now, doesn’t it? Devon and Cornwall police yesterday launched a major inquiry into the suspicious deaths of a number of soldiers, all stationed at Hangridge barracks, HQ of the Devonshire Fusiliers. It writes itself. I think even I could do it.’

‘I think you could too,’ said Kelly, managing a small smile. She was right. The story would write itself. But at that moment, possibly for the first time in his life when confronted with such a thoroughly cracking yarn, Kelly couldn’t bring himself to write it.

‘But I still think we should hold off on the publicity front,’ he continued, sounding pretty pathetic, he thought. ‘Let’s see what the next few days bring, eh? We don’t want to screw things up after such a grand start, do we?’

‘Well, OK, if you say so.’ Margaret Slade sounded both disappointed and surprised. Kelly understood that. He supposed it must be a little surprising to listen to a journalist trying to justify why he didn’t want to publish a story.

‘But the whole thing could break at any moment now, couldn’t it?’ she continued. ‘I thought you’d want to make sure you got your story in first. After all, you’ve done a good job for us, John, really you have.’

‘Thank you very much. But I still think we should hold back for a day or two.’

‘Right.’

Margaret Slade rang off sounding much less excited and somewhat bewildered. Kelly’s head was swimming again, and still aching for England. He was relieved that Margaret hadn’t asked him if he knew of any fresh developments, other than the murder of Robert Morgan, because he didn’t want to go into all that with her. Not at the moment, anyway.

He made his way into the bedroom and took two more of the police doctor’s blockbuster painkillers. He couldn’t even think straight, and he certainly could take no action of any kind until he felt a whole lot better. But he hadn’t wanted to discuss any of that with Margaret Slade, either. There were, in fact, a number of aspects to this investigation that he intended to keep entirely to himself — at least until he was able to draw some conclusions of his own. And he thought that the only constructive thing he could do was to crash out again and hope that he woke up considerably recovered.

He checked his watch. It was nearly five o’clock now. Time for bed again, he thought. His beleaguered brain was buzzing and once more he did not think he would sleep easily. Yet, within seconds he was deeply asleep.

Karen was not so fortunate. In spite of being exhausted, and in spite of her determination to be rested for her early-morning raid on Hangridge, when she finally went to bed just before 11 p.m., she was barely able to sleep at all. She had arranged to meet the three officers she had decided to take with her out to the barracks, Detective Sergeant Chris Tompkins, Detective Constable Janet Farnsby, and Micky Turner, a young uniformed constable, at the station at 5.30 a.m., but she actually got there herself before five. She really hadn’t been able to wait.

Just before six, the four police officers set off in a marked squad car driven by Constable Turner, and met up with Phil Cooper and his team, as arranged, at a crossroads on the top of the moor, a couple of miles from Hangridge. There were two cars already parked at the designated spot. Karen recognised Phil Cooper’s own four-wheel drive, and there was also a second police squad car parked just off the road.

Phil had brought with him an MCIT detective constable, a huge man who made his tall and well-built inspector look a bit on the small side, and, travelling in the squad car, two uniformed constables, whose services he had apparently obtained from Exeter’s Heavitree Road police station.

‘Well, it’s the army, isn’t it, boss?’ Cooper remarked laconically. ‘All they understand is muscle and uniforms, right?’

‘I’m beginning to think you might be right,’ she responded wryly.

The three vehicles set off in convoy for Hangridge, with Karen in the lead car. She instructed PC Turner to approach the gates to the barracks as fast as he could, an order the young constable was more than happy to obey with enthusiasm, and, with a satisfying squeal of tyre rubber, the squad car jerked to a fairly dramatic halt alongside the sentries.

Karen wound down the window and flashed her warrant card at the young soldier peering in at her with an air of considerable bewilderment.

‘Detective Superintendent Karen Meadows, Devon and Cornwall Constabulary,’ she announced with deliberate formality. ‘I am here to see your commanding officer. Now!’

With that, she instructed PC Turner to drive on, without even waiting for any kind of reply, and all three vehicles swept through the gates past the sentries, who patently did not know what to do. They were doubtless all too aware that they should not let civilians pass like that, but on the other hand, what were they supposed to do when confronted with three carloads of police officers? Shoot them? Karen watched in the wing mirror, with some amusement, as both sentries ran into their sentry boxes and picked up phones.

She directed PC Turner to park right outside the front door of the main administrative building, ignoring the designated parking area beyond.

A sergeant, doubtless alerted by the sentries, opened the door to the admin building as Karen and her team climbed out of their cars.

‘Can I help you?’ he enquired, his face giving nothing away. But then, soldiers were trained to give nothing away in their facial expressions, weren’t they, reflected Karen, thinking obscurely of the troops of the Household Cavalry sitting on their beautiful horses, staring straight ahead, in spite of suffering all manner of indignities from tourists, while on guard duty in London.

‘Detective Superintendent Karen Meadows,’ she announced again. She had noticed that the sergeant, presumably employed as an administrative clerk, was not the same one she had encountered on her previous visits.

‘I want to see your commanding officer, at once.’

‘I see ma’am. Well I believe the colonel is having breakfast at the moment. Would you like me to contact the officers’ mess?’

‘I most certainly would.’ Without waiting for an invitation, Karen led all seven police officers accompanying her straight past the sergeant and into the reception area of the admin block. There was nowhere to sit, except at the one desk which Karen remembered being occupied by the other sergeant on her former visits. However, the new sergeant retreated to an office, presumably to use the phone, and shut the door behind him, leaving Karen and the team standing around rather awkwardly. Karen did not care about that, but she was mildly irritated that she could not overhear his call.

However, she was kept waiting only seconds before he returned.

‘The CO will be over straight away, ma’am. And I’ve been told to ask you to wait in his office, ma’am. You’ll be more comfortable there.’

Karen stepped forward, gesturing to Cooper, Chris Tompkins and DC Farnsby to follow her. Four officers, two men and two women, somehow felt like just the right number for this confrontation. The others could continue to make their presence felt just by standing around in the reception area.

Inside the familiar room, Karen tried not to think about her previous dealings with Gerrard Parker-Brown, particularly their outings together to the Cott Inn and to that antiques fair. But once again she did not have long to wait.

The door of the CO’s office swung open and a man she did not recognise, with the pips of a half colonel gleaming on the shoulders of his khaki uniform sweater, strode into the room.

‘Good morning,’ he said. ‘I’m Lieutenant Colonel Ralph Childress, commanding officer of the Devonshire Fusiliers. And what can we do for you here at Hangridge, at this hour of the morning, ladies and gentlemen?’

Karen, who had been on something of a high, felt as if she had been poleaxed. For a few seconds she just stared at the square-set, sandy-haired man standing facing her, apparently oozing self-confidence. His blue eyes returned her gaze levelly. She was shocked and alarmed.

‘Where is Colonel Parker-Brown?’ she snapped.

‘I have no idea,’ replied Ralph Childress coolly. ‘He is on special duties. It was a sudden posting, but Gerry was in command here for more than two years, which is a normal tour of duty. Exactly where he has now been posted to is classified information, I’m afraid.’

‘Is it, indeed? Well, we will see about that,’ snapped Karen. ‘Meanwhile, could you please tell me exactly when Gerrard Parker-Brown was relieved of the command of this regiment, Lieutenant Colonel Childress, and when you took over.’

‘I wouldn’t use the term “relieved of his command”,’ Ralph Childress responded quickly. ‘That sounds in some way critical, as if Gerry left under a cloud. Nothing could be further from the truth. He is an exceptional officer whose services were urgently required elsewhere, in a highly specialist capacity, that is all.’

‘Please spare me the commercial. I asked you when Gerry left and when you took over.’

‘Yesterday. I arrived here yesterday afternoon and he had already gone. I told you, he was needed urgently elsewhere.’

‘How convenient.’

Lieutenant Colonel Childress ignored Karen totally then and more or less marched straight through all four police officers. DC Farnsby stepped aside to let him pass, and Karen made a mental note to give her a rollicking for that, later. Meanwhile, Lieutenant Colonel Childress sat down behind his desk, clasping his hands neatly before him. Karen found her gaze drawn to his short stubby fingers. Obscurely, she noticed how well manicured his nails were.

‘So, please, how can I help you?’ the lieutenant colonel enquired, flashing a brief, empty smile which went nowhere near his eyes.

‘Could I ask you if you have been stationed here at Hangridge at all in the last year, in any other capacity, before taking command yesterday,’ Karen asked.

‘Not at all. For the past five years I have been employed in various jobs at the Ministry of Defence.’ Ralph Childress flashed the empty smile again. ‘I cannot tell you what a joy it is to be at Hangridge and to have taken command of my regiment. It’s like coming home.’

‘Really.’ Karen thought she had rarely heard such insincere tosh. ‘As you only arrived here yesterday, Lieutenant Colonel, you personally can help me very little. You should know, however, that I am now setting up an investigation into the suspicious deaths of a number of young soldiers stationed here at Hangridge, and an assault on a member of the public. I will therefore want at least three rooms set aside for my officers where they can interview as many of your soldiers as we feel the need to. And I shall expect all personnel to be made available for interview instantly, upon the request of anyone in my team. We are quite possibly investigating more than one murder here and I will no longer tolerate anything other than full co-operation from the military. Is that clear?’

The commanding officer nodded his assent, and it gave Karen some small satisfaction to see that he no longer looked quite so self-confident.

‘Right. I should also like you to get on to your high command or whoever it is that regimental commanding officers take their orders from, and I want you to tell them that I require immediate access to Colonel Parker-Brown. Straight away, and wherever he might be. He is currently under suspicion of involvement in these deaths, and I will not tolerate all that rubbish about special duties. I need to interview him fully, and I do not intend to allow army protocol to get in my way. And neither do I care whether or not his whereabouts are classified. I am conducting a murder investigation and I will not be obstructed. Is that also clear?’

‘Perfectly,’ The new CO’s voice was totally controlled, but Karen could see that she had rattled him, which she couldn’t help finding rather satisfying.

Long before Karen even arrived at Hangridge, John Kelly set off for London. He had slept for another nine hours or so and woken just before four in the morning feeling much better than he could reasonably have expected. He certainly felt well enough to drive to Newton Abbot and catch the first fast train to London. Even if he had not felt so well, he would probably still have gone. He just couldn’t wait any longer.

He arrived at Paddington just after 9 a.m. and took an expensive cab across London. He still didn’t feel able to cope with the tube. The cab journey, into the heart of the new trendily reinvented docklands of London, took around forty-five minutes, which was considerably better than he might have anticipated at that time of the morning.

When he arrived at his destination, he paid off the cab driver and stood on the pavement for a few moments peering up at the impressive riverside tower block, which was home to his only son. Nick lived in the penthouse, and his apartment, which Kelly had visited several times before, boasted picture windows, a huge terrace and panoramic views up and down the Thames.

Kelly was not expected and had no idea whether Nick was in or not, but Nick ran his business, whatever that was, from home and Kelly reckoned he had a fifty-fifty chance of catching him in, possibly more at that hour of the morning. It was quite simple, anyway. If Nick was not there, he would wait until he returned. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, more important for him to do.

He walked across the sweeping expanse of pavement which led to the entrance of the apartment block, and rang the appropriate bell on the intercom. Nick answered at once.

‘Hi,’ said Kelly. Just the one word.

‘Dad?’ Nick sounded astonished, as well he might. Kelly lived over two hundred miles away and had never arrived unannounced before. ‘Good Lord! What on earth are you doing here?’

‘I wanted to see you. So I thought, to hell with it, and jumped on a Cornish flyer.’ He tried to make his voice as light as possible. ‘Hope you haven’t got anyone with you. Not an inconvenient time, or anything?’

‘No, no. Of course not. Come on up. Open the door when you hear the buzzer. You know your way, yeah?’

‘Yeah.’

Kelly took the lift to the fifteenth floor. Nick was standing in the doorway of his apartment. He looked as tanned and fit as ever, and was wearing a long-sleeved, pristine white shirt — cuffs neatly buttoned at the wrists — which hung loose over well-ironed, faded blue jeans.

‘Good God, what have you been up to?’ he asked as soon as he saw his father’s damaged face.

‘It’s a long story,’ replied Kelly. ‘I’ll tell you later.’

‘But you’re all right?’ There was concern in Nick’s voice, and Kelly was sure that much at least was genuine.

‘Fine. Honestly. It looks much worse than it is.’

Nick stepped back and ushered his father into the apartment. Kelly stood for a moment in the middle of the huge ultra-modern living room, with its polished maple floors and just a few pieces of big, expensive-looking, leather and chrome furniture, very minimalist. A dazzling morning sun was blazing directly into the apartment, making everything look bright and shiny, and as he looked out, briefly taking in once more the stunning views across the river and South London, with the dome of the Maritime Museum at Greenwich in the distance, Kelly had to squint in order not to be blinded by its glare.

When he heard the click of the front door, as Nick closed it, he swung round, smiling, to face his son.

‘Well, I’ve come all this way. Don’t I get a hug?’

Nick’s face was instantly split by a big grin.

‘Of course, Dad,’ he said, and, stepping forward, began to wrap his long arms around his father.

Moving again with unexpected speed for a man of his years who had lived his lifestyle, Kelly grabbed hold of the cuff of Nick’s right sleeve and ripped it violently upwards. The button popped off at once and Kelly was able to pull the cuff back in one smooth movement, revealing his son’s bare lower arm.

A line of angry red indentations ran right across his right wrist. The skin had been broken in several places and one or two of the indentations were still oozing a watery puss. They were clearly toothmarks.

Kelly let go of the sleeve at once and stepped away from his son’s attempted embrace.

‘You fucking bastard,’ he said very quietly. ‘Who the fuck are you, and what is it that you do?’

Nick had turned white. He looked down at his wrist, then up at his father’s damaged face again. Suddenly his whole body language became threatening. He stepped forwards, arms hanging loosely at his sides. For a moment Kelly thought he was going to attack him. And that this time he would not stop.

But, quite abruptly, Nick did stop. He turned away from Kelly and sat down on one of the big, black leather armchairs. Kelly stared at him, willing him to speak.

‘I don’t know what to say,’ Nick managed eventually.

‘Well, at least you are not denying it,’ said Kelly.

Nick shrugged.

‘You came to Babbacombe beach two days ago to kill a man, didn’t you, and when you realised that that man was me, you backed off, isn’t that right?’

Nick shrugged again.

‘You had been employed by somebody to kill me, only you didn’t know who your mark was. You had no idea you had been sent to kill your own bloody father. Isn’t that how it was, Nick?’

‘You seem to have all the answers...’

‘Don’t fuck with me,’ said Kelly, raising his voice to a shout. ‘Just don’t fuck with me. Because I do have all the answers. Not only do I know it was you on the beach, and you were sent there to kill me, but I can also prove it. There were fragments of your skin in my teeth. These are currently being examined in a forensic laboratory and DNA will ultimately be extracted. The police will be able to prove extremely easily that it was you who attacked me.’

With a carefully executed sense of the dramatic, Kelly removed his mobile from his jacket pocket.

‘One call. One call, Nick, to my old friend, Detective Superintendent Karen Meadows. That’s all it will take. The police would then arrest you and take a DNA sample from you, and if it matches with the bits of skin in my teeth, which it will, of course — well, that’s it, isn’t it. All the proof any court of law would need. A foolproof case.’

‘Oh, come on, for fuck’s sake, Dad...’

‘No. Don’t you even fucking talk to me unless you are going to tell me what I want to hear. I want to know exactly who set you up for this. Was it Parker-Brown, was that who it was? I want to know, and I want to know exactly what has been going on up at Hangridge, and don’t damned well tell me you don’t know. I want the lot, Nick, and I want it now.’

‘I can’t tell you, Dad. It’s army stuff...’

‘Nick, you’re not in the fucking army. You left several years ago, and the more I think about it, the more I think you didn’t leave at all. You were chucked out, weren’t you? That’s what happened to you. So just tell me all of it. Or I make that call.’

Nick attempted his knock ’em dead grin again, but it merely made him look vaguely skeletal. ‘Come on, Dad, if I’m half of what you seem to be making me out to be, what gives you the idea I’d let you make that call? You can probably guess how easily I could kill you.’

‘You had the chance two days ago, and you didn’t take it then.’

‘No. Maybe I underestimated you, though, underestimated just how dangerous you can be.’

‘Maybe you did. But I’m still your father. I don’t want to shop you any more than you wanted to kill me. I just want the truth. Please.’

Nick narrowed his eyes and appeared to think long and hard.

‘You’d better sit down, then,’ he said.

Kelly did so at once, never taking his gaze off his son. It seemed that, as he had hoped, Nick might be prepared to gamble that his father would ultimately be unable to harm him, just as he had apparently been unable to harm his father.

‘It was Parker-Brown who sent you, wasn’t it?’ Kelly enquired.

Nick nodded. ‘Yes. Of course.’

‘And he had no idea that he was asking you to take out your own father, because we don’t even have the same name.’

‘That’s right.’

‘Why, for God’s sake?’

‘Because he thought it was necessary. Look, Dad, there aren’t all that many men I’d kill for without question. Not without a bloody great pay packet, anyway.’

Kelly turned his head away. He had been unable to stop himself wincing and tears were pricking the backs of his eyes. He did not want Nick to see. He did not speak.

‘You don’t understand, Dad. Gerry was SAS too, and he was my squadron leader when I was in the regiment. He was the best. The fucking best. He was always on your side, Gerry. And you were half right, I didn’t actually get chucked out of the regiment, but as near as damn it. They asked me to leave. I’d got involved in a bit of freelancing, working alongside some mercenary outfits, and the brass wouldn’t have it. But Gerry understood. We all did stuff like that. It wasn’t the money. That was only half of it. It’s just that you can’t do much about cleaning up the world, getting rid of the real scum, if you only play by the rules.’

Kelly tried to keep the astonishment off his face. He’d had no idea that his son held such right-wing views, for a start.

‘Anyway, Gerry was promoted to half colonel and eventually went back to the Devonshires as CO, and I became a sort of freelance military consultant. The world’s full of people who want my skills.’

Nick grinned again. Kelly thought it looked like a leer.

‘So, when this spot of trouble they had at Hangridge came to the boil, it was natural enough for Gerry to turn to me,’ Nick went on. ‘He told me there was this guy, who’d been employed by the families — who could finger him, someone who’d seen him when he’d been looking for a squaddie who was out to cause trouble because of what he thought he knew—’

Kelly interrupted. ‘Alan Connelly?’

Nick nodded. ‘Yeah, that was his name. Gerry just said he thought this man may have recognised him, and he needed taking out.’

Kelly was mesmerised. So Parker-Brown had remembered him from their brief confrontation in The Wild Dog. And he had not given himself away, by even a blink, that day at Hangridge. Karen had been right. Parker-Brown certainly was a smooth operator and one hell of an actor.

‘It didn’t seem like any big deal,’ Nick continued.

Kelly could hardly believe his ears.

‘Just a job. That’s all. And I had no idea who I was taking out. We work on the basis of need to know, you see. I didn’t need to know. Gerry set it up and just told me the instructions you’d been given, to walk up and down Babbacombe beach at midnight, until you were approached. You got a phone call, didn’t you, an anonymous call?’

Kelly nodded.

‘That was Gerry. He’s quite an actor.’

‘I know,’ said Kelly flatly.

‘Well, I hightailed it down to Torquay and out to Babbacombe. Like I said, Gerry had no idea, of course, that I was your son. And it didn’t occur to me to think you might be involved. I suppose it should have done in a way, with your history. But with Moira just having died and everything — well, it simply didn’t occur to me. Not until you managed to break away from me a bit — I guess that was the first time I underestimated you — and started yelling your head off. I recognised your voice, didn’t I? I recognised the sound of your voice. I was gobsmacked. Absolutely gobsmacked. I shone the torch in your face to make sure, and then, well, I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t kill you. Not my own father. Not you. I love you, Dad.’

Nick looked across at him appealingly. Kelly felt absolutely nothing. He knew that Nick loved him, had loved him since they had become so joyfully reconciled a few years previously, in spite of the fact that Kelly had been such a neglectful father. Kelly had always thought it a miracle that Nick had still been prepared to accept him, and had never failed to be deeply moved when Nick expressed his love for him. Until now, he thought grimly.

‘So, you knocked me senseless, instead,’ said Kelly flatly.

‘What else could I do? I had to be able to make a clean getaway. I couldn’t let you find out that it was me. My torch had a rubber casing, so I knew that if I chose the spot carefully, I should be able to stun you without doing any lasting harm.’

‘So you tried to knock me out carefully, is that it?’

‘Well, that’s one way of putting it, I suppose.’

It was exactly what Kelly had thought at the time, of course.

‘And then you rang me up in the early hours of the morning with some spurious excuse, in order to make sure that you had been careful enough.’

‘Well, yes, I suppose so. I watched from the woods too. I saw you get in your car and drive away. What were you doing in that bloody great tank of a Volvo anyway? If you’d been driving the MG, I’d never have gone near you. I’d have known it was you.’

‘The exhaust went.’

‘Ah, just for a change, eh?’

Nick understood about MGs. Kelly wasn’t interested.

‘But if it hadn’t been me, you would have killed whoever happened to be walking up and down that beach without question?’ he persisted. ‘Is that it?’

‘Well yes. I suppose it is. But you don’t understand, Dad. Really, you don’t. There was good reason, you see...’

‘Try me, Nick. Tell me your good reason for being prepared to strike down and kill a quite possibly innocent stranger, just because your former squadron leader asked you to?’

‘Look, Dad, Gerry and I were in Northern Ireland together. And we both felt extremely strongly about what was happening over there. You have to see it to believe it, Dad...’

‘I saw it, Nick, you know that,’ said Kelly.

‘No, Dad. Not the way we did. And the IRA is like any other organisation. At the core of the worst atrocities, there is an extremist minority. Most of them call themselves the Real IRA, nowadays, whatever that means. Now we allegedly have peace, but there are all too many bastards who don’t even want it. Gerry, well — when things needed sorting Gerry was prepared to go that bit further than most, even within the SAS. His father had been an NCO in the Devonshires and had died in Northern Ireland. Did you know that?’

Kelly shook his head. He neither knew nor cared, as it happened.

‘He didn’t give a shit, actually, Gerry. When balls were handed out, Gerry got given a pair the size of fucking footballs.’

Kelly, who could see the pride in Nick, even under these circumstances, was becoming more and more starkly aware of just how deep into some other murky world his only son had become immersed. He said nothing.

‘We had this man over there, undercover. His information was dynamite. Always. He was an Irishman, but he was British army through and through. Trained in the Marines. He spent years there undercover. Gerry and I, well, we ran him. The man was amazing. A real hero. Last year they had to get him out, his cover was about to be blown. Gerry was determined to find a new life for him. He got him into the Devonshires, made up some story for him, gave him a new name and a whole new phoney background. You know what they say, if you want to hide a lump of coal, then put it in a coal bunker with lots of other lumps of coal. The Irishman was a soldier. So they slotted him into the Devonshires and made him a sergeant, and Gerry took him under his wing. But, well, he was never an easy man to handle. All that time undercover. It had done something to him. To his head. He was a bit of a monster with women, it’s true.’

Kelly found himself thinking back to when he had been sitting in Parker-Brown’s office at Hangridge. He had a small bet with himself that it had been the Irishman who had opened the door and then quickly closed it again after Parker-Brown had shaken his hand in warning.

‘So he was sent to a barracks where vulnerable young women were being trained? Brilliant.’

‘Well, anyway. Apparently, he’d come on strong to this girl—’

‘Which girl?’

‘Her name was Jocelyn Slade.’

‘Just strong?’

‘Well, she claimed he’d raped her.’

‘Oh, dear God, Nick.’

‘Look, the Irishman had lived too long under different rules.’

‘Oh, yes. I know the type. And he’d think young women soldiers were fair game, of course.’

‘I don’t know. I don’t really know what happened. Just that it all snowballed. Jocelyn Slade had a boyfriend, didn’t she? She’d told him all about it.’

‘Craig Foster?’

‘Yes. Well, Gerry tried to calm it all down, but Slade and Foster were apparently telling people that they were going to go to the newspapers. Eventually, the Irishman sorted it himself. Slade and Foster. A suicide and a tragic accident. Unfortunately, the other sentry — what was his name?’

‘Gates, James Gates.’

‘Well, he was suspicious of what had happened. The Irishman thought he was a loose cannon, him, and Alan Connelly. They’d been mates with Foster and did a whole lot of talking. Big talking. Anyway, Gerry arranged for Gates to be posted abroad, to Germany.’

‘And then had him killed over there.’

Nick shrugged. ‘I have no idea. Could have been a genuine freak accident, for all I know. But Connelly didn’t think so. So when Connelly went AWOL, Gerry knew he had to find him.’

‘And kill him?’

‘I’ve no idea about that, either. It was an accident on a filthy night, wasn’t it?’

‘Oh, spare me, Nick. I was there. I saw how frightened that boy was. Out of his mind with terror. And no wonder. It was his CO who walked into that pub, and Connelly already believed that soldiers were being killed. It must have been so damned easy to throw him under a truck, make it look like an accident.’

‘Well, I don’t know about that.’

‘I do. I did from the beginning, somehow. Parker-Brown and his sidekick — who was that, then, the Irishman?’

Nick shrugged.

‘I’ll bet it was.’ Kelly paused, thinking back. The second man hadn’t uttered a word that night in The Wild Dog. If he had done, his Irish accent would have been evident.

Kelly’s head was swimming almost as much as when his son had nearly killed him two days previously, but for an entirely different reason. He knew he was experiencing an acute emotional reaction to all that he had been told.

‘And what about Robert Morgan, the soldier knifed in London, on his way to the Gates’ family home? He knew things, too, didn’t he? And he had probably decided not to stay silent any longer. I’d bet my house on that. Am I right?’

Nick shrugged. ‘I think I’ve said enough.’

‘Did the Irishman kill Morgan as well, then? Take his mobile phone? Make it look like a mugging? Was that the Irishman?’

Nick looked away and said nothing.

‘Does this Irishman have a name?’ asked Kelly.

‘Several. But none that I’m telling you. Anyway, he’s gone with Gerry. He’ll have another name today.’

As Nick spoke, Kelly was suddenly hit by another revelation.

‘Oh, my God,’ he said. ‘It wasn’t the Irishman who killed Robert Morgan, was it? It was you, Nick. That was you, again. You murdered him.’

Nick continued to avoid his father’s gaze. ‘I’ve told you all I am going to...’

‘Fine. It doesn’t matter, really.’ Kelly’s voice was very flat. ‘You’ve told me all I need to know.’

‘I told you you wouldn’t understand, that’s for sure.’

‘Damn right, I don’t understand. You’re a cold-blooded murderer, Nick, aren’t you? You’re prepared to kill a man on request, an innocent man, and to you, it seems, it’s little more than swatting a fly. You... you, you’re the lowest of the low. You’re inhuman, Nick.’ Kelly paused, and he could feel the tears pricking more incessantly at the back of his eyes. He had to fight to stave them off. ‘Damn right, I don’t understand,’ he repeated.

It was then as if something snapped in Nick. He jumped to his feet and strode across the room towards Kelly, jabbing a pointed finger at him, his lips drawn back over his teeth in an unpleasant snarl. But Kelly wasn’t afraid. He was beyond fear.

‘You wouldn’t, would you?’ Nick shouted. ‘The army was the only family I ever had, Dad.’ And the word ‘Dad’ came out heavy with sarcasm. ‘When I was growing up, you were off all over the world, allegedly on stories, actually cheating on your wife — my mother — at every opportunity, fucking everything that moved, drinking yourself into a stupor and ultimately sticking God knows what up your nose.’

Kelly recoiled. It felt as if Nick had hit him again.

‘Gerry Parker-Brown is the finest man I know, and when the army didn’t want me any more, he turned out to be my best friend. He never let me down. I’d do anything for him and for his regiment. As for the Irishman? I couldn’t begin to tell you what he has done for his country, and his country, Dad, is Great Britain, not fucking Ireland. We owe him. All of us. Everything he has done is down to the British army and what we put him through. Gerry was determined to protect him, and that’s why he came to me. Unfortunately the whole thing got a bit out of hand...’

Nick stepped back, more controlled now and no longer behaving threateningly. Kelly, wondering at the understatement, managed a wry smile.

‘It did, didn’t it?’ he said. ‘But Gerry wasn’t really protecting the fucking Irishman, was he? Not in the end. And neither were you. The more out of hand it all got, the more he was trapped into protecting his regiment, and both of you were protecting yourselves. I dread to think what you two lunatics had done in Northern Ireland. But the Irishman knew, didn’t he? If he went down, you two would go down with him, wouldn’t you? That’s why you were prepared to kill for Parker-Brown, Nick, not for any fucking altruistic reason. You both had so much to lose, too, didn’t you? Parker-Brown had his whole fucking glorious career, and you, and you...’ Kelly looked around the luxurious and expensively furnished apartment, with its breathtaking river views. ‘You had your fancy lifestyle to lose, didn’t you? All of this, your flash cars and your holidays in the Caribbean.’

Nick sat down again, apparently quite calm.

‘Think what you like,’ he said.

‘I don’t like my thoughts,’ replied Kelly, forcing himself to focus. There were still aspects of all of this that puzzled him.

‘If life is so cheap among you, Parker-Brown and the rest, why didn’t you take out the Irishman himself, when he started to cause so much trouble?’ he asked.

‘To begin with, it was loyalty to him, whatever you think. Then, after he’d dealt with Slade and Foster, it became too dangerous. If he’d come to sudden harm, the colonel reckoned it would come back on us and blow out the whole Irish operation we had overseen. There could have been mayhem. It seemed easier to let the Irishman do it his way.’

‘And sacrificing those young people was not a problem?’ Kelly found the detached way his son discussed violent death quite chilling.

‘National security was involved, Dad.’

‘Absolute bollocks.’

Nick looked down at the ground.

‘Well, we never expected it to snowball like it did, never expected it to involve so many...’

‘So many murders, Nick? Is murder the word you are seeking?’

Nick shrugged.

Kelly felt ill, really ill. He stood up, concentrating hard. The room seemed to be moving.

‘I’m going to leave now,’ he said. ‘I can’t stay here with you any longer.’

‘I didn’t want you to know, Dad. Not ever.’

‘I don’t suppose you did.’

Kelly moved shakily towards the door. He had to hold on first to the back of the sofa and then to the edge of the table to ensure that he did not fall. Nick did not appear to notice.

‘How did you know?’ he asked. ‘What made you think it was me? I didn’t think you’d ever suspect me.’

Kelly studied his son sorrowfully. ‘I suspected you once before,’ he said. ‘There was that other murder, wasn’t there, more than two years ago now, that I, just for a moment, came to believe you might have committed. But I told myself I was crazy, plumb crazy...’

Kelly let his voice trail away. Nick looked startled, but made no response.

‘And there was something else,’ Kelly continued. ‘Just a coincidence, a very meaningful coincidence. Jennifer saw your car parked in Torquay on the same night that I was attacked. A customised Aston, so distinctive that she spotted it at once. Careless of you, Nick.’

Nick’s eyes widened. ‘I didn’t drive my own car to Torquay,’ he said. ‘I’m not an amateur, for God’s sake. I’d never have done that. I know my motor is distinctive, but it’s not the only one in the damned country. There are some others very nearly the same. Jesus! She didn’t see my car, Dad, no way.’

Kelly managed a wan smile. This, surely, was the final irony.

‘Well, there you go,’ he said quietly.

Nick stood up again, his handsome face creased in a frown.

‘What are you going to do now, Dad?’ he asked.

‘I’m going to get some fresh air,’ said Kelly. ‘I need it.’

‘I mean, are you going to the police?’

Nick reached out and put a hand on his father’s shoulder. Kelly shrugged him off. He couldn’t bear to be touched by his son. Not any more.

‘I haven’t decided,’ he said, leaning against the front door for support. ‘What would you do if I told you that I was going to the police — kill me?’

‘You know I couldn’t. I have already proved that.’

Kelly opened the door. Suddenly, he really could not stay in the same room as his only son for a second longer. As he left, he had the last word.

‘Yes, well, I haven’t made up my mind what I am going to do yet. So, you’ll just have to live with that for the time being, won’t you? Which is, of course, a luxury your various victims have been permanently denied.’