Czech Mate (16 page)

Certain three men bearing breakfast plates were heading towards their table, Max spoke urgently. ‘I hoped I was making the signs completely unmistakable. The impact was mutual, Livya, and your note delighted me. I'll book a table and a room for tomorrow night, then live in the hope of being free to join you.'

There was a new grimness on all their faces at the briefing. There was no doubt in anyone's mind that they were dealing with a killer who could soon strike again if not apprehended. Tom first repeated the summation of his and Max's thoughts the previous evening.

‘The strong possibility of Kevin's attacker being someone attending the party now seems unlikely. We have to go with the assumption that he had arranged to meet a person he knew and trusted, at a specific time. The same applies to Tony Clegg. Of the two most likely reasons for a meeting, we feel the odds are on sex rather than drugs. Repulsed sexual advances. Just which of them was demanding and which rejecting is open to investigation. All we do know is that the third person has a hasty and violent temper. In each case he snatched up a convenient weapon, so the attacks were not premeditated but the result of sudden uncontrollable fury.'

Tom surveyed his team, still seeing that curled body enshrouded by snow. ‘We have to pull out all the stops on this. Beeny and Bush, you'll travel with the band due to play at some carnival this p.m. Find out who Clegg's friends were, whether he or any of the bandsmen are known to be gay, had he any plans for last evening. I don't need to tell you what to ask, but be certain to get some answers that'll maybe give us a lead on why he should have been battered to death.'

Roy Jakes said, ‘I'll search Clegg's room, sir, and his locker or whatever he has at the band headquarters. His personal effects will have to be bagged-up, so I'll see to that, too.'

Piercey had been uncharacteristically quiet so far, but he now typically threw a spanner in the works. ‘Is it so certain that the attacks were committed by the same person? Clegg was a first-rate musician who had just earned premium marks in an exam, along with promotion. Isn't it possible that he was a real smart-arse, always top of the bloody class and bragging about it? Maybe he did it once too often for one member of the band, who decided to put him out of the scene for the remainder of the Christmas concerts. Followed him, grabbed up a suitable weapon and gave him one. Then another for good measure. Didn't know his own strength. Walked off unaware Clegg was dead.'

‘And guilt will send him along to us to confess,
à la
Mrs Padre?' asked Heather Johnson caustically.

‘It's actually a good point,' Tom remarked thoughtfully. ‘How Clegg was regarded by his fellow musicians will come out during today's questioning. But what about Kevin McRitchie's assault? No connection, Piercey?'

‘I still go for that being an inside job. Someone at the party. We know it was possible to leave and return through the storeroom unnoticed. Lieutenant Farmer and Sapper Rowe had every opportunity.' He gave Tom a penetrating look. ‘You overheard a furtive phone conversation between her and a man named Alan. There has to be something behind that, sir.'

‘Yes.' Tom wondered if they had been too precipitate in their reasoning. Were there really two widely different attacks with several coincidental similarities? ‘Have a more in-depth session with Alan Rowe. Take another look at the storeroom. Time yourself running from there to the front entrance, up to the toilet, snatching the fire alarm club and doing the deed, then returning the same way.'

‘Allowing time for having to hide next door when the Clarkson boys turned up,' put in Connie Bush.

Max looked up with a frown. ‘Surely that was covered earlier?'

‘No, sir,' Tom told him. ‘Piercey learned about the storeroom access just as Kevin accused his mother of the attack. Following up on that became our priority.' Max nodded understanding. ‘Once Kevin tells us what he's been afraid to say so far, we'll have something substantial to work with.'

Max then addressed the whole team. ‘I contacted the doctor handling Kevin's case half an hour ago. We had a serious conversation, ending with an invitation to ring again late this afternoon. He's worried about the boy's state of mind and wants a psychiatrist to see him before giving permission for me to visit. I explained the urgency of my request, but he was adamant. We're in the hands of medical men where that boy's concerned. I shall talk to his mother this morning. She knows more about her son than McRitchie does. She might reveal a link with Tony Clegg we're not aware of. Now, although Mr Black and I are inclined to dismiss drugs featuring in these attacks, we have to be certain. Sergeants Simpson and Prentiss will follow that up. Staff Melly will liaise with George Maddox. He should have some forensic evidence for us from last night's murder scene.' He turned towards Heather Johnson. ‘Interview Kevin's classmates again, especially the Swinga Kat three. We need to eliminate for certain a musical motive for these crimes, and discover another link between Kevin and Clegg that could lead us to a third person.'

Glancing at Tom, he added, ‘Mr Black has arranged to speak with the Bandmaster during this morning's rehearsal, and later with Sar'nt-Major Fellowes in the hope that they might produce a connection that isn't obvious yet. By the end of the day we should have garnered enough material between us to make considerable headway. The teens' disco is to be held tomorrow night at the Recreation Centre. There'll be a very obvious police presence. We're making that fact public. I'd like to render it unnecessary by apprehending this killer before then. There'll be a briefing here at eight hundred hours. Sergeants Bush and Beeny will have to send their reports in because they're unlikely to be back by then.'

His voice hardened. ‘The disco tomorrow will bring together a number of young males in a building which is relevant to both attacks. Our murderer could be drawn there again. We
have
to prevent him eliminating another young life. Go out and find the evidence to nail the bastard!'

They all dispersed into a blue and white morning with sunshine sparkling the fresh snow from the previous night. A morning to make a person feel glad to be alive, thought Max, still buoyed up by his interchange with Livya. Strangely, it had boosted his confidence in unravelling this complexity facing him and his team. Surely by the end of the day a vital clue would have been uncovered, leading to a solution. Apart from the very real urgency of preventing further attacks, he could not deny a frankly macho wish to arrive at the hotel tomorrow evening able to claim they had the killer behind bars.

He drove to the McRitchie house deciding to say nothing about psychiatric interest in Kevin, unless he thought it necessary. He wanted primarily to assess the amount of truth in Kevin's claims of unhealthy fondness from his mother; something that made him unwilling to be sent home. Based on Tom's evidence of McRitchie's attitude towards the girls, Max thought it natural enough for the mother to concentrate on the boy. Had Kevin exaggerated? Interviewing Mavis in her home would make it easier to coax from her details she was unlikely to offer by her boy's bedside.

When Max had taken her to the hospital canteen and urged her to eat some breakfast, she had been in a dreamlike state of shock. A different woman opened the door to him. Her brown hair had taken on a shining gold colour, her pale features were covered in very obvious make-up, her fingernails were painted bright orange to match her lipstick, and those eyelashes were certainly false. She was wearing jeans and an orange polo-necked sweater, both emphasizing her lack of curves.

She smiled at Max without warmth. ‘Come in. I'm doing some baking. Greg loves home cooking. It's to be a surprise. All his absolute favourites. They'll be on the table when he comes in.' She walked through to the main room, speaking over her shoulder. ‘I'm going to clean the house from top to bottom, set out the best china, maybe light some candles. I got them for Christmas, but I want to make it really special for him tonight.'

This was all said in a tight, artificial voice that sounded more like a recitation to Max as he followed her to a room already bright and attractive. He wondered if she was aware who her visitor was. She turned to him with another absent smile and explained that she was going to buy flowers for the room later on.

‘On your way home from the hospital?' he asked.

‘I'm not going to the hospital. Do sit down. Kev is getting attention twenty-four seven. He doesn't need me. I'm going to make coffee. You'll have some with me?' She walked into the kitchen and spoke to him through the serving-hatch. ‘He's had everything his own way for too long. The rules need to be changed. You can see that.'

Max sat, taking in the expert crochet work evident around the room. A natural home-maker, this woman, quite different from some near-sluts he had come across in soldiers' married quarters. There was no visual sign that three children lived there. Was it due to Mavis being outstandingly houseproud, or her husband's military routine that Tom had been told about? Clearly a home with too many undercurrents vying for dominance.

‘Here we are,' Mavis announced, still in that curious artificial tone as she entered with a tray. The best china was already out, Max guessed, looking at flower-patterned cups, saucers and plates alongside hand-embroidered napkins. He was handed coffee and a plate bearing two mince pies.

‘I used my special recipe for the mincemeat. There's ale in it, and a secret ingredient nobody's allowed to know about. Greg loves it. Says even his
mother's
pies aren't a patch on mine.' She sipped her coffee, then exclaimed brightly, ‘This
is
cosy, isn't it? I don't have many callers, you know. Greg says it doesn't do to be forever in and out of each other's houses. That's how germs get transferred, especially in winter. Colds and flu, you know. Can't have the girls exposed to that. Do you like the mince pies?'

They still sat on Max's plate, although he had drunk some coffee. ‘Mrs McRitchie, I've called to talk to you about your son.'

‘Kev's getting attention twenty-four seven. No need to be concerned about him.'

‘No need at all. He's in excellent hands at the hospital. It's his friends who interest me.'

‘Swinga Kat, that's what they're called. But there's going to be new rules, you know. Got to make something of himself. I've also baked Eccles cakes, and put dough to rise for a lardy cake. You can't buy them out here, and he
does
so love them.'

Was this woman slightly drunk, or was she putting on a dizzy act so that she need not answer his questions? Max put down the best china and spoke harshly. ‘Mrs McRitchie, you might not have heard that last night a young bandsman was attacked and killed. He was hit around the head the way Kevin was. It's my duty to discover who took that lad's life, and I think you may be able to help me do that.'

The artificial brightness dropped away instantly. ‘
I
can't help you. I'm no good at things like that,' she said so softly Max could barely hear her. ‘I have to look after Greg and the girls, you see.
That
'
s
my duty, nothing else.'

‘The dead boy's name was Tony Clegg. Was Kevin a friend of his? Did Tony ever come to your house?' Max waited, watching Mavis's face. ‘
Mrs McRitchie
!'

She glanced up to meet his eyes. Hers held a hint of bemusement. ‘Nobody comes to the house. I thought I told you that. It's the germs, you see. Greg'll be mad if he knows I let you in. You won't tell him, will you? But I had to know if the pies really
are
better than his mum makes.'

Seriously concerned by this woman's behaviour, Max abandoned any hope of useful answers and got to his feet.

‘Thank you for the coffee. I'll let myself out.'

She got up quickly and followed him to the front door, asking, ‘Should I buy chrysanths or roses, d'you think?'

Max turned on the doorstep feeling reluctant pity for a woman so beset by a conviction of inadequacy. She would never hit her son, but it was perfectly possible that she would seek sexual consolation from him.

‘I'm sure you'll easily decide when you reach the florist and see the flowers,' he said gently, then walked out to his car.

It was only a five minute drive to the Medical Centre where, morning sick parade over, Charles Clarkson was writing up his notes. Not a man with a quick smile at the best of times, the Medical Officer looked up with a frown when he recognized Max.

‘Don't tell me there's another one.'

Max took a seat facing him across his desk, trying not to rise to the insensitivity of the remark. ‘I've just visited Mavis McRitchie. She appears to be going to pieces in a big way. I think you should take a look at her.'

‘Give me a good reason.'

Max kept the lid on his temper as he described her bizarre manner just now, then went on to tell this brusque but clever man of the relationships in the McRitchie household. He related Kevin's accusation concerning his mother's unhealthy cosseting.

‘He also accused her of attacking him last Saturday, but she has a solid alibi. We're not certain of how much truth there is in his claim that she touches him sexually, but he's so worked-up about going home they're getting a psycho to talk to him today.'

Clarkson's eyes narrowed. ‘I'll talk to whoever's in charge of his case at the hospital. If I've time I'll drive across rather than telephone. More productive face to face. I'll also call on the mother afterwards. I gave her some Diazepam at the scene of the attack, to counteract the shock of seeing the state of the boy's head, and told her to come in if she needed further help. She hasn't. From what you say, I could legitimately visit to check on how she's coping with the situation. Can't do anything about your suspicions unless there's actual evidence, or someone lays a report to the effect.'