Czech Mate (8 page)

‘We've taken over the case, ma'am, so there are a few points we need to clarify.'

They ran through the statement far too quickly for Heather. Ten minutes only had passed. Lieutenant Farmer was fast talking and very assured. In possession of Phil Piercey's input, which he had delighted in telling in tones of one-upmanship, Heather began her questions.

‘You helped to organize the pairs or teams for the competitions or games set up by Sapper Rowe. Were you involved in creating the equipment for them?'

‘Not precisely. I scrounged materials he couldn't get by his own methods. He's a marvel not only with his hands, but with ideas for games. When he leaves the Army he could start up a business along those lines. We'd had several committee meetings in the two weeks prior to the party, and Sapper Rowe mentioned what he would need.'

‘Who sat on the committee, ma'am?'

‘Sar'nt-Major Fellowes, Sapper Rowe and myself.' She grinned. ‘Rather a fancy tag for what were really informal discussions. With such a large number of children it's terribly important to be completely organized and to allocate tasks in advance. Mr Fellowes is an old hand at tinies' parties and controlled things admirably. All I contributed to the meetings was my knowledge of what girls were capable of doing in teams alongside boys.' She leaned forward with her elbows on her desk and her chin in her clasped hands. ‘I'm sure you'll agree it would be bad to have boys winning all the time because they're stronger . . . and don't hesitate to cheat,' she added with a chuckle.

‘Even when they become big boys,' added Heather, charmed in spite of herself.

‘
Especially
when they're big boys! Luckily, we got the balance about right on Saturday.'

‘And you just helped generally there?'

‘A number of girls know me from the dance classes I give, so Mr Fellowes thought it a good idea for me to go along. “To supply the female influence”,' she added in an ultra posh tone.

‘But there were two mothers and Mrs Robinson on hand.'

‘Ye-es.' She pursed her lips. ‘Frankly, Sergeant, the mums only looked after their own offspring and gossiped. Mrs Padre seemed out of her depth until she began doling out trifle.'

‘She didn't help with the competitions?'

Lucy Farmer shook her head. ‘I sorted the teams and got them underway. Sapper Rowe judged the winners, wrote down their names for the list of prizes.' She leaned back in her chair. ‘That was another small bit of advance assistance I gave. Mr Fellowes bought the boys' prizes and I got the girls'. Just little things like bracelets, teddy pencil cases. Nothing too elaborate because they all had a present to take home. They had to be delivered yesterday in the blizzard. Due to what happened to Kevin we had to leave the parcels in the storeroom after the party.'

Heather's thoughts pulled up sharply. ‘You had access to the storeroom?'

‘Had to have. Sapper Rowe left all his equipment there on Friday night, and we had to go in and out at the party changing it for each game. The presents were in boxes ready to be given out as the kids left. I guess there's one waiting at home for Kevin. Poor boy won't want any reminders of the party.'

‘One last question. Can you think of any reason why he was attacked?'

‘Apart from some maniac on the loose? Or drugged to the hilt and on the rampage? No, Sergeant. Although Corporal McRitchie is in Hedley Company I know him only as a competent NCO. I've not yet encountered his wife, and I wouldn't know which of those kids at the party were his. I've only been at the base a few months. No time to get to know any families and their backgrounds.'

‘Aside from the girls who attend your dance classes. And the parents who deliver and collect them.'

Cordiality was suddenly eclipsed by cool wariness as she rose. ‘Yes, aside from them. Good luck with tracking down the bastard who harmed young Kevin, Sergeant.'

Heather reached her car faintly smiling. Not so perfect, after all. Was there something going on between Lucy Farmer and someone's dad? It seemed more likely than a lesbian fancy for one of the girls at her dance classes.

Tom entered the smaller of the two buildings housing the regimental band of the Royal Cumberland Rifles. Several classrooms and offices then led to a row of small practice rooms, from which came a medley of musical phrases played on various instruments. Bandmaster Captain Booth was in his office speaking excellent German over the phone. He waved at a chair when he saw Tom in the doorway, and pulled a scribble pad forward in order to write down the information being given. That signalled the end of the call. Replacing the receiver, Christopher Booth nodded at Tom.

‘Give me a few moments, Mr Black, and I'll be with you.'

They had met once before when money had started going missing from bandsmen's lockers. Tom had liked this stocky, humorous Yorkshireman who inspired his musicians to give their best; a man who had been genuinely hurt by what he felt was a betrayal of the family-style bond he had created between them.

His note-taking finished, the Bandmaster looked up with a smile. ‘December's always a hectic month for us. The lads and lassies rarely have a chance to get up to Christmas mischief like most young soldiers on the base. They have to work so others can enjoy themselves. I've just finished finalizing details of the annual concert we do in conjunction with the local massed choirs. Nothing highbrow. First half folk songs and opera choruses. Second half carols. And a couple of my own festive compositions. That's the price they pay for our participation,' he added with a laugh. ‘What can I do for you? Not thinking of joining us, are you?'

Tom grinned. ‘The music master at my school once claimed I'm tone deaf. I'd like a word with Musician Clegg, sir.'

A frown. ‘Done nothing wrong, has he?'

‘Not that I know of. I just want some info on a young lad he knows who was assaulted on Saturday night. We've not yet been able to question the boy, so anything your drummer can tell me will be useful.'

Captain Booth got to his feet and came around the desk. ‘He also plays trumpet and xylophone. Gifted young man. About to take his first exam on the French horn. He's in room four.' As they walked the corridor, Tom's companion said, ‘I can vouch for Clegg's whereabouts on Saturday night. We were returning from Holland after a marching up and down parade at one of their lively open-air festivals.' He laughed heartily. ‘Hardy people! All there in their national costumes, dancing and singing amid stalls selling cheeses, sausage, sweetmeats, liqueurs, toys and all manner of breads. Never mind the temperature!' He reached a door bearing a large ‘four' and began to open it. ‘Due to the snow we weren't back here until two in the morning. He's not a suspect.'

‘No, sir,' agreed Tom, mentally taking Clegg's name from his list.

On seeing Tony Clegg Tom regretted that certain alibi. Small-boned, milk blond with blue eyes surprisingly framed by dark lashes, he could have fitted Beeny's theory of sexual advances spurned by Kevin. Lowering the French horn, Clegg stood to attention in respect for the Bandmaster. He looked with interest at the big, dark-haired man in civilian clothes, until told Tom's identity. Then Clegg appeared worried.

‘I'm investigating a serious assault on Kevin McRitchie,' Tom told him in neutral tones. ‘You're his friend. I'd like you to tell me a little about him. What kind of boy is he?' Tom waved a hand. ‘Relax! You're not on parade.'

‘I'm not exactly his friend, sir,' Clegg explained. ‘I play with the band's rhythm section at discos. Kevin's formed a group with three mates. They're not bad, so we gave them a go a couple of times during our breaks.'

‘I heard that you meet up with him sometimes.'

Clegg shook his head. ‘Not really, sir. He hangs around here after school waiting for me to leave. He's had no training, just picked it up himself, but he wants guidance on how to learn more. He wants to really
understand
music the way we do. I told him to find a teacher and have lessons, but his father's against it.' Carefully placing the horn on its stand beside him, Clegg said, ‘I feel sorry for him. He's not like the usual kid his age who thinks he's on the brink of stardom. He so much wants to make music his career.'

Clegg turned to Captain Booth. ‘He asked me to persuade you to hear him and give advice, sir. I told him I couldn't do that. He got very upset. Started talking about getting away, going on the road, finding someone who'd take him seriously. I thought it was just talk.' His gaze swung back to Tom. ‘Has someone beaten him up?'

‘Not in the sense you mean, Clegg. He hasn't done anything silly along the lines he threatened. Have you any knowledge of other friends he might have? Among the squaddies, for instance? Has he approached anyone else on the base he believes might help him?'

‘Sorry, sir, I really know nothing about him apart from what I've said. I did suggest that he enlists as soon as he's old enough and applies to join a band. He said he hates the army.'

Tom sighed. ‘He never spoke to you about his home life?'

‘Only that his father won't let him practise at home and regards playing music as a pastime for males with no bottle.' He grimaced at the Bandmaster. ‘
His
words, sir.'

Captain Booth laughed. ‘No one who saw us parading through the edams and dirndls in the snow on Saturday would deny we have bottle, Clegg. And if that lad's parent was familiar with the hours we put in during an average month, he'd eat his words.'

Back in their chilly premises the team went over the facts they had gleaned that day. ‘We have two options,' Tom declared. ‘The first is that the attack was mounted by one of the adults at the party, and we know it was possible to reach the toilets via the unlocked storeroom. The two mums did nothing but gossip and see to their own offspring. Mrs Robinson merely helped with the food and sat around smiling. She apparently predicts that we just have to wait for the culprit to come to us driven by remorse.

‘The other adults present were Lieutenant Farmer and Sapper Rowe, who were working their socks off all evening organizing the games. They did have easy access to the storeroom, but Sarn't-Major Fellowes states that they were stacking equipment away there in preparation for the fancy-dress parade at the time we believe Kevin was attacked.

‘So, we're left with the other option, that someone came to the Recreation Centre that night and waited for the victim. That poses further questions. Was Kevin the intended target, or would any lone child have been assaulted? A random assailant picking on a random victim will be a bastard to investigate, given the number on this base. If the target
was
Kevin, we then have to determine if the boy had a prearranged meeting with a person he knew. If so, it's most likely to have been connected with drugs or sex, given the venue.

‘I'm inclined to believe he was the target, but we can't advance on that until we have a motive. Once that is established, the identity of the perpetrator should become obvious. Get to work on the motive.' He produced a faint smile. ‘I have little faith in remorse sending the guilty party to us, despite the lady psychologist's conviction.'

Four

M
ax's usual low spirits on entering a hospital lifted slightly on discovering Kevin McRitchie was now in a children's ward. It was bright with wall paintings and multicoloured bedcovers and, although the unmistakable hospital smell was in the air, the patients were not elderly, defeated and dying.

A nurse explained that Mrs McRitchie had gone to have something to eat before arranging to go home. ‘We had some persons staying all night because of snow. They sleep on chairs in the entrance place. Not good, but they have no place to go in the storm.'

‘It took many by surprise,' Max agreed. ‘How is Kevin?'

‘Hurting. Unhappy. Does not like to be here.'

‘But is he rational?' Seeing her problem with that word, he tried again. ‘Does he understand what people say to him?'

‘Yes, yes, but he cares not to talk. You will discover.'

Max discovered. Head bandaged, arms lying outside the blue and white cover, Kevin gave no reply to Max's greeting apart from a sullen glare. The boy remained silent throughout enquiries about his general well-being, and when Max said that any information he could give about what happened on Saturday night would be vitally important, Kevin turned his face away and closed his eyes.

After a short pause, Max said conversationally, ‘Johnny, Malc and Callum are very upset. They say Swinga Kat can't function without you.'

The face came round then, eyes opening wide to show Max why men might have an unhealthy interest in this slender boy. He pushed on now he had the lad's attention. ‘Your friends are all going to the teens' disco on Saturday. A good chance to play, I would have thought, but they said you weren't planning to attend.'

‘Said I was too young, didn't they?'

‘Who?'

Sullen silence again.

‘Thirteen is a tricky age for us all, Kevin. There are so many things we want to do, yet we're still regarded as a child. My mother died when I was six. My father was in the army, so I attended boarding-school in England. For the long holidays I'd fly to wherever he was stationed. Sometimes it was a long-haul flight, maybe with one or two connections. I did that from the age of ten, which I thought made me a sophisticated man of the world.' He smiled. ‘Not so. I was caught smoking by the headmaster when I was your age, and punished because he said I was too young to indulge in adult pastimes.'

Seeing a softening in the drawn features, Max kept smiling. ‘I actually didn't like the taste of tobacco, but I did it to prove something.' He sobered to say quietly, ‘Is that why you went up to the toilets on the night of the party?'