Dangerous Games (24 page)

‘He may be playing you for the fool, Sergeant – having a joke at your expense. Or perhaps he's doing no more than trying to find a way to get into your knickers. Yes, that may be it. Perhaps all he wants is to “give you one”. Or perhaps he's already “given you one”, as a reward for the spurious information he's supplied you with.'

Now it was crudity, rather than verbosity, from which he was erecting his barricade, Paniatowski thought. And now he
was
starting to sweat.

‘Strangely enough, the subject of “giving me one” never came up,' she said, almost sweetly – almost virginally. ‘Or perhaps it's not so strange at all, since he's far too responsible a man to lie about such a serious matter, even if that would have given him the opportunity to bury the sausage.'

Howerd grimaced. ‘I would not have expected such language from a so-called lady,' he said.

‘And I would not have expected a so-called gentleman to set me off on that path in the first place,' Paniatowski countered.

Howerd searched around for another line of attack. ‘You described this source of yours as responsible. Does that mean that he's an officer?'

‘Are officers the
only
soldiers who can act responsibly?'

‘Yes, based on my considerable experience in the army, I would have to say that they are.'

‘All right, if you insist on backing me into a corner, I'll admit he
was
an officer,' Paniatowski lied.

‘In that case, he was probably a very junior officer – one who was not able to see the whole picture, as his superiors undoubtedly would have done.'

‘What whole picture?'

‘We were fighting a guerrilla war at the time, Sergeant Paniatowski. The men were under a great deal of pressure. So if a few of them
did
choose to bend the rules a little, it may have been decided by their superiors to take into account the stress they were under, and not to punish them too severely.'

‘I see,' Paniatowski said.

Howerd smirked. ‘I thought you might – in the end.'

‘But sending them home can hardly have been regarded as a punishment
at all
,' Paniatowski said. ‘Besides, I always thought that the tougher the situation, the more it became important to maintain strict army discipline.'

‘You're a civilian,' Captain Howerd said impatiently. ‘How could you possibly understand what it's like to be shot at, day after day? And when, on top of that, you lose a comrade like Corporal Matthews …'

He clamped his mouth so tightly shut that Paniatowski almost fancied she could hear his teeth crack.

‘What was that?' she asked.

‘What was what?' Howerd responded.

‘You mentioned Corporal Matthews.'

‘I was talking about what it's like to lose men in the field, Sergeant Paniatowski,' Howerd said, in a harshly rebuking tone. ‘And if I happened to mention one of those brave men by name, it was probably because I saw his name on the list of the Fallen.'

‘It's a long list, isn't it?' Paniatowski asked.

‘Long enough. And every man who died did so in order that people like you could keep their freedom. So please don't insult those men's memory now by abusing that freedom.'

‘It's a long list, but the name you remembered was Matthews's,' Paniatowski mused.

‘That kind of thing happens. One name happens to stick in your mind, for some reason. You wouldn't understand the process, because you've never been under fire.'

‘And did that list also tell you that the men who Matthews was with at the time he died also happen to be the ones I'm interested in?'

Captain Howerd was swollen with rage. ‘I will process your request for files, because that is what the War Office has ordered me to do,' he said. ‘But until I receive instructions to the contrary, I can see no reason to tolerate having you in my office – so get out, and don't come back!'

Paniatowski rose to her feet. ‘Thank you for that little talk, Captain Howerd,' she said. ‘It's been most
illuminating
.'

When Woodend opened the door of the model shop and stepped inside, the old-fashioned brass bell rang loudly to announce his presence, but Martin Murray, who was bent over his huge model railway, retouching the scenery with a small and delicate paint brush, did not even look up.

‘We're closed,' the shop owner said.

‘Not to me, you're not,' Woodend told him.

With infinite care, Murray laid the paintbrush down and finally raised his head.

‘You must be the police,' he said.

‘Aye, I am,' Woodend agreed. ‘But not the wet-behind-the-ears, butter-wouldn't-melt-your-mouth variety that you've had callin' on you before. I'm not a nice young lad like DC Beresford, I'm DCI Woodend – an' I'm a bit rough around the edges.'

Murray gave him a watery smile. ‘Do you think you can frighten me?' he asked.

‘Not as much as that mad Greek bugger who's out there somewhere can frighten you, no,' Woodend admitted. ‘But I'm doin' my very best, given the limited amount of menace that I have at my disposal.' He paused. ‘Why didn't you tell my lad what this was all about, when he came round this mornin'?'

‘For the same reason I won't tell you,' Murray replied. ‘Because it has nothing at all to do with you.'

‘You're wrong there,' Woodend told him. ‘When people get killed on my patch, it reflects badly on me.'

‘I can't be bothered about that,' Murray said. ‘My only concern must be my model.'

And he was just itching to get back to it, Woodend thought.

‘Tell me about the model,' he said.

‘Why should you be interested?'

‘Because I'm interested in all
kinds
of things.'

Murray looked at him closely for the first time, as if trying to assess whether he was telling the truth or not.

‘Very well,' he said finally, and a dreamy look came into his eyes. ‘When I first started work on it, I thought it would take me six months or a year.' He laughed. ‘How little I knew.'

‘How long
did
it take you to finish it?'

‘It's
never
been finished. There's always something more to do – some new way of improving it. I paint in a small lake, because I think it will look pretty, then realize it will make the land around it marshy, so I have to re-route the rail tracks. I read in a magazine about a better way of making model trees, and all the trees I've made so far have to go.'

‘Doesn't it seem like rather a lot of effort?' Woodend asked.

‘To strive to create a world that I can feel comfortable in? It seems like almost no effort at all.'

‘You must really regret what happened in Cyprus,' Woodend said.

‘I do regret it. I often wish it had been me, not Corporal Matthews, who caught the bullet.'

‘I'm not talkin' about the ambush,' Woodend said.

‘I know you're not,' Murray countered. ‘But I
still
wish I'd been the one to get shot.'

‘Still, when you're workin' on your model, everythin's all right, isn't it, Mr Murray?'

Murray shook his head. ‘No. But at least it's
bearable
. And now, if you'll excuse me, I must get on and finish my work.'

‘Finish it?' Woodend repeated. ‘I thought you said it would never be finished.'

‘No, I said it never
had been
,' Murray corrected him. ‘But now it must be. However imperfect, an end has to be reached.'

‘Because you fully expect to be murdered?'

‘Perhaps.'

‘An' yet you're not prepared to do anythin' at all that might prevent your death?'

‘There's not a great deal I
can
do. I have put myself on the track, and the train will come, whether I will it or not.'

‘You make me sick!' Woodend said.

‘I make myself sick, too, most of the time,' Murray said mildly. ‘But perhaps I won't make myself sick for very much longer.'

‘For God's sake, be a man!' Woodend said exasperatedly. ‘Don't just take what's being thrown at you! Fight back!'

‘Perhaps I don't want to fight back.'

‘I can't approve of what your friend Mark Hough's tryin' to do, but I can't stop myself admirin' him for tryin' to do it, either,' Woodend said.

‘And just what is Mark trying to do?'

‘Hasn't he told you?'

‘No.'

‘You mean to say that the two of you – who are probably the only two men from your unit still left alive – haven't been in touch?'

‘Why should we have been?'

‘I'd have thought that was obvious.'

‘We have nothing to say to each other that has not already been said more than once.'

‘I'll tell you what your pal Mark's doin', whether or not,' Woodend said. ‘He's got a pistol, an' he's keepin' it by his side at all times. He
wants
the Greek to come for him, and when he does, he intends to kill him.'

Murray laughed, and continued to laugh until the tears ran down his bulbous cheeks.

‘I wasn't aware that I'd said anythin' funny,' Woodend told him.

Murray made a concerted effort to rein in his laughter.

‘I'm sorry,' he said, when he had it completely under control. ‘That was very rude of me.'

‘Well, now you've calmed down, maybe you can explain the joke,' Woodend suggested.

‘Do you really believe what you've just said?' Murray asked. ‘That Mark
wants
the Greek to come after him?'

‘Yes, I do,' Woodend said seriously. ‘From his perspective, it would seem to make perfect sense.'

Murray shook his head slowly from side to side. ‘I wouldn't have believed it possible,' he said. ‘You really don't know
anything
of what's been going on, do you?'

I
n accordance with the privileges reluctantly conceded to her by Captain Howerd, Paniatowski had a perfect right to drink in the Sergeants' Mess, if that was what she wished. But she didn't wish it. Instead, she chose to go to the NAFFI canteen with Lance Corporal Blaine, and, once there, she ignored the vodka which was smiling at her from the shelf, and asked for a nice cold glass of beer.

‘Our Captain Howerd gave you the sweat treatment, did he?' Blaine asked, as he watched Paniatowski gulp the beer down.

‘That's his standard trick, is it?' Paniatowski asked.

‘One of many,' Blaine replied. ‘The man knows more tricks than the most experienced whore in a Port Said brothel.' He blushed the moment the words were out of his mouth. ‘Sorry, Monika. I forgot myself there.'

‘Don't worry, I've heard worse,' Paniatowski assured him. She took another sip of her beer – a smaller one, this time. ‘I've got a real problem on my hands, Bill,' she continued.

‘And what problem might that be?'

‘I don't think Captain Howerd's going to show me any of the records that I want to see.'

‘Doesn't he
have to
show them to you? I thought you had friends who had friends in high places.'

‘So I do. And Captain Howerd has to go through the motions of obeying their instructions. But he knows that he only has to stall long enough, and the information will reach me too late to do me any bloody good.'

‘What records are you interested in?'

‘I'd like to know what happened the night that those soldiers who Ted McCoy told us about stole that Land Rover. Which means I'd like to see the MPs' arrest report. But Howerd's not about to give that up without a very long and very bloody struggle.'

‘Maybe you could approach the problem from another angle,' Bill Blaine suggested tentatively.

‘What other angle?'

‘Well, you can't find out what happened to the men, but maybe the vehicle's got its own story to tell.'

‘Its own story?'

‘There'll be a service log, won't there? And if anything happened to the vehicle in question that night, it will have been duly noted down.' Blaine suddenly began to look rather unsure of himself. ‘I mean, I know that might seem like a bit of a long shot,' he continued, ‘and after all, you're the one who's the detective, not me, but …'

‘That's brilliant!' Paniatowski said.

‘Is it?' Blaine asked. ‘Are you sure?'

‘
Absolutely
brilliant,' Paniatowski confirmed. ‘Provided, of course, you've worked out a way to get your hands on the service log for of the particular Land Rover I'm interested in. Have you?'

‘It might be a bit tricky,' Blaine admitted, ‘but if we play it carefully, I think we should be able to manage it.'

Woodend, Rutter and Beresford were sitting at their usual table in the Drum and Monkey, though it did not quite
look
like the usual table, without a vodka glass in evidence.

They had been silent for some time, each one wrapped up in his own thoughts – though it was only in Woodend's case that the thoughts had been focused exclusively on the investigation.

‘The thing is,' the Chief Inspector said, breaking the silence, ‘both Hough an' Murray seem perfectly willin' to set themselves up as targets for our murderer – though, of course, for very different reasons. Well, I'm simply not goin' to let that happen. I will not allow Martin Murray to
be
killed, whatever his own personal inclination, an' I will not allow Mark Hough
to kill
the Greek, however much he might like to.'

‘I thought you said that Martin Murray
didn't
think Hough wanted the Greek to come to him,' Rutter commented. ‘I thought you said he thought it was very funny that that was what you
did
think.'

‘Aye, well, when you've two conflictin' statements, you have to choose which one to believe, don't you?' Woodend said. ‘An' which one would
you
believe? Are you prepared to take the word of a man who's built up his own thrivin' business
from a wheelchair
, and who – according to the inquiries I've made – is indeed a crack shot with a pistol? Or would you prefer to accept the ideas put forward by a pasty-faced bugger who spends his whole life playin' with model trains?'