Spanish Inquisition

Table of Contents

Recent Titles by Elizabeth Darrell from Severn House

Title Page

Copyright

Acknowledgements

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

BEYOND ALL FRONTIERS

SCARLET SHADOWS

FORGET THE GLORY

THE RICE DRAGON

SHADOWS OVER THE SUN

UNSUNG HEROES

FLIGHT TO ANYWHERE

 

The Max Rydal Mysteries

RUSSIAN ROULETTE

CHINESE PUZZLE

CZECH MATE

DUTCH COURAGE

FRENCH LEAVE

INDIAN SUMMER

SCOTCH MIST

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First world edition published 2012

in Great Britain and in the USA by

SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD of

9–15 High Street, Sutton, Surrey, England, SM1 1DF.

Copyright © 2012 by E. D. Books.

All rights reserved.

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

Darrell, Elizabeth.

Spanish Inquisition.

1. Rydal, Max (Fictitious character)–Fiction.

2. Detective and mystery stories.

I. Title

823.9'14-dc23

ISBN-13: 978-1-78010-296-2 (Epub)

ISBN-13: 978-0-7278-8186-1 (cased)

Except where actual historical events and characters are being described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental.

This ebook produced by

Palimpsest Book Production Limited,

Falkirk, Stirlingshire, Scotland.

My thanks to all the servicemen and women who have given me their willing help with the Max Rydal series over the years which gave me the opportunity to learn so much about the complex and valuable work they do. Particular thanks this time to Captain Jason Budding of the Royal Signals Training Development Team, Blandford Camp.

T
he party was still going strong at midnight, long after the VIP guests had departed. Cynically eyeing those around him Sergeant Major Tom Black thought it was more a mutual admiration gathering than a party. The final performance of
Carmen
staged by the Operatic Society had ended two hours ago, yet members of the cast and backstage crew were still hugging, kissing, wiping away tears as they lapped up praise heaped upon them by friends and family.

Tom had no artistic leanings. He had only attended the performance, and remained for this artificial shenanigan, because his wife had been happily and enthusiastically engaged during her sixth and seventh months of pregnancy in making costumes for ‘assorted villagers' who comprised most of the chorus. She deserved her share of the congratulations tonight.

Outnumbered four to one by Nora, and their daughters who were agog to mingle with the sexily-clad matadors and picadors, Tom had to make the best of this wasted Saturday evening by downing a couple of beers in a quiet corner, and eating heartily of the refreshments laid on by willing volunteers. From his refuge he kept his eye on one of the picadors, reluctantly conceding that he looked good in tight breeches and a highly ornate coat.

On learning of Phil Piercey's desire to perform in
Carmen
Tom had told his sergeant to forget it, saying, ‘You're a detective in the army's police force, for God's sake, not a poncy chorus boy who abandons pursuit of criminal cases two evenings a week to go off and pretend he's a bloody bullfighter who
sings
!'

However, after thinking it over, Tom had withdrawn his objection. Piercey was a maverick, a sharp investigator who defied rules to follow obscure leads that might put him ahead of the rest of the team. Getting involved with this production would give him less time to go out on a limb, and maybe keep him out of Tom's hair during this present command of 26 Section, Special Investigation Branch while Captain Max Rydal recovered from injuries sustained during an explosion six weeks before Christmas.

For four months Tom had been running 26 Section, a duty he was perfectly capable of handling. What made it uneasy was the predilection of the Regional Commander to arrive without warning and interfere in cases that were going perfectly well. Tom could do nothing about Major Keith Pinkney's well-intentioned supervision, but to have Phil Piercey subdued by unrequited lust would compensate in some degree.

It was general knowledge that it was not for the pleasure of singing that the womanizing sergeant was strutting his stuff in the theatre on the military base, earning taunts from his colleagues and sniggers from squaddies who had fallen foul of him in the past.

Corporal Maria Norton, playing the title role, had long black hair, fiery black eyes, a generously rounded figure and the allure of a young woman whose mother was Castillian. Piercey had fallen heavily for her sultry charm and was in hot, but apparently fruitless, pursuit. Redcaps, if not actually hated by the average soldier, were certainly given a wide berth whenever possible, but the Operatic Society had accepted Piercey because the opera required a strong male chorus and he had an unexpectedly good baritone voice to go with a fine muscular body.

Rumour had it that Maria Norton was playing with Piercey the way Carmen plays with her hapless military guard, which news pleased the members of 26 Section, who all agreed it was time the boot was on the other foot. From his corner at the party Tom watched with amusement as Piercey competed with several other hopefuls to hold Maria's attention for longer than half a minute, and saw that rumour had it right. The voluptuous corporal knew exactly how to excite then deflate, and Piercey was getting the full treatment.

Tom's pleasure in this soon ended when he spotted his eldest daughter Maggie, fourteen and looking older, being chatted up by a fresh-faced lad in satin breeches that revealed how well endowed he was.

Where the hell was Nora? He started forward, tardily realizing that
he
should have been with his family. The habit of believing the girls were her responsibility, as they so often were, was hard to break. Girls needed their mother once they reached a certain age, but he knew parenting was a dual responsibility and he had been opting out on a night when his wife was entitled to be free to enjoy these end-of-the-run high jinks.

Gathering his protesting children together, he made signals to Nora who was happy to leave, and they went out for the drive back to their rented house halfway between the base and the local town. It was cold, with a full moon and a multitude of stars. The quietness after the noise of the party was welcome to Tom, who wanted to reach home and climb straight into bed. He had had a hectic week and looked forward to a good sleep, with a lie-in in the morning before enjoying a lazy Sunday with his family.

While the female members gossiped about the guests, Tom drove to the main gate lost in thoughts of future Sundays, when he and his son would do man things together. On the day the scan had shown that Nora was carrying a male child this time his delight had been so great he had been struck dumb. He said little on the subject even now, but his mind was storing images of himself and Christopher Black indulging in pastimes fathers and daughters rarely shared.

Reaching the house, they were met by joyous yapping from the puppy which had taken up residence in time for Christmas. There was the usual plea from Beth, the youngest, to take the little dog up to bed, and the usual firm NO! from Tom and Nora in unison. By the time Strudel (a ridiculous name in Tom's view) had been fussed over, given a biscuit and put in the rear garden to reduce the risk of puddles on the storeroom floor in the morning, it was just after one a.m. Half an hour later Tom turned off the bedside light and settled gratefully for sleep, close against Nora's back, having said all he should about the stage costumes she had made. The house fell silent as Tom drifted into slumber wondering about buying a boat to take on the river where Max sculled on Sunday mornings. He could show Christopher how to steer it and then how to operate the outboard motor.

A persistent ringing brought him from his nautical dreams, and he automatically stretched out his hand to the telephone beside him.

‘Yes,' he mumbled sleepily.

‘Sorry to disturb you, sir, but I think you should come in on this,' said a voice Tom recognized as that of Corporal Babs Turvey, a member of the uniformed police squad on the base.

‘Go on,' he said, rolling away from Nora and speaking quietly into the receiver as he noted that it was now three a.m.

‘An hour ago Corporal Maria Norton, 5 Signals, staggered in here in a very distressed state. Her face and arms were bruised, her dress was torn and she was generally very dishevelled. I couldn't get much sense from her before she collapsed. I called an ambulance and went with her to the Medical Centre, where they gave her something to make her relax.'

‘What has this to do with me?' hissed Tom impatiently.

‘Norton claimed she was attacked and assaulted outside the Recreation Centre where there'd been a party after the closing performance of
Carmen
.'

‘Rape?'

‘She didn't claim full sexual assault, sir, but I've called in Captain Goodey to examine her. The victim is too traumatized to be fully coherent, but she has named her attacker as Phil Piercey. We've got him here.'

‘On way,' Tom said in leaden tones.

While driving back to the base Tom's thoughts were muddled, in the extreme. Even though the girl was not crying rape, she had evidently been viciously attacked. Piercey was facing a serious charge which, when fully investigated, could bring the end of his career. Admittedly, Norton had been very obviously playing him like a fish on a hook at the party, and there was no doubting the young sergeant's obsession with her, yet Tom was uncomfortable with the scenario.

Piercey was extrovert, highly experienced and packed with assurance where women were concerned, but he was not a man given to excessive behaviour. Before joining SIB his four years in uniform had been exemplary. Redcaps on patrol had to deal with soldiers who were drunk, abusive, violent – sometimes in large groups – and had to retain their nerve. They were armed for their own protection and anyone liable to lose control and start firing at random would never make the grade and wear the famous red-covered cap.

Tom had been watching Piercey at the party. He had not been deeply under the influence so, unless he had imbibed non-stop after the Black family had departed, it seemed unlikely that alcohol had driven him to assault the provocative corporal. Torn between the wish to protect one of his own team, and the victim's positive identification, Tom had to consider the possibility that Piercey had reacted thus because he had never before been rejected by a woman he wanted, and publicly so. All in all, Tom felt unhappy as he turned in through the main gate, acknowledging the wave of recognition from the night guard who raised the barrier for him.

Babs Turvey looked grave when he entered the police post. Although Piercey was SIB he was also a member of the Corps, and therefore also a subject of regimental concern for her and Corporal Meacher, who was retrieving any calls that came in during the night hours.