‘You don’t really mean that...’
‘I mean it, absolutely. To start with, and this is really your last chance to do things the easy way, Gerry, I want to know exactly why you didn’t tell me about Jocelyn Slade.’
Parker-Brown held out both hands, palms upwards, in what appeared to be a gesture of supplication.
‘Jocelyn Slade shot herself while on sentry duty,’ he began. ‘It was a dreadful shock for all concerned. As far as I and my staff knew, she had no problems within the army at all. She was a good, young soldier with a promising career ahead of her. But I do understand that her personal life was not so good. There were certain family difficulties — a sick mother, I believe — although I don’t know the details...’
‘Gerry, Jocelyn Slade’s family life is another matter entirely, and although, of course, it is most likely now that we will need sooner or later to involve her family in our inquiries, at this stage all I am interested in, and all I want to know from you, concerns the military,’ said Karen firmly. ‘And you have not answered my question, have you? You are obviously well aware of what happened to Jocelyn Slade. I do not accept that you did not think I would want to know about her death. So why didn’t you tell me, Gerry?’
‘I honestly didn’t think it was relevant—’
‘Please,’ she interrupted sharply. ‘Credit me with at least a modicum of intelligence.’
‘Very well.’ He leaned back in his chair, opened the top drawer of his desk and produced a large cigar.
‘You don’t mind?’ he asked.
She shook her head impatiently and watched while he lit up, puffing perfectly formed balls of smoke into the air. When he started to speak again, his voice was conciliatory and his manner patient, bordering on condescending, she thought.
‘Karen, you must remember that the army is a family,’ he began. ‘And, like most families, we do not like to display our dirty washing in public. Indeed, we owe that to all the splendid young men and women here, at Hangridge, who will no doubt go on to have wonderful careers serving their country. I genuinely did not think that you were asking me about suicides, and I genuinely do not believe that anything has happened at Hangridge, certainly not in my time here, which could possibly warrant a police investigation. In the army, we do like to put our own house in order, you know.’
He paused, puffing quite ferociously on the cigar, which did not seem to want to burn properly. Karen realised that she had never seen him smoke before and couldn’t help wondering if that was in any way significant. He did seem different, or rather, perhaps, he had become different since she had gone into the attack. Before that, he had been his usual, affable, nonchalant self.
‘I think you will find that your superiors already understand that,’ he murmured casually, in between puffs.
She was startled. What was Parker-Brown inferring? That had not been a throwaway remark, she was quite sure. Indeed, she didn’t think Gerry Parker-Brown went in for throwaway remarks. Could he possibly be suggesting some kind of cosy deal with the civilian law-enforcing agencies, a deal that would probably have been agreed in an oak-panelled gentlemen’s club in Mayfair? Karen had encountered that sort of thing before, everybody halfway senior in the police force had at some time or other, and she had always hated it. All boys together, and, whatever happens, let’s keep the hoi polloi at bay.
Karen felt her anger growing. She did not like being manipulated, and she rather felt that that last remark had been yet another attempt by Gerry Parker-Brown to manage her — something she increasingly felt he had been doing his best to do from the moment they first met. And that was a depressing thought. However, if that was what he was trying to do, then he was going the wrong way about it. Karen thoroughly disapproved of the old boys’ network which she knew, damn well, from personal experience, operated not only within the police force and the military, but also in almost all corridors of power ranging from national government to the church.
She studied Gerry Parker-Brown carefully as he leaned back in his chair, drawing deeply on his fat cigar, which had begun to glow rather more healthily since his frantic puffing session. He still did not look at all like a traditional army officer, and she had, to her absolute fury now, thoroughly enjoyed his company. Indeed, she had been on the verge of allowing things to develop into much more than that. As well as being extremely attractive, the man was relaxed, funny and easy-going. Or that was how he appeared. But she was beginning to think it might all be an act, underneath which he was army brass through and through, and that he would do anything, absolutely anything at all, to prevent his particular military boat from being rocked.
He returned her stare without blinking. An old actor’s trick. More and more she was beginning to think that he was probably rather a good actor. He might even be a bloody Freemason, she thought. Like so many of them. He didn’t look the part, of course, not one little bit, but she was beginning to believe that was what Gerry Parker-Brown was all about. The acceptable face of the modern army on top, but, beneath the façade a dedicated career officer whose true attitudes had barely changed since the time of Wellington.
‘And what makes you think that my superiors already understand what you are up to?’ she inquired, struggling to keep her face expressionless.
He shrugged. ‘Just a figure of speech, Karen, that’s all. I was only trying to convince you that you really have no need to investigate Hangridge. We’re the British army, Karen, and that puts us on the same side as you. The Devonshire Fusiliers is a wonderful regiment, with a proud history of defending queen and country, dating back to the Napoleonic wars. We’re the good guys. And you’d surely be much better off chasing criminals, rather than wasting your time and the taxpayer’s money here. That’s my advice and I really do suggest you take it.’
He grinned to soften his words, and there was nothing at all in his voice to suggest a threat. And yet, she felt threatened. Or, at the very least, she felt that she was being warned off.
‘I never stop chasing criminals, Gerry,’ she said, rising abruptly from her chair.
As she did so she removed the little silver dagger brooch from her jacket lapel, where he had pinned it earlier, and tossed it casually onto the desk before him.
‘Yours, I think.’
‘But Karen, we had such fun this morning.’ He picked the brooch up and held it out to her. ‘Surely you can keep this small memento?’
She ignored him and turned to leave. At the door she twisted around.
‘And you can forget Sunday,’ she told him over her shoulder. ‘I don’t think I’d better risk compromising myself any further, do you?’
His face was a picture of wide-eyed innocence.
‘Oh, come on, Karen...’
She left the room quickly, opening the door and closing it with a bang. It gave her some satisfaction just to cut off the sound of his voice.
Eleven
The information Margaret Slade had given Kelly was dynamite. This was turning into a major story and Kelly had never stopped being excited about stories.
He felt he had now gathered together several parts of a jigsaw, but he knew that there were lots more still missing. In the case of each death, the families of the young soldiers concerned had certain information which alone amounted to very little. However, when you put all these little bits of information together, the possible implications were mind-boggling.
Could the culture of bullying, of which the army all too often stood accused, simply have gone too far at Hangridge? Could there even be a psychopath on the loose within the Devonshire Fusiliers? Or was he allowing his imagination to take him a step too far?