‘You’re joking, aren’t you? I don’t have nothing to do with the filth, nothing more than I have to. That’s the way things are around here. Anyway, I thought you were sorting all that out.’
‘There’s been another death, Colin. A young man, who may have had all kinds of knowledge concerning your brother and the death of Jocelyn Slade, has been murdered. That’s no joke.’
Kelly paused.
‘Look, Colin, it is possible that you are in danger, too.’
‘Oh, come off it.’ Colin Gates sounded totally incredulous. ‘How could I possibly be in danger. Are you some kind of nutter or something?’
‘No, Colin. I’m not. It’s just that I don’t like playing games with other people’s lives. I’ve done it before, although I never meant to. I don’t want to do it again. I think the time has probably come for all of us to put our cards on the table, to try to get some official help in all this. To make sure there aren’t any more of these mysterious deaths. And, in your case, that means going to the police.’
‘But I haven’t got anything to tell them. I don’t know nothing about Robert Morgan, not nothing. He could have had all sorts of reasons for being round here. Drugs. That’ll be it. Drugs. I mean, if you’re stationed at some barracks in the middle of Dartmoor, how the hell do you get yourself some gear, eh?’
‘With consummate ease, if he was that way inclined, Colin. What do you think? That drug culture only exists in inner cities? Don’t you believe it. I’m calling from Torquay, an hour’s drive from Hangridge, and I promise you there’s not a drug that’s been invented that you can’t pick up in this town, if you know where to go. No. Drugs wouldn’t have brought Robert Morgan to your part of London, I’m sure of it. And what else would have led to him ending up stabbed to death in Penton Street? The only obvious link is your family, living, as you do, just a stone’s throw away.’
‘Well, I don’t bleeding care what he was doing in our manor, to be honest. And I’m not fucking going to the filth. No fucking way. Anyway, I thought you was going to handle it all. I didn’t think I’d have to do anything.’
‘Please, Colin. I’m worried about your safety.’
‘You really are a nutter, you. My bleeding safety, my arse. You got some imagination, you have. Apart from anything else, I don’t know nothing about nothing.’
‘Is your dad still away?’
‘Till Saturday.’
‘Look, I really, really think you should go to the police?’
‘For what? So they can have a good laugh at me too. You can take on the British army if you like, Mr John Kelly, I’m not fucking doing it. I don’t want to know whatever crazy conspiracy theory you’ve got into your head. I’m staying out of it. I shouldn’t have talked to you in the first place, should I? I ain’t got nothing else to say. I don’t want ever to talk to you again.’
The line went dead. Kelly sighed. Perhaps he should tip off the Met about Colin Gates. Karen had indicated to him that she thought as much pressure as possible, from as many different angles as possible, would be the way to open up the whole affair. On the other hand, Gates was probably right about one thing. It seemed highly likely that the Met really would do little more than have a good laugh.
Kelly pondered his next move. He wondered if he should talk to Margaret Slade and the other relatives of the various dead soldiers, and suggest that they all get together to help him cobble up a story straight away, thereby rocketing the whole shenanigans into the public domain once and for all.
Kelly found that he really didn’t know what to do, and that he was extremely worried. He knew that he was meddling yet again with matters he did not fully understand, and he was beginning to fear the consequences. Already, a sequence of events was unravelling in all sorts of unexpected directions.
Whether or not the death of Robert Morgan was connected with all the other deaths, it was at the very least highly disconcerting. Kelly didn’t want any more blood on his hands. He had hoped to keep everything under wraps a little longer, and indeed to be able to delve into the mystery considerably more before hitting the printing presses with it.
But he was now beginning to feel that maybe he could not wait. That none of them could wait. And he was beginning to think that when he told Karen Meadows all that he knew, and, even more, all that he suspected, she would agree. Indeed, this latest development might play into her hands. After all, she believed that a formal police investigation into the Hangridge deaths should be the next step, and the death of another Hangridge soldier, however unconnected it might at first sight seem to be with anything military, would surely have to be regarded as a significant factor in her campaign to be allowed to launch such an operation.
Kelly checked his watch for the umpteenth time. It was still not quite six o’clock. The hours really were dragging. But less than four hours to go now before his meeting with Karen, and maybe they could then reach a decision together about their next move. He would just have to be patient. Meanwhile, he amused himself by thinking about how Karen would react to the most important piece of information he had to give her. Something that he had yet to come properly to terms with himself. She would, he thought, be even more amazed than he had been.
He wandered downstairs again to make a fresh pot of tea, which he once more carried into the living room and set, with the sugar bowl, of course, on the little table next to his chair in the bay window. As he did so, his telephone rang. He answered quickly, half expecting it to be Karen. Automatically, he checked the display panel on his phone, registering that it was indicating that his caller’s number was not available, which meant that it could well be her, phoning from her office in Torquay police station.
‘Hello,’ he said tentatively.
‘I understand you’re investigating the deaths of soldiers up at Hangridge,’ responded a muffled voice. It was so distorted, no doubt deliberately, that Kelly could not even tell if his caller was a man or a woman.
‘Well, I have been looking into various incidents at the barracks,’ he replied cautiously.
‘I have information that I believe could be of interest to you.’
‘I see.’ Kelly could feel the hairs standing up on the back of his neck. This was far from the first time in his life that he had received a call like this. Sometimes they were from total nutters. More often than not, they were from people who thought they knew something important, but actually didn’t. And once in a blue moon they were dynamite.
One thing Kelly knew for sure, this was the kind of investigation that was crying out for a deep throat. Because if he was honest, without something of that nature — some anonymous source of crucial inside information — Kelly did not see the truth ever being fully revealed.
On the other hand, there had now been yet another death which could be connected to the others. And there were other disturbing factors, notably the most important and the most potentially explosive aspect of his meeting with Colonel Parker-Brown earlier that day, when he had been confronted by something totally unexpected, something only he could possibly know about, and something he really could not wait to share with Karen. The sensible part of Kelly urged him to tell his caller to contact Karen Meadows and then to hang up. He was getting into extremely deep water. He should merely put together the best story he could from the information he already had, and then step back from the whole affair. After all, obsessive though he might be when embroiled in an investigation, he was not a totally stupid man. And he was becoming aware that even he could be in some danger, if he continued to delve into the affairs of the Devonshire Fusiliers. However, he quickly dismissed the thought from his mind. Of course, he wasn’t in any danger. And even if he was, well, there was absolutely no chance of him stepping back from this investigation. If this caller had information for him, then Kelly wanted it, and Kelly would probably do almost anything to get it. So, he wasn’t going to back off. Not now. Not yet. No way.