‘Not at all. I mean, for whatever reason, he and his sidekick were obviously extremely relieved to find Connelly that night. It’s quite possible he barely noticed who else was in the pub.’
‘Maybe. I’ll tell you one thing, Kelly, I’ve had enough to do with Gerrard Parker-Brown to come to the conclusion that he is some performer in every sense of the word. He’s a devious manipulative bastard, actually, and more than likely, I’m beginning to have to accept, quite an actor. A much better actor than either you or I, that’s for certain.’
‘You could be right.’
‘And if I am, if he did recognise you from The Wild Dog, well, then, he would consider you to be one hell of a threat to him, wouldn’t he? Do you think it could have been Parker-Brown out there on the beach? Don’t tell me the thought hasn’t occurred to you?’
‘Of course it has.’
‘And?’
‘I just don’t know. Anyway, do senior army officers like Parker-Brown do their own dirty work?’
‘No idea. But, if you’re right, Parker-Brown was doing his own dirty work, and very possibly murderous dirty work at that, the night Connelly died, wasn’t he?’
‘Yes, he was.’
‘So, could it have been Parker-Brown who attacked you?’
‘Yes, it could. But I have no way of telling. I told you. The bastard approached me from the back, half strangled me. Then he shone a torch in my face. I never got a look at him. It was pitch-black...’
‘Think, Kelly, think. Why did whoever attacked you shine a torch at you? Why did he back off like he did, run off into the woods?’
‘I don’t know. I’ve been trying to work it out ever since...’
‘Think, Kelly. I know you’ve been bashed over the head, but you’ve got a really good brain when you choose to put it into operation...’
‘Good God, a compliment to my brain? Have you been knocked over the head too, Karen?’
‘Get on with it, Kelly. Think!’
‘Well, it was like he was taking a look at me when he shone the torch at me. But why would he do that? After all, presumably he damned well knew who I was.’
‘None the less, your attacker shone a torch at you, full in your face, presumably took a look, and then he hit you with the torch. How did you describe it? Carefully. He hit you carefully. And then he buggered off.’
‘Yes. That’s it, exactly. And no, it doesn’t make any sense to me either.’
‘OK, let’s go back over it all. I mean, for a start, are you absolutely sure it was a man who attacked you?’
‘Yes, well, I think so.’ Kelly was initially slightly hesitant, but sounded quite decisive when he spoke again. ‘Yes. I am sure. I couldn’t imagine any woman being that strong, and I’m also pretty sure, somehow, that it was a male arm I bit. Muscle tone, that sort of thing. And I have a vague memory of body hair, too.’
‘Right. Good. So, again, could it have been Parker-Brown? I mean, how tall was he? At that close quarters you must at least have got some sense of your assailant’s height and build, surely? Concentrate, Kelly.’
‘Yes, I suppose I did.’ Kelly’s voice was thoughtful. Karen could tell he was really concentrating. ‘Yes. He was a tall man. Probably about my height, six two. But thinner than me. Definitely thinner, and much fitter. Does it sound crazy that I’m so sure of that? It was the way he moved — the stealth, the power. The way he grabbed hold of me. He was strong and fit and he knew what he was doing. I was convinced, somehow, as soon as he got hold of me that he was a pro. Somebody military, I’d bet anything you like on that. So yes, I suppose it could well have been Parker-Brown.’
‘Jesus,’ she said. ‘Then let’s get the bastard, shall we?’
Karen took Kelly with her back to the station, just as she had said she would before Kelly had dropped his bombshell, and arranged for him to be seen by a police doctor.
By around half past three in the morning, she decided there was little point in bothering to go home to bed. Often, when her night’s sleep was interrupted, she fared better dosing herself with coffee and staying up than returning to her bed for a further snatched two or three hours.
Instead, she began straight away to set up the initial investigation into Kelly’s attack. She organised a SOCO team to go out to Babbacombe, and when Kelly decided, after his medical examination, that he’d rather carry on and give his formal statement then, Karen interviewed him herself, along with a young, uniformed, woman constable on night duty. By the time she had done that and finished setting up the rest of the investigation, it was getting on for 6 a.m. In view of having had her entire night’s rest disrupted, she allowed herself the rare treat of a full fried breakfast in the canteen, and, shortly after 6.30 a.m., set off for headquarters in Exeter to confront the chief constable.
She knew that Harry Tomlinson was an early bird, who was often at his desk at Middlemoor by around 7.30. She had also been told that he was frequently in a better mood at that hour than he was inclined to be later in the day, although it had always seemed to Karen that Tomlinson was never in anything remotely resembling a good mood when he had to deal with her, whatever time of day she chose. The two of them were like chalk and cheese — Karen, the sometimes reckless maverick, who knew that she could be inspired on occasions but whose police career was not without a smattering of perhaps unnecessary errors, and Tomlinson, a neat, dapper, by-the-book, little man with a bristly manner that matched his bristly moustache, a jobsworth and a paper-shuffler, in Karen’s opinion. And a police officer promoted way beyond his station. She also had a pretty good idea what Tomlinson thought of her. Indeed, she reckoned it was something of a miracle that, with him in charge of the Devon and Cornwall Constabulary, she had ever made detective superintendent.
None the less she had no choice but to deal with Harry Tomlinson, and certainly, if she was going to get the result she was looking for from him, on such a sensitive matter as Hangridge, she had to tread with extreme care.
She did not see, however, how Tomlinson could have any choice now but to authorise a full-scale investigation into Hangridge. And, as she drove herself to Exeter, she was cautiously optimistic that at last she would be able to do something really positive towards finding out what had happened to all those young soldiers.
Her mind was racing. Ever since Kelly had dropped his bombshell, she had been trying not to think about Gerry Parker-Brown and what a narrow escape she had had. She would not have needed many more dates with him to have willingly jumped into bed with him, she suspected. After all, he was extremely attractive, and he had, quite calculatedly, she was absolutely sure now, set out to charm her. It had been, of course, a highly sensible decision to back off almost as soon as she had any doubts about him, but that could be regarded as having been somewhat out of character for Karen. When it came to matters of the heart, let alone of the flesh, she had rarely shown much sense before.
At least one half of her still couldn’t believe that Parker-Brown really was involved in the mysterious deaths connected with the barracks, but he was now certainly a prime suspect.
Karen arrived at Middlemoor at almost exactly 7.30 a.m., and, just as she was locking her car, she saw the chief constable’s black Rover saloon, driven by a uniformed PC, pull up outside the main doors.
She hurried across the car park, calling out to him as she did so. This was no time to stand on dignity.
‘Sir! Sir!’ she cried.
He turned at once, eyes wide with what she thought was probably ninety per cent affected surprise.
‘Good God! What on earth are you doing here at this hour in the morning, DS Meadows? I always had you down as a night owl, going by the trouble you usually seem to have keeping early morning appointments, anyway. Couldn’t you sleep?’