Just before six, the four police officers set off in a marked squad car driven by Constable Turner, and met up with Phil Cooper and his team, as arranged, at a crossroads on the top of the moor, a couple of miles from Hangridge. There were two cars already parked at the designated spot. Karen recognised Phil Cooper’s own four-wheel drive, and there was also a second police squad car parked just off the road.
Phil had brought with him an MCIT detective constable, a huge man who made his tall and well-built inspector look a bit on the small side, and, travelling in the squad car, two uniformed constables, whose services he had apparently obtained from Exeter’s Heavitree Road police station.
‘Well, it’s the army, isn’t it, boss?’ Cooper remarked laconically. ‘All they understand is muscle and uniforms, right?’
‘I’m beginning to think you might be right,’ she responded wryly.
The three vehicles set off in convoy for Hangridge, with Karen in the lead car. She instructed PC Turner to approach the gates to the barracks as fast as he could, an order the young constable was more than happy to obey with enthusiasm, and, with a satisfying squeal of tyre rubber, the squad car jerked to a fairly dramatic halt alongside the sentries.
Karen wound down the window and flashed her warrant card at the young soldier peering in at her with an air of considerable bewilderment.
‘Detective Superintendent Karen Meadows, Devon and Cornwall Constabulary,’ she announced with deliberate formality. ‘I am here to see your commanding officer. Now!’
With that, she instructed PC Turner to drive on, without even waiting for any kind of reply, and all three vehicles swept through the gates past the sentries, who patently did not know what to do. They were doubtless all too aware that they should not let civilians pass like that, but on the other hand, what were they supposed to do when confronted with three carloads of police officers? Shoot them? Karen watched in the wing mirror, with some amusement, as both sentries ran into their sentry boxes and picked up phones.
She directed PC Turner to park right outside the front door of the main administrative building, ignoring the designated parking area beyond.
A sergeant, doubtless alerted by the sentries, opened the door to the admin building as Karen and her team climbed out of their cars.
‘Can I help you?’ he enquired, his face giving nothing away. But then, soldiers were trained to give nothing away in their facial expressions, weren’t they, reflected Karen, thinking obscurely of the troops of the Household Cavalry sitting on their beautiful horses, staring straight ahead, in spite of suffering all manner of indignities from tourists, while on guard duty in London.
‘Detective Superintendent Karen Meadows,’ she announced again. She had noticed that the sergeant, presumably employed as an administrative clerk, was not the same one she had encountered on her previous visits.
‘I want to see your commanding officer, at once.’
‘I see ma’am. Well I believe the colonel is having breakfast at the moment. Would you like me to contact the officers’ mess?’
‘I most certainly would.’ Without waiting for an invitation, Karen led all seven police officers accompanying her straight past the sergeant and into the reception area of the admin block. There was nowhere to sit, except at the one desk which Karen remembered being occupied by the other sergeant on her former visits. However, the new sergeant retreated to an office, presumably to use the phone, and shut the door behind him, leaving Karen and the team standing around rather awkwardly. Karen did not care about that, but she was mildly irritated that she could not overhear his call.
However, she was kept waiting only seconds before he returned.
‘The CO will be over straight away, ma’am. And I’ve been told to ask you to wait in his office, ma’am. You’ll be more comfortable there.’
Karen stepped forward, gesturing to Cooper, Chris Tompkins and DC Farnsby to follow her. Four officers, two men and two women, somehow felt like just the right number for this confrontation. The others could continue to make their presence felt just by standing around in the reception area.
Inside the familiar room, Karen tried not to think about her previous dealings with Gerrard Parker-Brown, particularly their outings together to the Cott Inn and to that antiques fair. But once again she did not have long to wait.
The door of the CO’s office swung open and a man she did not recognise, with the pips of a half colonel gleaming on the shoulders of his khaki uniform sweater, strode into the room.
‘Good morning,’ he said. ‘I’m Lieutenant Colonel Ralph Childress, commanding officer of the Devonshire Fusiliers. And what can we do for you here at Hangridge, at this hour of the morning, ladies and gentlemen?’
Karen, who had been on something of a high, felt as if she had been poleaxed. For a few seconds she just stared at the square-set, sandy-haired man standing facing her, apparently oozing self-confidence. His blue eyes returned her gaze levelly. She was shocked and alarmed.
‘Where is Colonel Parker-Brown?’ she snapped.
‘I have no idea,’ replied Ralph Childress coolly. ‘He is on special duties. It was a sudden posting, but Gerry was in command here for more than two years, which is a normal tour of duty. Exactly where he has now been posted to is classified information, I’m afraid.’
‘Is it, indeed? Well, we will see about that,’ snapped Karen. ‘Meanwhile, could you please tell me exactly when Gerrard Parker-Brown was relieved of the command of this regiment, Lieutenant Colonel Childress, and when you took over.’
‘I wouldn’t use the term “relieved of his command”,’ Ralph Childress responded quickly. ‘That sounds in some way critical, as if Gerry left under a cloud. Nothing could be further from the truth. He is an exceptional officer whose services were urgently required elsewhere, in a highly specialist capacity, that is all.’
‘Please spare me the commercial. I asked you when Gerry left and when you took over.’
‘Yesterday. I arrived here yesterday afternoon and he had already gone. I told you, he was needed urgently elsewhere.’
‘How convenient.’
Lieutenant Colonel Childress ignored Karen totally then and more or less marched straight through all four police officers. DC Farnsby stepped aside to let him pass, and Karen made a mental note to give her a rollicking for that, later. Meanwhile, Lieutenant Colonel Childress sat down behind his desk, clasping his hands neatly before him. Karen found her gaze drawn to his short stubby fingers. Obscurely, she noticed how well manicured his nails were.
‘So, please, how can I help you?’ the lieutenant colonel enquired, flashing a brief, empty smile which went nowhere near his eyes.
‘Could I ask you if you have been stationed here at Hangridge at all in the last year, in any other capacity, before taking command yesterday,’ Karen asked.
‘Not at all. For the past five years I have been employed in various jobs at the Ministry of Defence.’ Ralph Childress flashed the empty smile again. ‘I cannot tell you what a joy it is to be at Hangridge and to have taken command of my regiment. It’s like coming home.’
‘Really.’ Karen thought she had rarely heard such insincere tosh. ‘As you only arrived here yesterday, Lieutenant Colonel, you personally can help me very little. You should know, however, that I am now setting up an investigation into the suspicious deaths of a number of young soldiers stationed here at Hangridge, and an assault on a member of the public. I will therefore want at least three rooms set aside for my officers where they can interview as many of your soldiers as we feel the need to. And I shall expect all personnel to be made available for interview instantly, upon the request of anyone in my team. We are quite possibly investigating more than one murder here and I will no longer tolerate anything other than full co-operation from the military. Is that clear?’