No evidence had been found to prove that the deaths of Craig Foster and James Gates were anything other than tragic accidents, although there were some particularly suspicious circumstances surrounding Foster’s death. The logbook of his SA80, which would have contained the rifle’s entire history, had inexplicably disappeared soon after Foster was killed, and the clothes Foster was wearing on the fatal exercise had since been destroyed.
In the case of Gates, the peculiar manner of his death remained questionable, but the level of alcohol in his blood system, almost four times the legal driving limit, countered that. Indeed, because of his extreme drunkenness, the German authorities argued that there was no cause to re-open the investigation into his death.
The death of Robert Morgan, knifed in a London street, had definitely been murder, of course, but no evidence was found to suggest that the military might be involved, or indeed to link his killing with the other Hangridge deaths in any way.
The inquest on Alan Connelly, finally held three months after the launching of the formal police investigation, had been the worst moment of all for Karen. Kelly was called as a witness, and freed from the restrictions of libel laws by courtroom privilege, he could have made any allegations he wished against Gerrard Parker-Brown. Virtually the entire British press, alert by then to the possibility of a major scandal involving the military, had been represented at Torquay Coroner’s Court. And if Kelly had voiced his suspicions about the colonel, and explained how he believed him to have been one of the two men he’d seen escorting Connelly out of that Dartmoor pub, just minutes before the young man had been killed, media speculation would have run riot and could have led to all kinds of further developments.
But Kelly chose not to do so.
When asked if he recognised either of the two men who had come looking for Connelly, he’d merely replied that both men had been wearing woolly hats pulled down over their foreheads and had had their coat collars turned up, and that it would not be fair to make any kind of guess.
Karen had been surprised and had felt let down. After all, if it hadn’t been for Kelly’s various claims and accusations, not to mention his constant pushing, there quite probably would never have been a police investigation in the first place. It was all so infuriating. She remained absolutely convinced that Parker-Brown was up to his neck in some kind of nasty, and thoroughly sinister, conspiracy, but, to her immense irritation, she was no closer than she had been six months ago to finding out exactly what. And the way in which Kelly had backed down had not helped at all.
She’d had little choice ultimately but to accept the somewhat simplistic explanation he had later given her, which was that, upon reflection, he really couldn’t be absolutely sure that Parker-Brown had been one of the two men in The Wild Dog. And that he preferred to keep silent, rather than make a mistake in court on something so vital.
Karen had been unconvinced, and had commented that it was not really like him to suddenly have doubts about something he had at first seemed so certain of. Kelly had merely shrugged. Privately, Karen later came to the conclusion that Kelly must have been frightened off, that he didn’t want to risk further involvement, and she couldn’t entirely blame him for that. He had thought he was going to be murdered, after all. None the less, that wasn’t like him, either. It was totally out of character for John Kelly to run scared, even when he had good reason to be.
The separate investigation into the attack on Kelly at Babbacombe beach had proved no more successful than the Hangridge investigation. The team had made no progress at all in finding out who had attacked Kelly. As he had predicted, there seemed to be no evidence except the fragments of flesh they had managed to extract from his teeth, but even they were no help unless there was a suspect with whom to compare the DNA. And there was no suspect. Neither had it even been possible to conclusively link the attack on Kelly with the Hangridge affair. His mystery caller’s claim that he could provide information on the Hangridge deaths strongly suggested such a link, but there was no proof. The attacker could have been someone with an unconnected grudge against Kelly.
Karen was extremely fed up and disappointed. It was late afternoon, almost 5.30. She thought she might try to find an excuse to go home early for once. She fancied curling up on the sofa with Sophie, her cat, and having a good sulk. Along with several large gin and tonics. There seemed little more that she could do.
Then, just as she had started to clear her desk, the door to her office burst open and in bounced the normally morose DS Chris Tompkins, his face unusually animated.
‘They’ve done it, boss, they’ve bloody done it,’ he cried, waving a thin sheaf of A4 paper at her. ‘The Hangridge families, they never gave up, did they? They’ve done it, boss. There’s going to be a public inquiry, after all. It’s just been announced.’
Karen’s spirits immediately lifted. There was just a chance that her ongoing police investigation, even if it had not been a very successful one, may also have played a part.
‘That’s great news, Chris,’ she said.
‘Isn’t it?’ the normally long-faced detective continued, with unaccustomed enthusiasm.
The relatives of the dead soldiers, led quite splendidly by a reborn Margaret Slade, had campaigned with tireless energy for a full public inquiry into the deaths of their loved ones. Karen knew that they’d gained the active support of more than a hundred Members of Parliament, and their various demonstrations — staged at Parliament, at the Ministry of Defence, and with relentless regularity outside Hangridge itself — had ensured that they’d rarely been off the front pages of the national press throughout the last six months.
Now it seemed that the British establishment had finally caved in. A victory for the people, thought Karen. The families would be absolutely delighted. She just hoped the inquiry proved to be genuinely independent, that was all.
‘There’s more, boss,’ continued Tompkins. ‘The Standing Orders to the Land Army are going to be changed to ensure that nothing like Hangridge could ever happen again. It’s all in a statement from the MoD, that’s just come through on email from the chief constable’s office.’
He slapped the sheaf of paper he had been waving onto her desk. Karen picked it up eagerly. In future, a civilian police investigation into all sudden non-combat deaths within the military would be standard practice, and a new protocol was about to be issued to UK police forces to ensure they properly investigated all deaths on army bases, rather than the previously accepted practice of only becoming directly involved in obvious cases of murder. In addition, both the Royal Military Police and military base commanders would be banned from taking an active part in investigations into suspicious deaths, except to act as witnesses.
Karen read the statement again, more slowly, after Tompkins, still bouncing, had left her office. Then she continued to clear her desk. She would still leave early, but she no longer wanted to go home to curl up with Sophie. No. Her mood had changed dramatically. On an impulse, she decided she would drive round to Kelly’s house to share the good news with him. She understood that the contents of the MoD statement were not public knowledge yet, and she was sure Kelly would be as pleased as she was. After all, he must surely be unhappy with the lack of progress so far in the police investigation, just as she was, and also with his own failure to deliver, Karen suspected.
She had barely seen Kelly in the last six months, except briefly at Connelly’s inquest when he had seemed like a changed man. And she had barely heard from him either, which was highly unusual. She had wondered once or twice whether he was still embarrassed by the incident in her flat when they had kissed, although her own embarrassment had faded considerably with the passage of time, and, as ever, had been overtaken by a succession of other anxieties, mostly concerning her work. In any case, instinct told her that it was something else.