Dangerous Games Page 18

  ‘Indeed?’ Woodend asked.

  ‘Indeed!’ Hough agreed.

  ‘Would you mind tellin’ me how?’

  ‘One of the few sports still left open for me to compete in is competitive pistol shooting. And I’m really rather good at it.’

  ‘What you’re tellin’ me, in a roundabout way, is that you have a gun?’ Woodend asked.

  ‘Exactly. A fully-licensed, perfectly legal, gun.’

  ‘An’ that you’re more than willin’ to use it to protect yourself?’

  ‘As I understand it – and I’m sure you’ll correct me if I’m wrong – the only justification for killing someone, under English law, is that your own life is threatened and flight is not an option.’

  ‘Yes, that’s more or less it,’ Woodend agreed.

  ‘Well, flight isn’t an option for me, is it? I can move quite quickly in this chariot of mine, but nowhere near as quickly as most men can run.’

  ‘Do you know what I think?’ Woodend asked.

  ‘How could I?’

  ‘I think you don’t want us to catch the man who murdered two – or possibly three – of your old comrades.’

  ‘Then if that’s true, I must be a very heartless creature, mustn’t I, Chief Inspector?’

  ‘An’ the reason you don’t want us to catch him is that you’d like him to come after you, so that you can shoot him.’

  ‘There’s a bill going through the Houses of Parliament at this very moment to abolish the death penalty for capital crimes,’ Hough said. ‘It is almost certain to become law by the end of the year. There will be no more hangings in England – at least, not judicial ones.’

  ‘An’ your point is that whoever killed your mates deserves to be executed,’ Woodend said.

  ‘An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth,’ Hough said. ‘I’ve never had a great interest in the Bible, but it does seem to me that that particular statement makes a great deal of sense.’

  ‘You can’t simply ignore the law, an’ go huntin’ down killers yourself,’ Woodend pointed out.

  ‘Indeed I can’t,’ Hough agreed. ‘I’d need legs to do that, wouldn’t I? So the killer is in absolutely no danger from me – unless he seeks to make me his next victim.’

  ‘What did happen in Cyprus?’ Woodend asked.

  Hough smiled again. ‘Why are you so interested?’ he wondered.

  ‘Partly because you seem so reluctant to tell me about it,’ Woodend countered.

  ‘I assume that since you’ve come up with the names of what it pleases you to call “an army within an army”, you have someone already in Cyprus making inquiries,’ Hough said.

  ‘That’s right, I have.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Sergeant Paniatowski.’

  Hough nodded. ‘A good choice. She’s a bright girl, and I’m sure she’ll find out all you need to know.’

  ‘You don’t seem particularly bothered by that, either,’ Woodend said.

  ‘I’m not.’

  ‘May I ask why?’

  ‘Because by the time she finds out, I’ll most probably have done what I need to do.’

  Twenty-Two

  There was an air-conditioning unit in Captain Howerd’s office – Monika Paniatowski could see it, clearly projecting out of the wall – but instead of the happy humming and a cooling chill it should have been producing, there was only silence and stickiness in the room.

  Maybe Howerd left it switched off because he liked to see the people who were sitting at the other side of his desk begin to sweat, she thought. Maybe he did it to show that a ‘real’ man like him could stand any amount of heat and discomfort. Maybe, even, it was not working simply because it had broken down. Whatever the reason, there was no escaping the fact that the office was an extremely unpleasant place to be.

  Captain Howerd did not look exactly pleasant, either. Paniatowski searched her brain for the best word to describe the expression of his face, and finally settled on ‘glowering’.

  ‘You have only been on the island for a few hours, yet you are already putting in a request for access to our confidential files,’ the captain said.

  Paniatowski tried to ignore the beads of sweat which were already running down her brow.

  ‘You’re quite right, I am putting in a request,’ she agreed. Then, after a pause in which Howerd had said nothing, she added, ‘And am I right that you are refusing to grant that request, Captain?’

  ‘No, you are not,’ Howerd countered. ‘At least, I’m not refusing yet. It is still conceivable that you can persuade me you have good reasons for wishing to see the files.’

  ‘Still conceivable, is it?’ Paniatowski asked, deadpan.

  ‘But my problem with processing it, Sergeant Paniatowski, is that, try as hard as I might, I still fail to understand how you could possibly have amassed enough information, in such a short space of time, to merit such a request.’

  He was using convolution and verbiage as a barricade, Paniatowski thought – which was just what men who found themselves in difficult situations often did. But he still did not look concerned.

  ‘So that’s your problem, is it?’ she asked.

  ‘That is correct.’

  ‘Well, my problem is that, try as hard as I might, I fail to understand what would have prompted the army to ship four men out of here at extremely short notice, just a few hours after they had taken a vehicle without permission, and been involved in an accident in which the fifth member of their little group was seriously – and permanently – injured.’

  Howerd frowned, but there was no sign of moisture in the furrows that created on his brow, and Paniatowski found herself speculating that perhaps, instead of blood, he had ice water running through his veins.

  ‘Shipped out at short notice?’ Howerd repeated musingly. ‘I’m afraid I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Of course you haven’t,’ Paniatowski said, as a drop of sweat fell from her face and landed with a plop on the desk. ‘I wouldn’t expect you to. You weren’t here at the time that I’m referring to, Captain. Probably nobody who’s currently serving in this camp …’

  ‘In this Sovereign Base Area,’ Howerd interrupted disapprovingly.

  ‘… nobody who’s currently serving in this Sovereign Base Area,’ Paniatowski corrected herself, ‘was here back then. But there will be records, compiled by people who were here then, won’t there? The army prides itself on its records.’

  Howerd sighed. ‘Which particular records do you wish to see?’

  ‘The service records of five private soldiers – Privates Pugh, Murray, Hough, Bygraves and Lewis.’

  ‘Those records may no longer be lodged in the Sovereign Base Area,’ Howerd said.

  ‘Possibly not. But you won’t know until you’ve looked for them, will you, Captain?’

  ‘Anything else you’d like to get your eager little hands on, Sergeant Paniatowski?’ Howerd asked, cranking up his already obvious contempt a notch further.

  ‘Yes,’ Paniatowski said, ignoring his tone. ‘I’d like to see the report filed by the MPs who arrested the men I’ve just mentioned.’

  ‘Do you know for certain that they were arrested?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, then …

  ‘But it would be strange if they weren’t arrested, after stealing army property, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘I have only your word for it that any army vehicle was actually stolen,’ Howerd said.

  ‘And my source’s word.’

  ‘Who exactly is this “source” of yours?’

  ‘An English soldier, who was here – in this Sovereign Base Area – at the time I’m referring to.’

  ‘He may be playing you for the fool, Sergeant – having a joke at your expense. Or perhaps he’s doing no more than trying to find a way to get into your knickers. Yes, that may be it. Perhaps all he wants is to “give you one”. Or perhaps he’s already “given you one”, as a reward for the spurious information he�
��s supplied you with.’

  Now it was crudity, rather than verbosity, from which he was erecting his barricade, Paniatowski thought. And now he was starting to sweat.

  ‘Strangely enough, the subject of “giving me one” never came up,’ she said, almost sweetly – almost virginally. ‘Or perhaps it’s not so strange at all, since he’s far too responsible a man to lie about such a serious matter, even if that would have given him the opportunity to bury the sausage.’

  Howerd grimaced. ‘I would not have expected such language from a so-called lady,’ he said.

  ‘And I would not have expected a so-called gentleman to set me off on that path in the first place,’ Paniatowski countered.

  Howerd searched around for another line of attack. ‘You described this source of yours as responsible. Does that mean that he’s an officer?’

  ‘Are officers the only soldiers who can act responsibly?’

  ‘Yes, based on my considerable experience in the army, I would have to say that they are.’

  ‘All right, if you insist on backing me into a corner, I’ll admit he was an officer,’ Paniatowski lied.

  ‘In that case, he was probably a very junior officer – one who was not able to see the whole picture, as his superiors undoubtedly would have done.’

  ‘What whole picture?’

  ‘We were fighting a guerrilla war at the time, Sergeant Paniatowski. The men were under a great deal of pressure. So if a few of them did choose to bend the rules a little, it may have been decided by their superiors to take into account the stress they were under, and not to punish them too severely.’

  ‘I see,’ Paniatowski said.

  Howerd smirked. ‘I thought you might – in the end.’

  ‘But sending them home can hardly have been regarded as a punishment at all,’ Paniatowski said. ‘Besides, I always thought that the tougher the situation, the more it became important to maintain strict army discipline.’

  ‘You’re a civilian,’ Captain Howerd said impatiently. ‘How could you possibly understand what it’s like to be shot at, day after day? And when, on top of that, you lose a comrade like Corporal Matthews …’

  He clamped his mouth so tightly shut that Paniatowski almost fancied she could hear his teeth crack.

  ‘What was that?’ she asked.

  ‘What was what?’ Howerd responded.

  ‘You mentioned Corporal Matthews.’

  ‘I was talking about what it’s like to lose men in the field, Sergeant Paniatowski,’ Howerd said, in a harshly rebuking tone. ‘And if I happened to mention one of those brave men by name, it was probably because I saw his name on the list of the Fallen.’

  ‘It’s a long list, isn’t it?’ Paniatowski asked.

  ‘Long enough. And every man who died did so in order that people like you could keep their freedom. So please don’t insult those men’s memory now by abusing that freedom.’

  ‘It’s a long list, but the name you remembered was Matthews’s,’ Paniatowski mused.

  ‘That kind of thing happens. One name happens to stick in your mind, for some reason. You wouldn’t understand the process, because you’ve never been under fire.’

  ‘And did that list also tell you that the men who Matthews was with at the time he died also happen to be the ones I’m interested in?’

  Captain Howerd was swollen with rage. ‘I will process your request for files, because that is what the War Office has ordered me to do,’ he said. ‘But until I receive instructions to the contrary, I can see no reason to tolerate having you in my office – so get out, and don’t come back!’

  Paniatowski rose to her feet. ‘Thank you for that little talk, Captain Howerd,’ she said. ‘It’s been most illuminating.’

  When Woodend opened the door of the model shop and stepped inside, the old-fashioned brass bell rang loudly to announce his presence, but Martin Murray, who was bent over his huge model railway, retouching the scenery with a small and delicate paint brush, did not even look up.

  ‘We’re closed,’ the shop owner said.

  ‘Not to me, you’re not,’ Woodend told him.

  With infinite care, Murray laid the paintbrush down and finally raised his head.

  ‘You must be the police,’ he said.

  ‘Aye, I am,’ Woodend agreed. ‘But not the wet-behind-the-ears, butter-wouldn’t-melt-your-mouth variety that you’ve had callin’ on you before. I’m not a nice young lad like DC Beresford, I’m DCI Woodend – an’ I’m a bit rough around the edges.’

  Murray gave him a watery smile. ‘Do you think you can frighten me?’ he asked.

  ‘Not as much as that mad Greek bugger who’s out there somewhere can frighten you, no,’ Woodend admitted. ‘But I’m doin’ my very best, given the limited amount of menace that I have at my disposal.’ He paused. ‘Why didn’t you tell my lad what this was all about, when he came round this mornin’?’

  ‘For the same reason I won’t tell you,’ Murray replied. ‘Because it has nothing at all to do with you.’

  ‘You’re wrong there,’ Woodend told him. ‘When people get killed on my patch, it reflects badly on me.’

  ‘I can’t be bothered about that,’ Murray said. ‘My only concern must be my model.’

  And he was just itching to get back to it, Woodend thought.

  ‘Tell me about the model,’ he said.

  ‘Why should you be interested?’

  ‘Because I’m interested in all kinds of things.’

  Murray looked at him closely for the first time, as if trying to assess whether he was telling the truth or not.

  ‘Very well,’ he said finally, and a dreamy look came into his eyes. ‘When I first started work on it, I thought it would take me six months or a year.’ He laughed. ‘How little I knew.’

  ‘How long did it take you to finish it?’

  ‘It’s never been finished. There’s always something more to do – some new way of improving it. I paint in a small lake, because I think it will look pretty, then realize it will make the land around it marshy, so I have to re-route the rail tracks. I read in a magazine about a better way of making model trees, and all the trees I’ve made so far have to go.’

  ‘Doesn’t it seem like rather a lot of effort?’ Woodend asked.

  ‘To strive to create a world that I can feel comfortable in? It seems like almost no effort at all.’

  ‘You must really regret what happened in Cyprus,’ Woodend said.

  ‘I do regret it. I often wish it had been me, not Corporal Matthews, who caught the bullet.’

  ‘I’m not talkin’ about the ambush,’ Woodend said.

  ‘I know you’re not,’ Murray countered. ‘But I still wish I’d been the one to get shot.’

  ‘Still, when you’re workin’ on your model, everythin’s all right, isn’t it, Mr Murray?’

  Murray shook his head. ‘No. But at least it’s bearable. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I must get on and finish my work.’

  ‘Finish it?’ Woodend repeated. ‘I thought you said it would never be finished.’

  ‘No, I said it never had been,’ Murray corrected him. ‘But now it must be. However imperfect, an end has to be reached.’

  ‘Because you fully expect to be murdered?’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘An’ yet you’re not prepared to do anythin’ at all that might prevent your death?’

  ‘There’s not a great deal I can do. I have put myself on the track, and the train will come, whether I will it or not.’

  ‘You make me sick!’ Woodend said.

  ‘I make myself sick, too, most of the time,’ Murray said mildly. ‘But perhaps I won’t make myself sick for very much longer.’

  ‘For God’s sake, be a man!’ Woodend said exasperatedly. ‘Don’t just take what’s being thrown at you! Fight back!’

  ‘Perhaps I don’t want to fight back.’

  ‘I can’t approve of what your friend Mark Hough’s tryin’ to do, but I can’t stop myself admirin’
him for tryin’ to do it, either,’ Woodend said.

  ‘And just what is Mark trying to do?’

  ‘Hasn’t he told you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You mean to say that the two of you – who are probably the only two men from your unit still left alive – haven’t been in touch?’

  ‘Why should we have been?’

  ‘I’d have thought that was obvious.’

  ‘We have nothing to say to each other that has not already been said more than once.’

  ‘I’ll tell you what your pal Mark’s doin’, whether or not,’ Woodend said. ‘He’s got a pistol, an’ he’s keepin’ it by his side at all times. He wants the Greek to come for him, and when he does, he intends to kill him.’

  Murray laughed, and continued to laugh until the tears ran down his bulbous cheeks.

  ‘I wasn’t aware that I’d said anythin’ funny,’ Woodend told him.

  Murray made a concerted effort to rein in his laughter.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, when he had it completely under control. ‘That was very rude of me.’

  ‘Well, now you’ve calmed down, maybe you can explain the joke,’ Woodend suggested.

  ‘Do you really believe what you’ve just said?’ Murray asked. ‘That Mark wants the Greek to come after him?’

  ‘Yes, I do,’ Woodend said seriously. ‘From his perspective, it would seem to make perfect sense.’

  Murray shook his head slowly from side to side. ‘I wouldn’t have believed it possible,’ he said. ‘You really don’t know anything of what’s been going on, do you?’

  Twenty-Three

  In accordance with the privileges reluctantly conceded to her by Captain Howerd, Paniatowski had a perfect right to drink in the Sergeants’ Mess, if that was what she wished. But she didn’t wish it. Instead, she chose to go to the NAFFI canteen with Lance Corporal Blaine, and, once there, she ignored the vodka which was smiling at her from the shelf, and asked for a nice cold glass of beer.

  ‘Our Captain Howerd gave you the sweat treatment, did he?’ Blaine asked, as he watched Paniatowski gulp the beer down.

  ‘That’s his standard trick, is it?’ Paniatowski asked.

  ‘One of many,’ Blaine replied. ‘The man knows more tricks than the most experienced whore in a Port Said brothel.’ He blushed the moment the words were out of his mouth. ‘Sorry, Monika. I forgot myself there.’