Tim Stevens - Jokerman

Kasabian stared intently at a point Purkiss couldn’t see, as if she was trying the statements out for size. Then she shook her head.

‘Doesn’t fit. Why would she lead you to Arkwright if she knew he might implicate Strang?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Purkiss. ‘Perhaps she didn’t know he’d do that. Perhaps she was supposed to monitor the information he was giving me, and when he went too far, she signalled the gunman.’

‘But if she knows you’re on the trail of her boss, Strang, then why was she enacting this charade of helping you? Why did she appear just at the right time and save you from the bomb blast? Why not just let you die, or kill you herself, and have done with it?’

‘Again, I don’t know,’ Purkiss said. ‘She might have been trying to mislead me in some way, divert me down the wrong path. Or she might have been assigned to find out just how much I, and by association you, knew about Strang’s activities. When it became apparent that I was getting too close, she threw me to the wolves. Hence the ambush by the Scipio Rand people.’

Vale said, ‘Is there any record of this Holley being linked to Strang?’

‘No,’ said Kasabian distractedly. ‘Nothing direct. I don’t know her, personally, but naturally I’ve looked into her records since you called. She’s good. Top-notch work. Too young to have made a huge impact in the Service yet, but she’d have gone far. If it wasn’t for this.’ She ran a hand through her hair. ‘I’ve tried a GPS trace on her phone, but of course she’s destroyed it. She’s a professional. Finding her is going to be difficult.’

‘I have to do it,’ said Purkiss.

Kasabian, who’d been sprawled in an armchair, stood up abruptly. She held up both hands in a theatrical gesture of despair.

‘Jesus Christ, Purkiss. Why the hell did you fall in with her? And why didn’t you tell me? I could have vetted her. We might have found something.’

‘Hey.’ Purkiss was standing now, too, his anger a tone lower than hers. ‘You told me to find Morrow’s killer. You didn’t tell me how to do it, or whom I could or couldn’t work with. If you had, I wouldn’t have taken the job on. So a little less of the high-and-mighty attitude.’

She stared up into his face, her eyes wide. The moment hung between them, razor-keen, until Kasabian blinked and tipped her head.

‘So what do you propose?’

‘I was going to start by visiting her flat,’ Purkiss said. ‘I don’t know the address, but you’ll have it. There might be a clue there.’

‘Doubtful,’ said Kasabian. ‘She’s hardly likely to have left anything lying around that’ll tell you her whereabouts.’

‘But she might have left a trap there for me,’ said Purkiss. ‘She’ll assume I’ll search her place. And springing traps when you know they’re there can sometimes reveal things about the people who set them.’

He waited a moment, then: ‘Unless you can think of something else.’

Kasabian sighed. ‘Worth a try, I suppose.’

From his corner of the room, Vale said, ‘Is there any news on the official investigation into Morrow’s death?’

Kasabian shook her head. ‘No. They’re looking into cases he was currently involved with, but so far nothing’s come up. It’s creating a bit of a panic within the Service, to be honest. But Strang will be sitting pretty. All this flap just keeps the focus away from him.’

She and Vale left together, Purkiss remaining behind in the flat. As soon as they were out the door, Purkiss went over to the armchair Vale had been sitting in. Beneath a cushion, he found the memory stick left there.

Vale could have emailed the information, but emails might be intercepted.

Purkiss opened a laptop computer he’d bought on the way to the flat. He booted it up and inserted the memory stick into the port. A single file popped up.

Purkiss opened it. It was a Ministry of Defence document, which Vale had obtained with relatively ease, or so he’d said, through his SIS links. It listed all the personnel of the Parachute Regiment who’d served in Iraq during Operation Telic, the British campaign in the country which had lasted from the beginning of the invasion in March 2003 until the last troops had left in May 2011.

The Parachute Regiment was divided into three battalions, or four if you counted the Territorial Army one, which served as a reserve force for the other three. Most of the personnel had been there in the first six months, forming part of 16 Air Assault Brigade during the invasion itself and remaining in the immediate aftermath before being withdrawn back to Britain. As the occupation became ever more American-dominated, there was little record of repeated deployments of the three Para battalions in the country. Purkiss knew they’d mostly been diverted to that other arena, Afghanistan.

Which made it all the easier to spot the personnel who had returned.

There were around thirty in all. Glancing through the names, Purkiss noticed that every one of them had been involved in the initial invasion. It suggested that people with local knowledge of the country were being chosen to come back, for some purpose that wasn’t clear, as the document gave no indication of the type of operations the personnel were involved in.

Kendrick’s name was on the list. He’d returned to Iraq, to Baghdad this time instead of Basra where Purkiss had first met him, in late 2005, and remained there until 2007. That was when he’d left the armed forces, as Purkiss remembered.

Kendrick had told him he’d gone back to Iraq, but he hadn’t spoken much about his work there, and Purkiss had assumed it was routine peacekeeping duties.

Out in the desert in Saudi, Ericson had told Purkiss that Scipio Rand had received and processed Iraqi prisoners during 2006. He might have been wrong about the year — dehydration and heat stroke could do that — but the fact that he’d been so specific suggested to Purkiss that the year was the correct one.

Ericson had been less sure about which parachute battalion the prisoners’ escorts had come from — I think it was Two Para , he’d said — so Purkiss decided to stay on the safe side and include members of the other two battalions as well. He created a new document, and included the names of all Paras stationed in Iraq during 2006. There were fifteen of them in total.

A pool of ten or so , Ericson had said. It was about right.

Purkiss sent Vale a text message: Can you talk?

The reply came less than a minute later.

Yes.

Purkiss dialled. ‘Where are you?’ he said, when Vale answered.

‘On Millbank, heading for the tube,’ said Vale. ‘I’ve just left Kasabian.’

‘I need another favour,’ said Purkiss. ‘Can you track down contact details for some of the personnel on that list? Personal mobile numbers, home addresses, workplaces, whatever.’

‘Should be able to.’

‘Got a pen?’ said Purkiss. He listed fourteen of the names, spelling them where necessary, omitting Kendrick’s.

Half an hour later Vale rang back. ‘I’ve got them.’

He began to read them out. After Purkiss had transcribed half of them, he said: ‘Could you check out the other seven? Save a bit of time. I just want to know where they are now, what they’re doing. And if any of them would be available for interview.’

‘Can do,’ said Vale, ‘though it’s half past ten at night. The workplace numbers won’t be much use now.’

‘Let’s just see how far we get,’ said Purkiss.

He rang the first number on the list, which again had come courtesy of the Ministry of Defence via Vale’s SIS link. It was a home phone number for a Para named Hollingworth. The area code was outer London.