Хилари Боннер - No Reason To Die

Somewhere around Taunton, he had finally fallen into a fitful sleep but that had brought no relief. Instead, he had dreamed that he was back in Northern Ireland in the 1970s, and that he had been taken blindfolded to some secret destination in order to interview an IRA leader.

But when the blindfold was removed, his son Nick stood before him, holding an automatic rifle aimed straight at Kelly’s head.

‘You don’t fucking understand,’ shouted Nick, but he spoke not in his own voice but in a broad Ulster accent. Then there was a huge bang and a blaze of light, and Kelly woke up in a cold sweat, just as the train pulled into Newton Abbot station.

Yet again Kelly had driven, although only the few miles to the station, when he knew he really shouldn’t have done, and now he had to drive home — very aware that the effects of that bash on the head remained a long way from wearing off. And to make matters worse, he was still driving the big cumbersome Volvo because he had not had the time or the inclination to swap it for the MG, even though he knew his little car was now ready. He had to concentrate very hard merely on focusing, as he made his way slowly to St Marychurch.

Once back in the comfortingly familiar surroundings of his home, he slumped into his armchair in the bay window and closed his eyes. He was neither asleep nor fully awake. The phone rang several times. He ignored it. There was nobody in the world he wanted to talk to. Nobody at all.

His doorbell rang. He peered out of the window. A police patrol car was parked outside and two uniformed constables stood at his door. Kelly sighed. He knew that if he tried to ignore them they wouldn’t leave him alone.

‘Are you all right, sir,’ asked the older of the two PCs when he opened the door.

‘Fine, yes.’ Kelly was abrupt. He just wanted them to go away.

‘Do you mind if I ask you where you’ve been, sir?’

‘Oh, just some shopping.’

‘Quite a long shopping trip, wasn’t it, sir?’

Kelly shrugged.

‘Right. Well, just don’t go out again without letting us know, OK, sir?’

‘I’m not planning on going anywhere, Constable,’ said Kelly. And this time he meant it. He had nowhere left to go.

Little more than an hour or so later, Karen and Mickey Turner arrived in Roborough. The Old Manor turned out to be a huge granite pile on the outskirts of the village, with sweeping views across the moor. Karen had been right. The house, with its tree-lined private driveway and apparently extensive grounds, was extremely grand indeed. It also looked well cared for. Indeed, it stank of money.

Karen looked around her with interest. A property like this must surely have been acquired thanks to Parker-Brown’s wealthy wife, she assumed. You certainly would not get even close to this place on an army officer’s salary. But what kind of woman would walk away from all this and leave her husband in situ , she asked herself? In any case, hadn’t Gerry Parker-Brown indicated that his marriage break-up had left him in some financial difficulty.

Still studying the imposing surroundings as she and Turner approached the tall, porticoed entrance to the house, she stood back to allow the young PC to ring the doorbell.

A tall, elegant woman, quite possibly in her early forties, but meticulously well preserved, answered the door.

‘Yes?’ she enquired coolly, flicking a strand of coiffured blonde hair away from her face, and apparently completely unconcerned by the presence of a uniformed police officer on her doorstep.

Karen, who had been even further taken aback by being confronted by a woman, allowed Turner to do the introductions.

‘We’re looking for Colonel Gerrard Parker-Brown, madam,’ he announced.

‘My husband? Is he expecting you?’

Her husband? Not for the first time during the course of this investigation, Karen felt as if she had been kicked in the belly by a mule. If the truth be known, she had begun to suspect such a possibility from the moment Joan Lockharte had supplied her with Parker-Brown’s address. But, my God, that man had done a number on her.

‘Is he here, Mrs Parker-Brown?’ she interrupted sharply.

‘Well, yes...’

‘In that case, please get him at once, will you?’

Within a couple of minutes Gerrard Parker-Brown arrived at the front door. He was wearing jeans and an England rugby sweater. He looked as handsome as ever, and if he was anything like as disconcerted by her unexpected visit as he should have been, then he was not showing it. But then, Karen remembered that the man was a consummate actor. Or that was one word for it. She was beginning to prefer words like charlatan and con man.

‘Karen,’ he began, smiling at her. ‘What an unexpected pleas—’

‘Detective Superintendent, to you,’ she snapped. ‘I’m here to formally interview you, Colonel, concerning a number of suspicious deaths within your regiment.’

‘Ah. I’m afraid you’re too late.’

‘I’m sorry...’ Karen was about to blow her top.

‘Yes. As soon as I heard that a police inquiry had been set up, I realised that I would have to make a statement. So I sorted it out through the top brass and I gave a full statement to two officers from the National Crime Squad, who drove down here early this morning. Apparently, there has been rising concern at the Ministry of Defence regarding the number of suicides at certain army bases, and an inquiry has been set up to look at the problem as a whole across the country, which is why the National Crime boys are already involved. As I told you, Detective Superintendent, we do take the welfare of our soldiers extremely seriously. No doubt, that statement will be forwarded to you in due course. They told me that was all that would be necessary.’

I bet they did, thought Karen. She had never heard of an inquiry anything like the one Parker-Brown had referred to, and she rather suspected that it had probably been set up within the last twenty-four hours. In as much as it existed at all. Aloud, she said:

‘I see. None the less, Colonel, I am the senior officer in charge of this investigation here in Devon, and I’m afraid I am going to have to ask you to go through that statement again, right away, with myself and PC Turner, and to answer any additional questions we may have. So perhaps you would invite us in, please.’

Parker-Brown did not move an inch from the doorway. As so often with him, she now realised, his face and eyes were giving nothing away.

‘I’m so sorry, Detective Superintendent. I have been instructed by my superiors at the MoD to give no further interviews to the police. It is felt that I have already fulfilled my every obligation.’

‘I’m afraid I do not agree with that, Colonel, and I must insist.’ Karen struggled to keep her voice calm. She was absolutely furious.

‘Oh. Are you planning to arrest me, Detective Superintendent?’

Parker-Brown was so cool that Karen wanted to slap him.

‘Not at this moment. No.’

‘In that case, Detective Superintendent, I am sure you will forgive me if I prefer to follow the orders of my superiors.’

Karen stared at him for several seconds. If she had thought there was any way she could have got away with it, she really would have hit him. She was trapped and she knew it. Gesturing to Turner to accompany her, she turned on her heel and began to walk away from the house.

‘Do not think this is the end of the matter,’ she commented rather lamely, she thought, over her shoulder. ‘We will be back.’

‘I look forward to it,’ he responded, his manner teasing, his voice displaying more than a touch of arrogance, she reckoned.

It was too much for her.

As Turner stepped into their squad car, Karen returned to Parker-Brown, who had not moved from his position in the doorway of his home.