SIXTEEN

News of Lloyd's death and Wiseman's hospitalization killed off what little remained of the celebratory nature of the Operation Clean Sheet reunion. Toasting the memory of absent friends who had died young years in the past was one thing. Drinking in remembrance of two people who had been alive and well only a couple of days ago was an infinitely more sombre and dispiriting experience. It was possible to believe Askew had killed himself for reasons unconnected with the reunion and that Wiseman's car crash was a pure and simple accident, albeit a tragic one. But coincidence preys on the mind, whether rationally or not. Tancred summed up the feeling of all in his own Wildean style. 'To lose one old comrade may be regarded as a misfortune; to lose two looks like carelessness.'

Initial resolve to visit Wiseman in hospital before leaving diminished when Dangerfield pointed out that they would not be able to do so until Monday afternoon and would therefore miss the direct train to London they were booked on. They would also be in danger of meeting Lloyd's wife and daughter, a prospect none of them relished. With Harry volunteering to stay on and give Dangerfield what support he could, the others rapidly came round to the idea that there was no sense in delaying their departure. They had families to return to, lives to resume. They were, in truth, though no-one said so, eager to be gone. They might even have wished that they had never come in the first place. The reunion had been ill-fated. They wanted no more to do with it.

Dangerfield did not mention he had provided the police with all their names and addresses and, oddly, no-one asked if he had, perhaps because doing so would imply they believed Wiseman's crash might not have been an accident, Askew's death perhaps not suicide. Those were doors no-one wished to open. Accordingly, by unspoken mutual consent, they remained closed.

Nor did anyone question Harry's selflessness in staying on the scene to lend Dangerfield a helping hand, though Tancred came close. After they had adjourned to the bar following a dinner nobody had shown much of a stomach for, he eyed Harry over the rim of his whisky glass and remarked, 'You're an example to us all, Ossie, you really are.'

'Just doing my bit, Tapper,' was Harry's lame response.

'Unlike Fission. If only your partnership had endured, perhaps then he wouldn't have ended up fleecing the likes of poor old Crooked.'

'I doubt it. He never took much notice of me.'

'Ah. Do I take it that Barnchase Motors might not have had a whiter than white reputation even before its lamentable collapse?'

'Put a sock in it, Tapper, for God's sake,' Judd interrupted. 'Ossie's doing us a good turn.'

'Isn't that exactly what I was saying?'

'Didn't sound like it.'

'Then you should listen more carefully.'

'Oh Gawd.' Judd rolled his eyes. 'I've got seven bloody hours of this kind of malarkey to look forward to on the train. No wonder you've opted out, Ossie. Smart move.'

'It certainly won't be a happy journey,' said Gregson mournfully.

And no-one disputed that.

—«»—«»—«»—

Harry had peddled the same line to Donna: that he was staying on for Dangerfield's sake. It was almost true. He might even have suggested it, if he had been left any choice in the matter. It would certainly do Donna no good to be told he was a suspect in a double murder inquiry, particularly since he fully expected the crash to be confirmed as an accident and Askew's death accepted as suicide in short order. All he had to do was hold his nerve and bide his time. There had been no murders. The inquiry would soon be abandoned. And he would be free to go.

—«»—«»—«»—

So he told himself, anyway. His subconscious remained unconvinced. He slept poorly, falling into and out of dreams that swiftly became nightmares. In one, something dark and menacing and vaguely familiar pursued him up the spiral stairs of the tower, across the roof and over the battlement. In another, he was in the back of Wiseman's car as it plunged into the river. Chipchase was sitting beside him. They started arguing about 'alterations' to the steering — 'You altered it.' 'No, you did.' — as it sank, down and down, into the ever darker water. Then they were sitting opposite each other on a train, speeding through the night. As Chipchase dozed, Harry pulled his friend's bag from the rack, eager to see what it contained. It was an old leather suitcase, just like Askew's. He slipped the latches silently and raised the lid. And there, inside—

But he could not remember, when he woke, with a jolt and a cry in the greyness of dawn, what he had seen — and why it had terrified him.

—«»—«»—«»—

They left Kilveen Castle straight after breakfast, seen off by Erica Rawson and Dr Starkie, who could afford to make a more leisurely departure later in the morning. It was a stilted farewell, a thick, chilling drizzle encouraging no-one to linger on the driveway. 'I'm sorry this hasn't worked out as you men must have hoped,' Starkie told them. 'Try not to let it prey on your minds.'

—«»—«»—«»—

'I think he means he isn't going to let it prey on his,' said Fripp, as they loaded themselves into the minibus.

'It's good advice, nonetheless,' said Tancred. 'I for one intend to follow it.'

'Yeah, but you've always been a cold-hearted bastard, Tapper,' said Judd. 'That makes it easier for you than for the rest of us.'

Before Tancred could respond with more than an icy smile, Dangerfield turned to them and said, 'You can spend the whole train journey taking digs at each other if you want. I don't care. But do you think you could lay off until we get to the station? I'm not sure I can take much more.' Then he started the engine and pulled away. And no-one said a word.

—«»—«»—«»—

Their departure at the end of Operation Clean Sheet, on a June morning in 1955, had been very different. All fifteen of them had squeezed into the back of an RAF lorry driven by WO Trench and been ferried to Lumphanan station in time for the first train of the day to Aberdeen. A mood of 'school's out' jollity had prevailed. Their laughter had filled the carriage. They were young and carefree, their futures alluringly uncertain. The only thing they could probably have agreed did not lie ahead of them, under any circumstances, was a return to Kilveen Castle. Yet now, fifty years later, six of them were leaving it again, its turreted bulk a receding image in the minibus's rear window. The mood was subdued. There was no laughter. But surely this time it had to be true. They would never go back.

—«»—«»—«»—

The Northern Lights express pulled out of Aberdeen station on the dot of 9.55 that morning. Fripp, Gregson and Tancred were already in their seats, but Judd was still leaning out of the window, arm raised in farewell, as the train cleared the platform and picked up speed.

'You were on the London train with most of the others fifty years ago,' said Dangerfield to Harry as they turned and walked away. 'Bet you wish you were today as well.'

'Most of the others, Danger? Weren't we all on it?'

'No. I was heading further north. To Kinloss. And somebody — Babber, I think — was on his way to the Shetlands. They had some radar station way up there. Saxa Vord. That was it.'

'You're right. I'd forgotten.'

'No reason why you should have remembered.'

'I was bound for Gloucester. Barry was for Tangmere. Several were going to Germany. Nobody to the same place, though. They seemed determined to split us up.'

'Yes.' Dangerfield nodded thoughtfully. 'Maybe they knew best.'