The Accidental Warrior Read online

  “Dad, oh Dad, I’ve… I don’t. I don’t know how to… Oh, God…”

  “It’s okay, take a deep breath and blow your nose, take your time.”

  “Dad, I’m so, so out of my depth…” sobbed Kate.

  “It’s okay, now slow down, take your time.”

  “Promise you won’t be too mad?”

  “I’m sure it can’t be that bad, Kate.”

  “Promise!”

  “Okay, I promise.”

  “A couple of months ago at work, I almost walked in on her.”

  “Who?”

  “Cleo Morris; she didn’t see me, but she’d not changed, still a bully.”

  “Oh God, Kate.”

  “I know, anyway, it seems there was a fault on her laptop and she was insistent that the repair be expedited, offered to pay over the odds for it. She also wanted a security upgrade installed.”

  “Right? So?”

  “Well, I couldn’t resist, I just had to look.”

  “You didn’t!”

  “I did. After all, security networking is my thing.”

  “I feel a ‘but’ coming.”

  “Well, I found some very cryptic deleted emails. I became convinced that Cleo is involved in… this may seem crazy but, in murder. When I discovered references to the Guardians I didn’t know what to do, only that I couldn’t go to the police without proof, so I decided to follow her in my down time.”

  “Murder? Really?”

  “Yes!”

  “Good God, Kate!”

  “Dad, you promised, you wouldn’t get angry.” Kate began to sob again.

  “Okay, I’m sorry, carry on,” he said more softly.

  “Stupidly, I followed her car today, but I lost her, and by the time I found the address and forced entry… he was dead. And she was gone.”

  “Who was dead?”

  “Professor Martin Grey.”

  “Martin Grey? How did you know he was the target?”

  “It was a guess, I’d seen his name highlighted on her computer.”

  “And how do you know Cleo was responsible for his death?”

  “Because he recorded the whole thing on his tape recorder, which I now have.”

  “So, let me recap, you follow and lose Cleo, force entry to a house, where you find a dead Professor and a tape recording of his death?”

  “Yes, pretty much.”

  “So, of course you called the police and told them all this, made a statement and handed over the tape recorder?”

  “Um, no not exactly, Dad, I panicked. I thought I would be blamed, I’m so stupid.”

  It took a good few moments for Kate’s Dad to respond.

  “Well, I’d say you are potentially in considerable trouble and before you jump down my throat, I’m not judging you. Let me think.”

  “ I knew you’d know what to do.” Kate blew her nose.

  “Okay, Cleo is bad news. I think you can safely assume that she will be aware of your surveillance of her. From what you’ve said, she will have heard your attempts to get the Professor’s attention. She could cause trouble for you. On the other hand, you have the Professor’s tape recorder which is evidence of her involvement. Where did you find it? And, did the recording give any indication of how the Professor died?”

  “Um, it was in his breast pocket. He described what was happening to him in an analytical way; dizziness, breathlessness, but there was no gun shot or anything obvious like that.”

  “Okay, so Cleo was probably unaware of its existence. And the tape was still recording when you found it?”

  “Oh, my God, yes! Oh Dad, what am I going to do?”

  “Well, I’m guessing that you are not identifiable in any way on the tape, But, and it’s a very big but, you’ve interfered with a crime scene, not only by moving the body, but by taking the tape recorder, which is a very serious matter. A quick question, did you take any measures to cover your tracks at the house?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Tidy up, wipe down surfaces, door handles etc?”

  “No, I was so upset and anxious that I might be discovered, I fled the house as soon as I could.”

  “Well, in that case I’d say there is a very good chance that your DNA will be at the scene.”

  “Oh God, Dad, what am I going to do? Are you going to turn me into the police?” Kate wailed.

  “Oh Katie, no I’m not, but I do need you to tell me why you got yourself involved in this after you were explicitly advised against going it alone?”

  “Um, that’s something I’ve been asking myself, over and over, and it’s hard to put into words… Um, it was more of a feeling than a thought process. I felt compelled, or obliged if you like; can you understand that?”

  “Yes, you are undoubtedly your mother’s daughter, but if she were here today she’d be disappointed that you either didn’t comprehend the rules laid down for you, or you simply chose to ignore them. Is what I’m saying making sense to you? It’s very important that it does.”

  “An obligation not just to myself but to others?”

  “Yes, exactly. Now as far as I can see there is only one course of action open to you and you must hope that they are prepared to help you.”

  “Thank you, thank you so much. Will I be summoned? Or should I contact them?”

  “Oh, they will be in touch with you. In the meantime, keep a low profile and try not to stress too much. Remember, I love you and I’m proud of you. For you do have a strong moral compass, you just need to learn to read it better. And do me a favour, stay away from Cleo.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Harriet woke early; it was the first time in a long time she’d had a Saturday off work. Feeling drained and tired, she made herself a pot of coffee and breakfasted on brown toast and homemade marmalade. Feeling brighter, she decided it was time to take a long hard look at herself, literally. Standing in front of her full-length mirror, she was determined not to be despondent. She was tall at 5 ft 11, but with a slim and shapely figure. “Not bad for a thirty-eight-year-old,” she mused; new bras would help to lift her figure. She turned her attention to her hair. Long, straight and mid-brown, it looked a bit dull and tired, but nothing that a colour and cut couldn’t remedy. Next, she concentrated on her face: an eyebrow re-shape and new make-up would even out her skin tone and help to ensure her deep green eyes looked more prominent. Then: a review of her wardrobe. Out went several tired trouser suits, practical for work but not particularly feminine or inspiring.

  She showered and changed and went to meet Ben and Amelia for lunch in town. Her children were waiting for her, she could see them at a window seat in the pizza restaurant as she approached. Ben was in his trademark black jeans and T-shirt, his mop of dark hair obscuring much of his face. Harriet wondered when or even if his fascination with American Rock would end. And Amelia, lovely Amelia, enthusiastic and sunny, only a couple of years younger than Ben but what a difference that made. At thirteen, there was just a hint that her body was changing, specifically the little bumps on her chest, but she was still blissfully unsophisticated and seemingly untouched by the latest teenage crazes. There she was with her long mane of untamed red curls tumbling over her freckled face, wearing jeans and a top that was far too short.

  She’s grown again, thought Harriet, as she waved enthusiastically. Amelia waved back. Ben just rolled his eyes at his mother.

  After lunch, they went shopping for trainers and CDs before Ben and Amelia left to meet their Dad. It was then that Harriet took the opportunity to throw herself into some serious shopping. Ably assisted by an energetic twenty-something assistant, she overhauled her wardrobe with feminine dresses, tunics, leggings, new knickers and bras, heeled boots and new make-up. There was just time for a trip to the local nail bar.

  On the Monday, Harriet chose a new short cropped blonde haircut followed by an eyebrow reshape on her way home. Her transformation was complete. That evening, as she stood in front of the mirror in one of her new outfits, she felt
pleased with the result.

  It was nearly 11.30 a.m. on Tuesday when Harriet drove down the steep hill into the sleepy seaside village of Aberporth in West Wales, about ten miles south west of New Quay. The sun was shining and it was unseasonably warm. As she descended the hill, Harriet could make out the odd sailing boat in the bay below. She wound down the window and filled her nostrils with the cool salty sea air, smiling with pleasure. Slowly, she negotiated the car down a narrow lane, bordered by an ancient lichen-stained stone wall. Less than 200 metres along, she turned left through a gateway and onto a stony yard. There in front of her stood a small whitewashed cottage. She quickly found the key under the dustbin and let herself into the main room. It smelt musty and stale, so she set about opening the upstairs windows. Next, she brought in her bag and set it down on the table. It contained a pile of unopened letters from Nick.

  After getting some supplies from the village shop, she made herself a large cheese and tomato sandwich. She ate this hungrily at the wooden picnic table, at the top of the tiny garden gazing out over the bay below. She closed her eyes; a slight breeze caressed her hair and the sun’s warmth kissed her face. For the first time in many weeks Harriet felt more positive; the cloak of despair slowly seemed to be lifting.

  In the distance, she could hear the familiar sound of families on the beach; closer still was the sound of hungry gulls. Harriet felt a sudden and intense sense of relief from the stress of the last few weeks. She had longed to escape, to get away from the everyday and have time to reflect. For in truth she had barely been able to hold it together.

  After lunch, she went for a walk, Nick’s letters tucked under her arm, to a favourite bench perched on the edge of the cliff. From here she could survey both bays, which were separated by an outcrop of rock known locally as the ‘point’. The tide was just beginning to turn, and she watched as small children’s spades battled unsuccessfully to defeat the advancing tide.

  Harriet was inclined to believe Nick when he had promised that the ‘incident’ was the first and only sexual encounter he’d had in their marriage. She knew that he was probably hurting as much as she was, and consumed with regret. But as she reached for his letters she wondered if it was even possible for a relationship to fully recover from such betrayal. She didn’t doubt that he was embarrassed, that he was guilt-laden. Nor did she doubt that he had not set out to hurt her, and yet he was a grown man, who could so easily have made different choices. She set about reading the letters.

  Glancing down at Nick’s last letter, she read and reread the same passage over and over.

  You are always in my thoughts, because I adore you. I feel truly bereft. I have lost my best friend, my lover, my wife and my confidante. I yearn to lie in your arms again, to laugh with you, to touch you, but I fear I have lost you forever, and I am truly broken-hearted. I don’t know what to do, where to turn; what is the future without you? Each time I catch a glimpse of you, I feel pain in my chest and I am filled with despair. If only I could make this right. Still, please know that I love you now and for all time; you are a truly gracious, kind and beautiful woman.

  Harriet took a deep breath. No, it was no good, she wasn’t ready to forgive, wasn’t ready to consider the future. In truth, she found Nick’s letters self-indulgent. He was good at talking about how acutely he was hurting, but not so good at recognising how she might be feeling. Gathering up the letters she walked down a steep pathway to the beach. Rolling up her jeans, she removed her shoes and socks before walking onto the warm sand. As she wiggled her toes, the powdery sand trickled through and made her smile. Placing the pile of letters under her shoes, she made her way to the water’s edge and began to pick up small shells from the shoreline, something she’d done many times before. Once her pockets were full, she spent a peaceful half hour exploring the rock pools, before heading back to the cottage. As she made her way up the slate slope, she glanced across the beach to the car park opposite. She could see a man with binoculars looking in her direction. His binoculars seemed to be trained on her. She shook her head, he was probably just admiring the bay.

  That evening Harriet sat in the sheltered front porch of the cottage to admire the sunset. She had just finished a plate of pasta when her mobile sounded. It was Amelia.

  “Ben is being a real bastard, Mum.” On this occasion, Harriet decided not to pull her daughter up on her language. She sounded upset.

  “He keeps telling everyone I’m fat and making nasty comments when I have a snack, like ‘That won’t do your stretch marks any good.’” Or he just snorts like a pig. I’m fed up with it, I hate him, he always puts me down in front of his friends and in front of mine.”

  “Have you told him how it makes you feel, that it hurts your feelings?”

  “What do you think?” snapped Amelia. “He just laughs and makes jokes about whales and their blubber.”

  “Amelia, don’t take your frustration out on me, please,” said Harriet sternly. “I’ll speak to Ben and to Granny.”

  “Okay, thanks Mum,” said Amelia, sounding immediately brighter. “Love you. I’m off to see Georgia now.”

  “I love you too.” And that was that.

  It felt so good to have space, time to think. For a while, she’d felt there was a danger her low mood would overwhelm her. She had even contemplated running away, but that was not who Harriet Lacey was, and that was not what she did.

  CHAPTER 5

  Kate was having a dilemma about what to wear. She understood first impressions mattered, and she was in no doubt that she was in trouble with the Guardians for acting on her own and ‘off script’. She wanted to make a good impression, not look too frivolous, too sexy, or indeed too young and inexperienced. She decided on a navy trouser suit and white shirt.

  She walked down the worn stone steps into the basement of the commanding building, fully aware of her churning stomach, pounding heart and quick breathing.

  Reluctantly, she entered an anteroom, where she was met by a smart man, perhaps in his late fifties, it was hard to tell. He was tall and athletic and still quite handsome, but the light was poor and she could not really get the measure of him. He smiled and beckoned her to follow. They walked down a long, poorly lit wooden panelled corridor and entered a vast room at the far end. This was also wood panelled. In the middle of the room stood a gigantic heavy wooden table, around which thirty or more individuals were seated. At the head of the table closest to the door and with his back to her was the Custodian.

  “Kate, please come in, take a seat.” The Custodian pointed to a seat on his right about halfway down the vast table.

  But Kate had stopped in her tracks.

  “Dad?”

  “Yes, Kate.”

  “You’re the Custodian?” she exclaimed.

  “Yes.”

  Kate’s hand shot up to her mouth; a small squeal escaped.

  “Kate, please take your seat. You’ve been invited here today to explain your recent actions. We have to decide whether we can, or indeed should, assist you or whether to take sanctions against you.” He paused for a moment, choosing his words carefully.

  “Kate, we accept that what you did, you did without malice, but our rules have been in place for well over two thousand years. So, it’s puzzling to us all why you chose to breach them. And what exactly you expected to achieve?”

  Kate stood up, smoothed her jacket, and placed her hands lightly on the table, partly to help balance her, but also to stop them from shaking. She took a deep breath.

  “Senior Guardians, I’m grateful to you for allowing me to address you today. Unfortunately, although I’m intelligent, I often act rashly and the situation I find myself in is a prime example of that. We live in extraordinary times and, whilst I understand the sanctity of our rules, I will admit that they did not occur to me at the time I decided to follow Cleo Morris. I was thoughtless and impulsive, for I realise now that not only have I let myself down, but all of you…”

  “After your recent antics, you�
��ll be lucky to remain a member of this family at all, silly girl,” shouted an elderly female opposite, wagging her bony index finger in Kate’s direction.

  “That’s enough, please show some respect,” instructed the Custodian. “Continue, Kate.”

  “I was going to say, I would like to apologise unequivocally to you all for my arrogance and thoughtlessness, and beg your forgiveness. And this is not an excuse for my actions, but I would like to say that life today is immeasurably different to the era in which the Guardians were founded. We were created out of turmoil, from the ruins of a great kingdom, where jealousy and cruelty had the upper hand. We ourselves haven’t always played by the rules, for in our very inception our ancestors were forced to outwit the King’s enemies. Was it not they who refused to stand by and allow the King’s family to perish? Did they not do their level best to stand up for what they believed to be right as well as follow the wishes of their King?”

  “So, you think you are special because of your blood line, that you have a calling? And as such, should be rewarded as a heroine for your meddling, do you?” asked a woman on the other side of the table.