Scotch Mist (10 page)

‘Are ye by any chance Captain Rydal?' he asked in an assured and very easy-on-the-ear brogue.

Max decided there and then that a majority of female patients would switch allegiance from Clare to this imposing Scot, whose physique made even a man as well built as himself seem puny by comparison. Max walked to him, offering his hand.

‘Come you inside for a wee moment,' MacPherson invited. ‘We'll no keep you long.' After closing the door behind them, he added, ‘Clare told me she'd asked you to come in in passing. I'll tell her you're here.'

While he tapped, then opened the door connecting the two consulting rooms, Max wondered if he was about to participate in another discussion on last night's set-to in the NAAFI. From a medical angle, this time. Why else would this handsome giant with curling dark red hair be muscling in on Clare's request for a word with him?

MacPherson appeared to have made David Culdrow's domain his own within twenty-four hours. Max reflected that David might have problems wresting it back when he had fully recovered from the mumps. Being a civilian doctor would weigh against him, apart from the question of what this Scot would do if he returned. No, Max had a strong feeling MacPherson was here to stay for as long as his countrymen remained on the base.

When Clare came through she was holding several sheets of paper, which she waved at Max and said in a totally professional manner, ‘Medical assessment and death certificate for Eva McTavish which arrived this morning from the hospital. I thought you should know right away that the injury she suffered on Tuesday evening was not the cause of her death. It was serious, but in their opinion she would have recovered from it and lived a normal life.'

Max frowned. ‘Corporal Stubble reported back from the hospital that same night that she had been put on the critical list. When we were informed that death had occurred during the early hours, we naturally assumed that she'd died of her injuries.'

Clare shook her head. ‘When she was admitted, along with the Crawford boy, all their attention was concentrated on the chest wound. The more serious problem only became apparent shortly afterwards, when her failing responses caused them to grow suspicious. There was nothing they could do at that late stage.

‘I know you're regarding her death as involuntary manslaughter, but it wasn't.' After a swift exchange of glances with MacPherson, she continued. ‘Prior to attending the Guy Fawkes celebration Eva McTavish had swallowed enough diazepam washed down with vodka to kill herself!'

Tom arrived outside Max-ee-million to find Heather and two local policemen already inside the office talking to a tubby Estonian. From the speed of their intercourse, Tom guessed the man's German was better than his English. Heather was fairly fluent in the language of their host country because she had attended the advanced German course last year. Never hesitant when interviewing, she was making SIB interest very marked. Although most of the
Polizei
personnel seemed to be either bi- or tri-lingual, Tom let Heather continue to liaise in German, most of which he understood. According to Carter, his girlfriend was able to converse in English, so he would take over when she was summoned.

With a great deal of expressive waving of hands, the Estonian disappeared in to the workshop area to fetch Greta Gans, and then Tom discovered that the two fresh-faced policemen spoke reasonable English. One remained in conversation with Heather while the other subjected Tom to intense scrutiny with cool blue eyes.

‘We have no trouble here. This is well known for the
Feuerwerk
. For the New Year party and the summer concert, all are using Max-ee-million. You have evidence for this girl's guilty?'

Having no intention of being ‘interrogated' by this man who had left the cradle around ten years after him, Tom replied in officialese.

‘We have reason to believe Frâulein Gans could be implicated in a case of involuntary manslaughter by abusing the trust of her employer, and using the privilege of her senior position to aid and abet the possible perpetrator of this serious crime.'

Clearly baffled by Tom's deliberate attempt to deflate him, the youthful German nodded, muttered, ‘Ah,
so
,' before showing great interest in whatever his companion was saying to Heather which was making her eyes sparkle. Tom would also have liked to know, and to remind her that she was not here on a blind date.

When Greta Gans arrived with her boss, Tom saw at once why Carter was so taken with her. And why the girl's father would be so protective. Even with wide, scared eyes, and wearing an ill-fitting dark blue overall, she radiated a discreet sexuality any healthy man would respond to. Yet Tom saw Carter's point that she was in a class above the girls who haunted the discos in town preying on British soldiers who flashed their money around.

The two Germans explained why they were there, and looked set to conduct the entire interview until Tom intervened, speaking in English.

‘Miss Gans, I understand that you are friendly with Rifleman Charles Carter, who is stationed at the military base. Is that correct?'

Looking even more scared and worried, she just nodded.

‘He told me that you were thinking of getting married.'

Again she nodded.

‘So you think highly of him, do you?'

Seeing her puzzled look, Heather asked gently in German if she loved Charles Carter. Greta replied in a flood of words of which Tom understood enough to confirm what Carter had said of her father's condition that he should leave the Army.

Using a well-known tactic Tom changed direction with the questioning, and reverted to English. ‘You work here as an overseer. Can you tell me what that entails?'

Encouraged by Heather's smile, she finally spoke to Tom. ‘It is that I see the order that has been made, and I look at what is to be sending to this persons.'

Tom nodded. ‘You check the contents of boxes being dispatched?'

‘Yes,' she half-whispered, still frightened by the presence of two uniformed
Polizei
. More scared of them than of an Englishman in a dark suit and a young woman in a feminine version of the same, who looked nowhere near as threatening.

‘So did you check the boxes being sent to the army base last week?'

Greta nodded.

‘The fireworks were for a display on Tuesday evening – your birthday.'

Another nod.

‘Was there a party?'

‘Yes.'

‘Tell me about it.'

The girl glanced at Heather seemingly at a loss.

‘Was the party at your family home, or at a hotel?' she prompted. ‘Who came to wish you a happy birthday?'

Speaking to Heather, Greta finally relaxed a little. ‘Mutti has made all very special. It is for
Familie
. All have come with
Geschenken
. Presents, you know. I am very happy.'

Heather continued while she had Greta's attention. ‘How about your boyfriend? Was he invited?'

More nods. ‘But Charlie is to work. He is angry about this . . . this
Korp
, who is making him stay when he ask that he come to this important party.'

‘His work as a soldier is more important,' put in Tom firmly.

She turned to him. ‘No, it is this
Feuerwerk
, that is all. That is why he is angry to do such things when he has told why he wish to leave. He say this Korp is meaning to punish him for no reason.'

‘So he was very angry?' asked Tom, pursuing the point. At her familiar nod, he went further. ‘So angry that he asked you to put something extra in one of the boxes of fireworks that he could use to punish the Corp instead?'

Greta looked totally uncomprehending, so Heather asked quietly, ‘Did you add something to one of the boxes that wasn't written on the label – something Charlie could use to show his anger over not being allowed to come to your party?'

‘But he
did
come,' the girl said, still unsure of what was being implied. ‘His hand it was hurt, so this Korp has say all is right for him to leave.'

By this time Tom knew this particular train had hit the buffers, but he pitched one more question. ‘Miss Gans, has Rifleman Carter ever asked you to give him something from this factory without anyone knowing you had taken it?'

Fear returned. ‘You say me I have taken money? I
steal
?'

‘No, Greta,' soothed Heather. ‘We just wish to know if Charlie has ever asked for fireworks for himself to use. Something in addition to what was in the boxes.'

She shook her head vigorously, turning to her boss with a flood of explanatory German. The
Polizei
men now intervened, the more arrogant one saying, ‘All is now clear. Fräulein Gans is not the villain. You have mistaken.'

Turning to the Estonian, he spoke rapidly in German and indicated that Greta should return to work. The girl, however, grabbed Heather's hand.

‘Tell me that Charlie is not hurt. That Korp is not to punish him because I have say wrong today.'

‘Charlie will be fine,' Heather assured her with a smile. ‘Call him this evening on his mobile and he'll tell you all is well.'

Back on the pavement, Heather became engrossed in conversation with the young German who appeared to be flirting with her, which left Tom to give the parting shot by advising his partner to investigate the factory before many days passed.

‘If that girl is an example of their overseers, I imagine things could be smuggled out with ease – and they have the ingredients to produce items vastly more explosive than
Feuerwerks
, chum. Can't be too careful these days.'

Walking to his car with a depressing conviction that he had been aping Max in chasing a wild goose, Tom saw Heather exchanging cards with the young policeman who, as far as he saw it, had contributed nothing to the investigation apart from a cheeky smile and a body as virile as his own had been at that age.

Driving back to the base Tom mentally struck Carter's name from the list of suspects. What list? he asked himself sourly. They were landed with one hell of a job. He had never worked on a case with so many victims. Just one death, but enough injuries to make it imperative to find the perpetrator swiftly. To add to the urgency, there were ravening Scots at the door, snapping at their heels.

Nearing his house he was momentarily tempted to call in for a snack lunch, but he abandoned the idea after recalling the outcome of calling in yesterday. One problem at a time. He would cheer himself up with a good hot lunch in the Sergeants' Mess.

George Maddox looked harassed, as well he might with complaints against him and his staff piling up over the exploding bonfire, to say nothing of the fight in the NAAFI the following night. Max appreciated the man's workload, but he had as much and of a more serious nature on his own hands.

The senior sergeant got to his feet and left his desk where the computer screen showed a column of close-listed data. ‘Morning, sir. Anything interesting?'

‘That's debatable. Captain Goodey's just had the hospital report which puts a bloody different slant on the entire case. Eva McTavish died as the result of swallowing a mixture of diazepam and vodka.'

George's eyebrows rose. ‘Suicide?'

‘Or murder. Whichever, it means I have two cases on the go now. The report states that she would have recovered from the chest wound.' Max gave a sour smile. ‘The Jocks'll have to keep their heads down now, and you'll have to set patrols outside their quarters for a few nights. Sure to be a return match.' He waved a hand at the inner door. ‘Do you still have the woman's stuff collected from the Greenes' house?'

George reached out to take a key from a board on the wall. ‘He's been informed that we have it, but there's been no request for access from him. It's possibly because the Drumdorrans are still allocating quarters, and because McTavish was virtually living at the hospital I guess he wasn't regarded as a priority.' He led the way to the secure area where lost property, vital evidence in ongoing cases, and the effects of the dead were kept. ‘The daughter of a close friend took a load of happy pills. Doctors fought for hours to save her, and they did. Problem is, she's so brain damaged she needs twenty-four-hour care. Geoff and Eunice have virtually given up
their
lives to look after her. Makes no sense to me.'

How many times had Max wondered about his own future if Susan had survived the car crash as a semi-zombie? He pushed the thought away and concentrated on real problems.

‘I'm hoping to find a suicide note,' he said as the other man unlocked the metal door allowing entry to the chilly, stone-floored store. ‘An envelope gathered up by whoever collected the stuff, unaware of its importance because we then believed Eva had died from the chest wound. A suicide note would clarify the situation.'

Walking to the far end of the racks, George indicated two suitcases, a zipped holdall and a sensible black handbag. ‘Babs Turvey did the necessary. She's out on patrol right now, but you'll catch her at fourteen hundred if you need to question her.' Preparing to leave Max to it, he asked with a frown, ‘You're not seriously considering murder, are you?'

‘No, not yet, but the lack of any indication that the woman meant to kill herself will force me to. Face the facts, George. The Drumdorrans marched in that very morning, yet neither Eva nor her man made an effort to meet. Perhaps understandable during that afternoon when the men were settling in, but why did Eva stay another night with Jean – or, at least, plan to? She hadn't seen Hector for three months because he'd been with the band touring the US, yet she was apparently in no hurry to meet him. It's not difficult to guess there were outstanding issues between them, is it?'