Scotch Mist (17 page)

‘No, I'm simply doing my job. In any case of sudden death I have to establish how and why it happened. People don't end their lives without strong cause for doing so, unless they are insane. Eva McTavish was not. I can't report to the Garrison Commander that a soldier's wife committed suicide on this base
for some reason or other
. Hector claims she must have taken an overdose of pills by mistake, but a woman doesn't drink most of a bottle of vodka at the same time by mistake. Something or someone drove her to do what she did, and I believe you can help me to find the answer. By refusing to do that you're hindering a police enquiry, which is also an offence I could charge you with.'

Connie, who had been scribbling her own version of shorthand, suddenly intervened. ‘Maybe you'd appreciate a cup of tea while you think that over.' She smiled a message at Max. ‘I'll get us all some, shall I?'

He nodded, got to his feet and flexed his shoulders. After his restless night he was feeling tense and achey. Connie had gauged the situation right. She usually did. She was very perceptive. There had been a tragedy in her own life and Connie had supported both her mother and grandmother through their hard times, which was why Max always selected Connie when empathy was needed during an interview.

‘You have to understand that Hector's a very proud man.'

Jean's voice broke into Max's thoughts and he swung to face her. ‘That was apparent when we met.'

The rigid pose she had maintained had become more relaxed, and there was now sadness rather than defiance in her expression. ‘It came as a terrible blow. Can you no possibly understand that?'

Oh yes, he understood the impact of terrible blows, but all he said was, ‘Go on.'

‘He can only accept what happened as a mistake. I told you Eva was forever popping pills, so there's every chance that she lost track of how many she had taken. People do.'

‘Yes, people do. Old people who forget easily, or who are generally confused. People in their thirties might, in a stressful situation, double dose, but they soon realize what they've done and rush to get medical advice.'

She gazed at him for some while. ‘You just refuse to help him, don't you?'

‘You think I should write an official report stating that a woman died through accidentally swallowing more drugs and alcohol than she intended?' Max demanded.

‘She's gone, so does it matter what you put in your report? It's just a piece of paper that'll be filed and forgotten about.' She leaned forward urgently. ‘When relatives ask if their loved ones suffered, aren't they always told death would have been instantaneous? Lies to comfort, Max.'

His suspicion that Jean and Hector were closer friends than he had been told became more of a certainty with every comment she made. With that certainty came a growing dislike of this woman who had seemed refreshingly pleasant on earlier encounters. He resumed the seat facing her.

‘Words of comfort for grieving next of kin don't go on the official medical documents, Jean.
They
give every detail of a patient's death throes, the physical traumas, the fight for survival against the odds. Yes, these reports are filed, but not necessarily forgotten. There are numerous cases when suspicions have arisen months, even years, later and the medical facts are used as proof in an investigation.' His voice grew harsher. ‘Hector will have received many words of comfort from his fellows, but my job is to record the facts. Don't expect me to go along with the fantasy that his wife was a confused idiot, because that's what he's implying.'

At that point, Connie arrived with a tray bearing cups of tea and a hiatus was created by adding sugar, stirring and sipping, during which Max mentally reviewed the implications of why Jean had given him such a scathing description of Hector on his first visit. Then he continued the interview along a new direction.

‘Tell me about Callan McTavish, Jean. You grew up in the same village as the brothers, must have attended the same school, so you'd know a lot about their background.'

It brought a frown, a new wariness in her expression. ‘That has nothing to do with Eva's death.'

‘She carried a photograph of him in her handbag. Why was he called Tammy?'

‘Foolish woman,' she said in a half-whisper. Then, because both Max and Connie watched in silence for her reply, she was eventually driven to respond.

‘The family lived in the house next to Eva's parents. The boys were known in the village as Satan and the Saint. Hector was up to every kind of devilry, while Tammy just dreamed of having heroic adventures. His fondness for Tam o' Shanter earned him that nickname. He was the better-looking brother, but Hector had the village girls in thrall because of his wickedness.'

Thinking of the sexton father, and Drum Major Lennox's reference to the widower being at his prayers, Max asked, ‘Real wickedness or just a lively boy's escapades?'

Jean gave a reminiscent half-smile. ‘Unruly, daring, defiant was the verdict of the kinder village residents. His father believed he was a disciple of the Devil and enrolled him in the Drumdorrans as soon as he was old enough, believing the discipline would drive the evil from him.' Seeing Max's raised eyebrows, she nodded. ‘He's a deeply religious man and lives by those strict tenets even in this enlightened age. And I'm telling you, Max, that his boyhood years have become a source of shame to Hector because his father had it right. But the Drumdorrans have tamed him too much. He's well on the road to righteousness, and this could destroy what remains of the old Hector coming so soon after Tammy's death.'

She addressed the next remarks to Connie. ‘His young brother secretly admired Hector's dash and daring, longed to emulate him, so he joined the Drumdorrans, too. Hector had never revealed to his family the part he actually plays in the regiment, so he now blames himself for Tammy's loss in action.'

Connie bore out Max's confidence in her compassionate understanding by saying gently, ‘That's why he's desperately holding on to the theory that Eva died through her own carelessness, not through any fault of his own.'

Max had departed early in order to change into uniform to attend the welcome dinner in the Mess, so Tom co-ordinated the reports brought in by the team at the end of the day. His visit to Max-ee-million had not improved his mood, but he had brought away two of the giant rockets they made and given them to the explosives experts with a snide apology for not providing an alarm clock and a small suitcase to put it in.'

The Estonian, whose name was so difficult to pronounce he was known simply as Maxee, had been only too pleased to make him a present of the fireworks; would have given him an entire boxful in order to get rid of him and the blond German, who had made no secret of his disappointment that Heather had not turned up. Both policemen were told that Greta was no longer working at the factory. Herr Gans had ‘made of the big complainings' and because he was ‘enormous in the town' would ‘make the many cancel from old orders'. It was ‘disasters and much unfortunates'.

The young German had dismissed Maxee's melodrama, telling Tom Max-ee-million was the premier fireworks supplier in the region, and Otto Gans was no more than a balloon, which Tom took to mean a windbag full of his own importance – a description he could endorse after last night's encounter with the pompous fool.

There was probably little doubt that Charlie Carter's predicament over whether to leave the Army or lose Greta had been solved for him. Just as well, because Carter would not be off the hook for Tuesday's explosion if Captain Knott's boys claimed material from those rockets was used to produce it. How satisfying it would be to deflate Gans with proof of his daughter's involvement.

For Tom, finding the person or people responsible for that was their premier task of the moment, not the suicide of Eva McTavish. Max was making a big thing of something straightforward; seeing depths where there were none. The medical findings proved she had swallowed enough noxious substances to end her life: there was evidence of an unhappy marriage and a selfish, uncaring husband. Surely her death was unquestionably by her own hand.

Max did not, or would not see it. He had set someone the task of contacting US newspapers for copies of their reviews of the Drumdorrans' concerts – a pure waste of time in anyone's book – then he had learned from Jean Greene this morning that Hector had kept his family in total ignorance of his role in the regiment, so he would never have posted to his mother a rave review of the band's performance. Max had imparted that news just before he left for home, along with the fact that Hector had ‘found God' after joining the Drumdorrans. That had killed Tom's dwindling interest in the case, and he now bent all his efforts on the bonfire fiasco. No bible-thumping and bagpipes involved!

Aware that he really must settle the baby situation with Maggie and Gina that evening, Tom nevertheless prepared to spend as long as it took to collate the information brought in by the team at the end of a day of monotonous questioning; that boring but essential task in every case. However, the first reports were sparse and added nothing new. No witness could say exactly when the late-delivered box containing the rockets arrived, exactly where it had stood during final preparations of the set piece, or exactly how many rockets had finally been set off.

Beeny said, ‘Corporal Lines thought he had probably opened the box himself, because he had been waiting for the items to complete the set piece, but he was adamant that he hadn't counted the freebie rockets.' He grinned. ‘He went all arty and told me I wouldn't understand the pressure he had been under. I swear, if he had long hair he'd have tossed it back and sighed theatrically.'

‘Yes, most amusing,' grunted Tom. ‘Don't spread it around the Army now employs luvvies.'

Piercey revealed that he had again questioned the men who had collected and delivered the stuff designated for the bonfire. ‘They all maintained that Corporal Naish had checked each load and rejected anything he considered duff or unsuitable. Under pressure, Naish admitted to agreeing to tie a straw effigy to the cone.

‘I know the Boss has already interviewed the wankers who made it and talked Naish into doing as they asked, but now we're aware of the alarm clock and stick of dynamite IED, I thought it was worth talking to them again.'

Tom said irritably, ‘Can we now drop the alarm clock and stick of dynamite?'

‘Might explode, sir,' murmured Piercey, with a Cheshire cat smile.

‘Get on with your report, Sergeant,' he snapped. ‘If it's at all useful.'

Still amused, Piercey said, ‘I tracked down three of them. They, sir, are not at all useful. Not to the Army. First time in a war zone they'll . . .'

‘We're not here to listen to your personal opinions. Do you have any info appertaining to the case you're supposed to be investigating?' Tom demanded in parade ground volume.

Schooling his expression, Piercey said, ‘They're mechanics. Officially. But they appear to be little more than greasers. I doubt they'd have the nous to do anything more than stick a few firecrackers inside the effigy.' He glanced swiftly at his notes. ‘All three claim they're being victimized. Told me they're going to apply to Second Lieutenant Freeman for advice on what to do about it.'

Tom gave a snort of derision. ‘As the straw man they wanted to burn was meant to represent him I can imagine what advice they'll be given.' He scanned the faces before him. ‘Come on! We're getting nowhere. Hasn't any one of you something of real import to say?'

Heather had been riffling through the pages of her notebook, and now offered her contribution. ‘I spent all day knocking on doors after making a list of families with children, who were the most likely attendees at the Sports Ground.' She pulled a wry face. ‘Got a mouthful of complaints from most of them, but several gave me useful info regarding Eva McTavish.'

Oh God, back to her, thought Tom. ‘We're presently discussing the events on Tuesday night,' he reminded her shortly.

‘This does concern Tuesday night, sir,' she pointed out, still cool after being deprived of another meeting with the blond German at Max-ee-million.

He waited in silence for her to continue, casting an eye on the large MoD clock on the wall behind her and thinking of the difficult evening to come when he reached home.

‘Mrs Grace Sparsholt remembered seeing a woman sitting in the stand by herself and swallowing some pills. She imagined the woman was waiting for someone to join her, and perhaps had a headache.' She referred to her notes. ‘This was shortly before the fireworks began. Her attention was then taken by them. She didn't see the woman again.'

Heather flipped over the page and continued. ‘Mrs Poole said a woman came to the stand and, although there were plenty of places, climbed to the back row and huddled in the corner. She thought it might be because she was making calls on her mobile and the children on the lower levels were making a lot of noise. She told me the woman was not someone she'd seen around the base before, and she wondered why she was there alone. She didn't look very happy.'

She turned over several more pages, saying, ‘I've statements from five others which bear all this out. A stranger on her own either swallowing pills or making calls on a mobile. One – a Mrs Lyons – said she thought the woman was crying, and she would have approached her if she hadn't got hers and a neighbour's children to keep an eye on.

‘I then spoke to the paramedics who came with the ambulance. They told me Eva was lying on the ground very near the ropes preventing any approach to the bonfire, so she must have left her corner in the stand as soon as it was lit and walked as close to it as possible. I wonder why.'