Scotch Mist (22 page)

‘But you had us years ago,' muttered Gina. ‘You're old now.'

‘I'll accept that remark as the foolishness of someone who's only eleven. Do you wish you'd never been born, Gina?'

Her head came up. ‘Of course not.'

‘Do you wish Maggie and Beth hadn't been born?'

Her cheeks reddened. ‘I never said that.'

‘Maggie, do you wish your sisters hadn't been born?'

‘Don't pick on me! It's
her
,' she replied, jerking her elbow into Gina's side.

‘So I'll take it that you two are fully aware of how you came into the world, and are comfortable with that fact.' Silence. ‘And you're also comfortable with how Beth arrived among us?' Still silence. ‘Yet you've decided that someone waiting to become part of this united family has no right to be born and enjoy what you have; loving parents, a nice home, friends and all those things girls of your age like to have. Don't you think that's very selfish?'

‘That's unfair. We haven't said anything like that,' cried Gina.

‘So you're happy about having a brother or sister?' he shot at her. The girls glanced at each other, then nodded while studying the floor again. ‘But you're not comfortable with how it came about? Tough,' he said in teenspeak. ‘Get this straight. Mum and I are not old. Even Granny and Grandad aren't
old
. That adult love I mentioned lasts an entire lifetime, as you'll discover, so get used to the idea and return to being acceptable Blackies instead of melodramatic, ill-mannered
strangers
.'

He turned to where Nora sat with a rather pale-faced Beth. ‘I'll shower and change before we eat supper. Give me a shout when it's ready.'

He half expected Nora to follow him to the bedroom because she had looked faintly taken aback by his ferocity, but she did not, although the glass of beer on the dresser had not been there before he went for his shower. He rarely had cause to become the heavy father and when he did he suffered slight sadness tinged with a curious suggestion of guilt. He had been involved with several instances of child molestation during his career and, like all policemen, found those cases the most distasteful of all. Girls were so vulnerable. He could more easily have given sons a dressing down. Boys were more . . . He hoped to God Nora was not carrying another girl.

That depressing possibility added weight to his sense of impotence, of being powerless to deal with any aspect of his life at the moment. He drank the beer in one draught, telling himself he was losing his grip.

Going downstairs, he headed for the nook in the hall where his scale models of famous steam engines were set out, and took up the latest edition of the enthusiasts' magazine. Maybe he would drive away his frustrations by immersing himself in his hobby, but he sat gazing at the words on the pages taking none of it in. Then he grew aware of someone beside him and turned to see Beth. She had red-rimmed eyes and was clearly very upset. Her sisters standing behind her had also been crying.

‘You didn't come to the kitchen to see what we bought for Strudel, Dad,' Beth said in a wobbly voice. ‘There's a lovely basket with a mattress, and there's a pink blanket, and . . . and . . .' She tailed off on a heavy sob. ‘Can't we have the puppy now?'

Tom's heart turned over as he reached out to her and drew her close. ‘Of course you can. Corporal Casey has told her she's coming to live with us in time for Christmas. That's definite. Nothing will change it.'

‘We're sorry, Dad,' Maggie offered in a whisper. Gina simply nodded agreement without meeting his eyes. ‘We didn't mean to upset you and Mum.'

Feeling a new man, Tom stood and encircled them all with his outstretched arms to chivvy them gently towards the kitchen door. ‘Let's have a look at what every cool puppy should have.'

All sunshine after the storm, Beth told him eagerly, ‘There's also a pretend bone, a squeaky mouse and a little ball with a bell in it. D'you think she'll like them?'

‘Certain to, sweetheart. She'll become a true Blackie in no time.'

After an evening of fruitless brain searching followed by a restless night, Max rose early and drove to the river for his usual energetic spell in a hired skiff. It relaxed his muscles but did little to relieve his frustration. Blomfeld's bonhomie irritated him as it never had before, and he felt an urgent need to get his thoughts on track in preparation for the meeting with Colonel Trelawney later in the day. He hoped the GC would delay it until the morning. After all, the man had been engaged in heavy talks for the past ten days, so it would be in everyone's interest to allow him time to relax before tackling the problems here.

Returning home to shower and change Max had half-expected to see MacPherson's Range Rover outside the apartments. It had been there last night, but gone when he had set out at dawn. If the Scot had stayed the night he must have departed very early, but there was every chance that he would return to spend time with Clare today. They seemed to have more than professional interest in each other.

She had put a note through his letter box informing him of the nature of the pills crammed into the bottle he had found in Eva's effects; apparently they were merely a homeopathic remedy for the menopause which had either begun early or were held by her in anticipation of the onset. Quite possible for a health-obsessed woman.

At some time during the previous evening Max had decided to take Tom's advice to close the case on Eva McTavish's death, so he had written a report stating that she had taken her own life while the state of her mind was disturbed. He would hand that over at the end of the forthcoming meeting.

Brewing a pot of coffee, Max sat with it beside him on the small desk in the main room of his flat as he made a list of every aspect, firstly of the bonfire incident, then of the car park fire. He then looked for any matching points. There were a few, and he poured more coffee while he reviewed them.

Max then studied the differences.

Pouring more coffee and munching biscuits, Max studied these lists for some time before he came up with the facts he would give Trelawney. As he had believed from the start, these incidents had been perpetrated by someone making a statement, a protest. He was not a member of the Drumdorran Fusiliers, but the protest could be against the arrival of another regiment in an already crowded base. The present facilities were barely adequate enough for the long-term residents, and government spending cuts would not allow these to be enlarged. Protests had been voiced in the past, so this could be an escalation into violence.

The next part would be to give the GC details of action already taken and outline his proposed steps to reach a resolution. To do that Max knew he would have to read every report by the team of their interviews. Although the only fact that had jumped out of reams of paper had been Rifleman Carter's lies about his cut hand and subsequent unofficial departure from bonfire duty, that had been a false lead and caused Tom unnecessary problems.

The interviews of families who had provided the evidence of Eva's pill-taking might contain something that would suggest how the IED was put in the bonfire without being noticed. By reading them in the quietness of his office Max might pick up something that was not evident at the time, because the issue had been clouded by the thoughts of terrorism.

Changing into something smart enough to attend the GC's meeting, if it was called later in the day, Max drove to the base and sat in his office with a tall stack of interview reports, prepared to stay there until he had tooth-combed through them all.

With practised expertise he cross-checked them and, after a couple of hours, he had as good a description of the construction of the bonfire as if he had been there. The only opportunity to insert an IED appeared to have been when the straw image meant to represent Second Lieutenant Freeman had been attached to the pile. Max had interviewed the four who had made it and knew they were all too unintelligent to make an explosive device, and Corporal Naish was too dedicated to constructing the perfect cone to then blow it apart.

Putting that pile aside, Max then began to read interview reports of evidence by families who had been present throughout that party evening. The emphasis had been on sightings of Eva McTavish, and Max found his doubts returning on reading the statement by a woman who said Eva had been sitting at the very back of the pavilion, making phone calls and swallowing pills.

Anger over the Scots' decision to allow the belief that Eva's life had been lost through the carelessness of garrison soldiers began to burn in Max again. These witness statements showed clearly enough the woman's desperate state
before
the bonfire erupted. Where the hell had McTavish been, and why had the bastard ignored seventeen calls from the wife he had not seen for three months?

His mobile rang to interrupt this constant worry. He answered with half his mind elsewhere and briefly acknowledged the news that Colonel Trelawney would not hold the meeting until tomorrow morning. Flexing his shoulders, Max noted the time. Mid-afternoon already. Pale sunshine now filtered through the office window giving him the urge to get out in it.

Filing the reports again he left the base and drove to an area that offered hillside walks with extensive views; one of his favourite ‘thinking' places. The fact that there was an excellent old inn just ten kilometres beyond the hills was a bonus. He felt he had reviewed all the information SIB had garnered on both the bonfire incident and the car park fire. He now needed space and silence to mentally mull them over and attempt to lift the veil that obscured the breakthrough that he sought. Switching off his mobile, he left it in the car and strode out.

Darkness fell before he reached the end of his walk, but the paths were well defined and the distant lights of the village kept him heading in the right direction. In any case, no self-respecting detective would be out late on a November afternoon without a torch in his pocket.

Max then discovered that a large number of people had also taken advantage of the sunshine to walk the hills and enjoy a hearty meal in the hostelry boasting an excellent chef. Being a single diner he was able to secure the last table for two, which was in a far corner with the view across the restaurant restricted by a wooden coat stand heavily laden with garments. He added his own topcoat, thinking this would be an ideal romantic rendezvous well hidden from curious eyes. However, he was still wrestling with facts, opinions and sightings, so an obscured nook was just what he needed.

He left the inn having enjoyed a satisfying meal and a carafe of wine, but still seeking that breakthrough that was proving so elusive. The easy run back to his apartment was hampered by the fine rain that had arrived on several evenings recently. In another month or so it would be snow, and he would have to put chains on the wheels.

Clare's car was not in the usual parking place. She must be making another night of it with Duncan MacPherson. He thought the affair was too hot, too soon. He had pursued both Susan and Livya with that brand of urgency, and lost them. Maybe he should point that out to Clare.

A large whisky while he undressed and showered, then a CD of balalaikas playing Russian folk tunes to calm his mind ready for sleep did not produce the required effect. He lay awake wondering what he could say that would convince John Trelawney that SIB could put a stop to the violent incidents before another was launched.

Some time after the CD ended and before sleep claimed him, Max had a vague conviction that something in the reports he had scanned earlier had struck an odd note. He must sift through them again before the meeting, in the hope that it would shed enough light to strengthen his case for continuing to investigate the two attacks.

Although Max had set his alarm to an hour earlier than usual a loud, continuous ringing woke him long before the hands on his clock reached the desired time. Puzzlement lasted mere seconds before he realized someone was leaning on his doorbell. At five a.m.? Pulling on a robe over the boxer shorts he slept in, he padded to the small hallway to find out who wanted him so urgently.

On the top step of the flight leading up to the apartment stood the Regional Commander, Major Keith Pinkney. Conscious of his own dishevelled appearance, and taken aback at this early morning call, Max took too long to react appropriately.