Scotch Mist (3 page)

‘Name?'

‘McTavish. Wife of one of the musicians who came in earlier today. Seems she has friends in the West Wilts and has been staying with them for a week until the band arrived here from its tour of the US.'

‘Has her man been contacted?'

‘He's at the hospital.'

‘Good. How could this have happened?'

Tom indicated George Maddox, who appeared to be giving the remainder of his section a hard time. ‘He's taking it very personally, but it was just a Guy Fawkes celebration, not a royal visit requiring tight security. Nobody could have foreseen what would happen.'

‘Except the guy who planned it.' Max glanced over to where his own team members were questioning a group of men shifting about belligerently in their resentment. ‘They the guys who built the bonfire?'

‘No, they actually set it alight. We haven't yet established if they also helped to construct it. There's some aggro because one of their mates suffered nasty burns to his arm; they resent being treated as suspects. I guess they're as shocked as the rest of us.'

Having noticed that Max had arrived, Connie Bush walked across to greet him. An attractive young woman who was a keep fit addict, her cheeks were rosier than ever from the late night chill.

‘Hallo, sir. How did the trial go?'

‘As we all hoped. Get anything useful from those lads?'

She gave a quick glance over her shoulder. ‘Apart from a load of abuse, just the info that they had had nothing to do with building the bonfire except for this afternoon. They brought the accelerant and gave a hand with arranging the final layer. They spent more time fabricating the flambeaux they used to set it alight.

‘OK, let them go. We'll check them out again in the morning.' As Connie walked away, Max turned back to Tom. ‘Who was OC this event?'

‘The Garrison QMS. He's gone to the Medical Centre to liaise with Captain Goodey. She'll have her hands full for the rest of the night.'

Max walked for a few minutes surveying the debris littering a wide area around the bonfire site, and asked quietly, ‘What's your reading of what happened, Tom? You were right to put the base on high alert, but do you really believe we were under attack?'

‘No, but we have to consider it a possibility until we can safely rule it out, don't we?'

Max grunted agreement, his brain busy considering other explanations while Tom continued.

‘I tried to notify the Garrison Commander, but he's at a NATO conference. His deputy, Major Crawford, is with his wife at the hospital. It was their son who was badly injured. He gave authority on his mobile for me to raise the security level.'

‘Have you managed to contact Captain Knott of Logistics, to get some of his personnel here to take a look?'

‘Again, I attempted to. No response on his landline, and his mobile was switched to voicemail. Can't do anything without his go ahead.'

‘So we seal this place off and post guards until we get it in the morning. Take a short break, Tom, while I go to the Medical Centre and ask Jack Strachey for the names of all his people who've been working here on the firework framework and the bonfire over the past two days. Then we'll round 'em up, drag 'em out of bed, if necessary, and get some kind of info to work on tonight even if it only allows us to eliminate them as suspects.' He began walking towards where he had left his car. ‘We have to get cracking on this. If the McTavish woman dies we'll have a manslaughter case on our hands.'

TWO

Q
uartermaster Sergeant Jack Strachey was shaped like a box on legs; a short, broad body on very long limbs. He was tough. He had seen it all. He had been in the Army for twenty years. Tonight he was stalking up and down like an angry bull. Children had been hurt and he saw red.

Max knew the man was not helping the situation in the small ward where patients not ill enough to send to the hospital in town often stayed overnight. Right now Clare and several orderlies were using it to apply salve to burns and dressings to wounds inflicted by flying debris. Several small children were lying on the beds being comforted by a parent. Max guessed they had been given a sedative to facilitate upcoming treatment. He thought about having a quick word with Clare, then abandoned the idea. She was fully on the job right now. Tomorrow would be soon enough to get from her any clues about what might have caused the injuries.

‘Nothing you can do here, Mr Strachey,' ruled Max, nodding towards the waiting room. ‘Let's talk.'

‘But . . . these kids . . .' he said aggressively.

‘Are better off in the hands of the medics. Our job is to find who was responsible for what happened.'

‘I'll kill 'em, I swear,' he growled, pushing through to the waiting room. ‘With my bare hands.'

Personally concerned over the number who had suffered some kind of harm, quite apart from others who had been treated on the spot and then sent home, Max allowed for Strachey's reaction. It was natural enough for the man to feel responsible, especially as he had been present to witness the distress and panic. Closing the door leading to the ward, Max told him to sit down.

‘I'm too worked up for that,' he replied, fists clenching.

‘Sit down!' Max repeated with more emphasis. ‘I want info from you and I want it calmly and concisely, not thrown at me as you prowl around in self-indulgent recrimination.'

The QMS glared at Max, then exhaled in a slow release of anger before lowering himself onto one of the metal-framed chairs. ‘I've sometimes had dickheads put empty aerosol cans in, but this was something very different. Legit explosive, and enough to blow that bloody pile apart. None of my lads would do that. I know them, sir. And they know me, which is more to the point. They know I'd skin 'em alive if they did something like this . . . or allowed anyone else to do it.'

Max sat facing him. ‘Well, someone
did
do it, and I need to know how.'

‘You and me both.' His fists clenched again on his knees. ‘I should've checked every hour.'

‘You could have checked every five minutes, Q, and still not have prevented what happened. Until Logistics have inspected the remains and come up with an opinion on what caused the explosion, and the Fire Officer gives his conclusions on where in that pile it was sited, all we can do is to question the men you detailed to set up everything for the display and assess when a moment of opportunity for the perpetrator occurred.'

‘Must've been at night.'

‘The place was locked. Sergeant Maddox has his men looking for signs of a break-in. Difficult, if he was carrying a box of ammo. Easier during the day when cartons of fireworks were in evidence and no checks made. I want from you the names of every man who worked at the Sports Ground over the last two days.'

‘There were two women.'

Suspecting a hint of sexism from this long-term soldier's comment, Max said deliberately, ‘We can rule them out. No woman would consider making a point by endangering families and children.'

‘No more would my lads,' came the immediate fiery disclaimer.

‘So you say. Once they're in the clear we can concentrate on finding the knave in the pack. Now, who was overseeing the job?'

‘Corporal Lines, sir. Well, he designed the fireworks.' Seeing Max's optical query, he elaborated. ‘For something like that – a public display – there has to be a co-ordinated programme so's there's a good mix of colours and shapes, carefully spaced bangs, and a grand finale that creates a pattern or design on frames. It's not like putting a match to the odd squib in your back garden for your kids.'

Never having had the opportunity to do that, Max continued with his questioning. ‘So Corporal Lines would have concentrated on setting up the firework display? No time to see what was going on around the bonfire.'

‘Corporal Naish was in charge of that. He's done it other years and knows just how to erect it so it's the right shape and won't topple when it starts to burn.'

‘Then I'll start with him.' He nodded at the closed ward door. ‘Not in there being treated, is he?'

‘No, sir. Took his kiddy home right away. His wife's about to have another one. He didn't want her worrying after hearing the explosion. He's probably back at the Sports Ground now.'

‘No, we've sealed it off.'

‘How about I round him up and send him to your headquarters?' Knowing the man badly needed to do something, Max agreed. ‘You can round up as many of the others as you can trace and send them along, too.'

Before driving to the opposite side of the base, Max called Tom's mobile. ‘Where are you?'

‘Still at the Sports Ground. We've found some metal fragments, but visibility isn't good. The main search will have to wait until morning.'

‘Strachey's rounding up possible witnesses. I asked for as many as he can track down. In his present mood I don't imagine many will escape him. Are Connie, Heather and Phil Piercey still with you?'

‘About to leave.'

‘I'd like them all at Headquarters for interviewing. And, unless you've something important ongoing, you too.'

‘On way.'

Corporal Naish had been drinking. His breath was beery and his dark eyes were slightly glazed. Although Max guessed the imbibing had begun after the man had gone home with his child to reassure his wife, he asked if Naish made a habit of drinking on the job.

‘No, sir,
never
,' was his vehement reply. ‘I've a boy nearly two and another due next week. Can't afford to get into any trouble. I had a can just now, that's all. To counteract shock.'

More than one can, in Max's estimation. ‘How long have you been in the Army?'

‘Five years, sir.'

‘And an exploding bonfire shocks you so much you need alcohol to help you get over it? However did you earn your stripes?'

Silence from the chunky man on the other side of the desk. He was now looking very much on edge.

‘According to Mr Strachey you're an expert on bonfires. So you would have overseen every stage of construction, known exactly what material was used to create the stable cone shape which wouldn't collapse when it began to burn. Is that right?'

‘Yessir.'

‘How long did it take to build?'

‘Well . . . most of two days.' Seeing Max's raised eyebrows, he hurriedly continued. ‘Stuff was being brought in that I couldn't use. Happens every time. Crafty way to rid themselves of rubbish. Think I'll just chuck it on the pile. Doesn't work that way. You have to . . .'

‘So you vetted everything that was delivered to the Sports Ground?'

Realizing where this was leading, Naish hesitated.

‘Yes, or no, Corporal?'

‘There wasn't nothing dangerous put in while I was watching, sir.'

‘Were there times when you weren't watching?'

‘Normal visits to the bog, sir, but the lads took a breather at those times, and at NAAFI breaks, so work stopped.'

‘So anything could have been inserted into the pile during one of those times.'

‘No, sir. The fireworks squad was on site then. We arranged staggered mealtimes with them.'

‘And arranged for someone to keep an eye on the bonfire?'

Naish swallowed nervously. ‘Not in so many words, sir.'

‘You don't need many words, Corporal, the one will do,' snapped Max. ‘And the word is no!'

Shoulders sagging, the NCO abandoned excuses. ‘Oh God! I swear I had no idea what would happen when it was ignited. How could I guess someone would do that? It's not like I was building a stack of volatile ammo. It was just a bonfire. For the kids. I didn't see any need to guard it every minute.'

Knowing the justice of that, Max changed tack. ‘Did you have the same team throughout?'

‘Yessir, except Rifleman Carter pulled out this afternoon. He cut his hand on a nail left in a plank and had to have it stitched.'

‘Nobody replaced him?'

‘No, sir. We was almost finished.'

‘How about the four who made the flambeaux late this afternoon? According to them they gave a hand with the final layer.'

Naish's broad face turned red. ‘Mr Strachey sent them along with the accelerant. That's their field of knowledge, sir. I don't have anything to do with what makes it burn.'

‘So what did they do that makes you feel guilty now?'

Still flushed, he said awkwardly, ‘It was just a laugh, sir.'

‘What was?'

After some hesitation, he answered. ‘The four of them had made a sort of straw image of their Platoon Commander. Seems he gives them a bad time,' he added with a feeble attempt at a laugh.

‘Go on,' invited Max in steely manner.

Where he had been flushed, Naish now grew pale and stayed silent until he could no longer withstand Max's unblinking stare. ‘We . . . we fixed it on the side. It looked like a decoration. Nothing like . . . there weren't no harm in it, sir. Just a bundle of straw.'

‘Which could have contained explosive material.' Even as he said it Max recalled that Tom had told him the explosion had come before the bonfire was fully alight. ‘So what else did you allow to be attached to your perfect cone “just for a laugh”?'

‘Nothing, sir, I swear. I see now I shouldn't have done it.'

‘No, you shouldn't have.' Max let some seconds pass before he added. ‘You're an irresponsible idiot, Corporal Naish.'

‘Yes sir.' He took a deep breath and offered an irrefutable defence. ‘I'm really gutted about what happened, but if I'd had any notion someone had tampered with it I wouldn't have taken my own boy there tonight, would I?'