Scotch Mist (6 page)

‘Just what a woman wants to hear, Max.'

‘I was speaking to a
doctor
,' he said firmly. ‘Is there?'

‘Not yet. Mumps affects adults badly. But, by lucky chance, the in-comers have their own Medical Officer. Major Duncan MacPherson. Seems he's known to the Jocks as MacFearsome, and I saw why. He's a very fine figure of a man. He's going to replace David on a temporary basis, which means I can resume a normal routine. After I've eaten I'm going home for a leisurely bath and several hours on my bed. Heaven!'

Glancing with irritation at a group of rowdy subalterns who had come through from the ante-room, Max said, ‘Did you read the notice on the board announcing a compulsory dinner night on Friday to welcome the new Scottish members?'

She nodded, her mouth full of roast potato. ‘Mmm. Nuisance.' Several moments later she was able to add, ‘Emergencies never interrupt on those occasions, you notice. You can bet we'll have to sit throughout the entire boring ritual without a single call for our help. Sod's Law! How's the investigation progressing?'

‘Slowly. The Scottish woman's death rachets it up a rung, of course. People haven't had time to fully react. Wait a day or two and the trouble will start.'

‘Unless you've already got the guy who caused it.'

‘Fat chance.'

Tom left Max-ee-million little wiser than when he had arrived. A fat-bellied Estonian with an obvious personality problem and a heavy accent had marched Tom between rows and rows of cardboard boxes explaining, with much arm-waving, that ‘every gives a small “pouff”, much colours and safe to the hand. Mister has mistake. Max-ee-million never sell with bombings.'

During a tour of the factory Tom saw only what he would expect to see at a legitimate dealership. He had almost to fight off a gift of several cartons of fireworks which the Estonian tried to thrust into his arms on leaving, and he sought refuge in his 4x4 with the man's curious English protests still ringing in his ears. Driving to his rented house in the hope of some lunch, he felt frustrated yet glad that he had not found evidence that would have placed the case in the hands of the
Polizei
.

When he walked through to the kitchen Tom saw that Nora had been crying, and he regretted leaving so peremptorily after breakfast. Even so, he was unsure whether to raise the subject or to keep things light. He had to get back to the base, so it was probably the wrong moment to wade in at the deep end. It soon became obvious that Nora was already there when she took one look at him and broke down.

Deeply disturbed, Tom went to her and drew her close, thinking yet again how this pregnancy had changed their lives so drastically. All their plans for the future, the pleasure derived from their maturing daughters and, without doubt, their own expectation of having more time free from parenting duties, had suddenly been put back for at least twelve years. He thought they had come to terms with all that, but it looked as if Nora had not. Unless . . . He recalled the scare they had had before Gina was born. He tightened his embrace.

‘There's nothing wrong, is there, love?'

Fighting free, Nora stared at him with tear-filled eyes. ‘Of
course
there's something bloody wrong,' she practically shouted. ‘We didn't want it, we're unwilling to go public on it, and now our children think it's
disgusting
. It's easy for you and the girls. You can walk away from it. I can't. It's part of me and I'll soon feel it move inside me.' She beat his chest with her fists. ‘We have to love it, Tom.
Someone
has to love the poor little sod.'

Tom had never been good at handling pregnancy. Living and working in a predominantly masculine environment he knew and understood men in all their moods, but he was always bewildered by Nora's out of character behaviour and the spells of acute emotion in a woman who was normally assured and well-balanced.

Aware of the cowardly wish that he had returned directly to base, he made matters worse by saying, ‘You shouldn't have told them. They were heading for school full of excitement about last night's drama. It was the wrong time to spring that on them. Talk to them again when they'll absorb the fact properly.'

‘That's right,' she raged. ‘It always has to be me to sort them out. I hope to God this one's a boy, because I'll hand him to you on day one.'

‘That'll be fine by me,' he replied, forcing a smile. ‘It'll be good to have another male around the house to support my stand against all you women.' She glared at him, so he took the only escape route he could think of. ‘Suppose I heat some soup and make spicy sandwich rolls with those cold sausages left over from last night?'

Taking her silence as a truce, he set to work providing the light lunch he wished he had instead eaten elsewhere. When it was ready he set two bowls of aromatic soup on the breakfast bar along with a large plate containing the food. The silence continued while Nora drank her soup, but left Tom to eat most of the sausage sandwiches.

He wondered how soon he could leave. He needed to check on the accelerant used on the bonfire, and in what quantity. He also intended to stop at the Sports Ground to see what progress had been made by the explosives experts. Surely they were getting some ideas by now. The fact that nothing was missing from the Armoury was not conclusive on that score. It was easy enough to obtain weapons from all manner of sources, even the Internet. Once it was identified it would be easier to attempt to trace its origins. Now the McTavish woman had died from her injuries it was even more imperative to find who had indirectly caused her demise.

Growing aware that Nora was up and rummaging in the freezer Tom felt fresh guilt over allowing the case to absorb him to the extent of forgetting where he was. It ebbed away when he saw that she had in her hands a large tub of chocolate ice cream, something she invariably devoured in huge quantities when she was pregnant.

‘At it again?' he teased softly.

She came over with a full spoon and fed him with his least favourite treat. ‘You don't deserve it, Thomas Black.'

He breathed a sigh of relief that the storm had blown over. ‘I don't deserve
you
, sweetheart, but they say the Devil looks after his own.' Getting to his feet, he kissed the top of her head. ‘Beth was thrilled, and so will the other two be when they absorb the truth that there'll soon be a baby for them to play with and mother. Don't worry. He'll be swamped with love by the Blackies.'

Second Lieutenant Stuart Freeman was a lanky young man with mousey hair and very intelligent eyes. He looked warily at the tall, dark-haired man dressed in a charcoal suit – an apparent civilian with a decided air of authority – who had walked unannounced in to the office where he was very volubly swearing at his computer for wiping the report he had taken such pains to compose before lunch.

Max smiled with sympathy. ‘I know the feeling.' He offered his hand. ‘Captain Max Rydal, SIB.'

Freeman scrambled to his feet and completed the handshake. ‘I'm sorry. I didn't recognize you, sir.'

‘No reason why you should have. We've never crossed paths before.'

Max's identity suddenly registered with the subaltern. ‘SIB? Is there some problem?' he asked, even more warily.

‘That's what I'm here to find out by interviewing four members of your platoon.'

This proof that the focus was not on him did little to reassure, and Max guessed he was fresh from Sandhurst and was trying too hard to be the perfect leader of men. He would soon discover that was a very rare breed. Was his ultra diligence the cause of the ‘hard time' given to the four who had fashioned a straw dummy to burn on the bonfire?

‘What have they done?' The cadet training came to the fore as Freeman stood ready to support his men. ‘I'm not aware of . . .'

Max interrupted by telling him exactly what his men had done, adding, while Freeman's face flooded with colour, that he was investigating the cause of an explosion which had resulted in a fatality and numerous injuries.

‘Privates Mooney, Rule, Casey and Blair are under suspicion. I need to know what they might have hidden within that corn dolly. They all sound irresponsible enough to stuff something volatile inside it as a joke, and thick enough not to recognize the danger of such an action.' Max softened his tone. ‘It's the kind of thing squaddies do with abysmal frequency, you'll find, when they believe they're being hard done by. If it isn't the Platoon Commander, it's a sergeant or a corporal – anyone who keeps them on their toes.'

He changed his approach. ‘On the other hand, this quartet might actually have planned what happened as some kind of subversive statement. Get someone to round them up, and I'll interview them initially in your presence. If I judge there was evil intent I'll have them hauled off to my headquarters for further questioning.'

By now looking really apprehensive, Freeman said, ‘I think it would be better for you to see them in the adjacent office. Captain Crooke's on leave so you won't be disturbed. The men will talk more freely if I'm not present.'

Knowing he would say that, Max nodded. ‘Fair enough. I'll give you the gist of the info I squeeze out of them.'

‘Yes. Yes. Good.' The younger man picked up his telephone. ‘I'll organize someone to bring them in for you.' When he had done that he offered Max coffee. ‘Or tea, if you'd prefer it.'

‘Coffee's fine. Have them put it in the next office for me. I imagine you're anxious to sort out your computer blip.'

Still pink in the face, Freeman said, ‘Oh God, yes. A report that had taken all morning to compile vanished from the screen the minute I logged on again after lunch. It's presently swimming around somewhere in the ether until I manage to rein it in.'

Max laughed. ‘Along with a myriad pieces of vital info which have never been reined in and will remain in space ad infinitum.'

The corporal who brought the men to the company offices was surely efficient enough to meet Freeman's high standards, for they arrived only five minutes after Max had drunk his coffee. It had been accompanied by two chocolate digestive biscuits. Freeman pulling out all the stops?

‘Corporal Furness, sir,' anounced the lean NCO with a long face that reminded Max of Collie dogs. He had appeared in the doorway and saluted with a flourish. ‘Privates Mooney, Rule, Blair and Casey are without, sir.'

Resisting the urge to ask ‘without what?', Max nodded. ‘Thank you. Send the first one in and tell the others to follow one at a time. You needn't wait.'

‘Sir!' Another tight salute, a smart swivel on his heels, then a parade-ground command for Mooney to ‘See the officer.'

One glance at Dennis Mooney told Max all he needed to know. Stuart Freeman had been giving him a hard time because he needed it. A man who had joined the Army because he could not think of anything else to do, Max judged. No real enthusiasm for the job, no realization of a boyhood dream. It had been the easy way out of unemployment. Signing on had given him somewhere to live, ready companionship, three solid meals a day, opportunities for free participation in sports and other leisure activities that required expensive equipment, a guaranteed wage, the chance to learn a trade, and a uniform to be proud of. Except that he was not, that much was evident. Max guessed the other three would be the same. An unlikely crew for subversion. It would require too much effort.

He went straight in with, ‘You and your mates made a straw dummy that was meant to represent Second Lieutenant Freeman, and then persuaded Corporal Naish to attach it to the bonfire last night. Why was that?'

Mooney's lips twitched. ‘It was a joke, sir.'

‘I see. Did you tell Mr Freeman so that he could appreciate the laugh of having a parody of himself burned in public?'

‘It was just some straw put together like a scarecrow. I mean, it didn't look nothing like him.'

‘Then what was the point?'

‘Um . . . it was a joke, sir.'

‘So you keep saying. How many people laughed?' Mooney was by now so far out of his depth he gave no reply. ‘Just you, Rule, Casey and Blair. Corporal Naish told me last night that he was not altogether happy about doing as you asked. What did you stuff the effigy with?'

‘What?'

‘Something wrong with your hearing, Mooney? Or your comprehension?'

Mooney shuffled his feet uncomfortably. ‘I don't know why we've been called in about this. It was just a . . .'

‘Joke. Your sense of humour is around the level of a junior schoolboy. One of limited intelligence. If you haven't already heard I'll tell you that a woman who was injured when the bonfire blew apart died this morning. Also, the Deputy Garrison Commander's son has severe head and facial burns as a result of that explosion. I ask you again, what did you put inside the straw bundle to make it resemble a scarecrow?'

The coarse face with fleshy lips had paled. ‘Christ, we didn't have nothing to do with
that
! Who says we did? Corp Naish? He's a bloody liar. You can't hang that on us. We didn't have no explosives.' He wiped a hand across his wet mouth in his agitation. ‘When they said SIB wanted us we didn't have no idea why. Christ!' he swore again. ‘No, sir, no way can you have us up for that. That's . . . that's murder.'

‘Involuntary manslaughter. You still haven't answered my question.'

‘What question?' He was so worked up he had lost even the minimal concentration he had had at the start.

‘What was inside the dummy?'

‘Just rags, sir. Oily rags we use around the trucks we're working on every day.'