Two

Tom was sitting with Jack Fellowes, running through the statement given to Sergeant Maddox last night, when his mobile rang. Nodding an apology, Tom rose from the chair beside which was a small table bearing coffee and a mince pie brought by Sheila Fellowes, and walked through to the hall.

‘Tom Black,’ he said briskly, hoping for news of Lance-Corporal Treeves.

‘I think you should get around to the McRitchie quarter, talk to the father,’ said Max. ‘There’s a definite problem with his attitude to the boy which needs probing further.’

Gazing at the cream-emulsioned wall often found in this type of accommodation, Tom murmured, ‘He looked genuinely shattered last night.’

‘Because of the effect the drama might have on his two small daughters. He’s abandoned wife and injured son to make sure they are given their favourite Sunday breakfast. Told Mrs McRitchie there was no way he would let what happened ruin their lives. Don’t say it! It was also my first thought.’

Tom whistled softly. ‘Kevin not man enough for him?’

‘Got it in one. Sees it as some kind of slur on his own virility. Recognize the type?’

‘Dangerous.’

‘He’s presently at home with the objects of his excessive affection. Good time to catch him . . . and, Tom, he spent last evening playing badminton but unless he can produce witnesses who will vow he was in plain sight the whole time, he has to be a suspect.’

‘My big problem is that whoever attacked the boy had no way of knowing when he would use the toilets, or even if he would that evening.’

‘Unless Kevin had arranged to meet someone there at a specific time. The doc says there are no signs the boy’s been using drugs, but he could have been supplying, Tom.’

‘Jack Fellowes has just told me he thinks Kevin went up there for a smoke. There was a box of matches and a pack containing three cigarettes on the sill beneath the open ventilator. There was also a smouldering stub on the floor when Jack arrived.’

Max chuckled. ‘My mind goes into overdrive on teens today. Of course, smoke a surreptitious fag then flush the stub down the pan. Did it all the time at school. How about you?’

‘Back of the bike shed, me. Any info on the extent of the injury?’

‘Doc says the blow wouldn’t normally do more than heavily stun the recipient. Kevin happens to have a thin skull, hence the excessive damage.’

‘So it could have been intended as a warning. That fits with Beeny’s theory of frustrated sexual advances. By his father?’

‘I doubt it, but his obsession with the two girls could well be unhealthy. I’m off to talk to the Clarkson boys. The hospital will contact us when the patient is fit to answer questions. They say probably not until tonight or the morning, and his recollection could be extremely vague. Call me after you’ve interviewed McRitchie.’ Short pause. ‘Finish the mince pie before you go.’

Tom smiled as the line went dead. Mince pies were a major hazard of Christmas investigations. He returned and settled in his chair to recap on their earlier conversation.

‘So there were the Padre’s new wife, Lieutenant Farmer, Sapper Rowe and two of the tinies’ mums helping you with the kids. They were all present from start to finish and no one else came for a short while, then left.’

‘That’s right,’ Jack Fellowes confirmed. ‘Could have done with a couple more volunteers – that age group can be demons to control – but everyone’s got so much on at this time of year. Lieutenant Farmer holds dance classes at the Centre on the first and third Saturday each month, so some of the girls know her well. She also has an advanced first aid certificate. Useful when kids are running and jumping about in large numbers. There’s always several who trip and fall, others who eat too much and regurgitate shortly afterwards.’

Tom pulled a face. ‘Tell me about it.’

‘The Padre’s wife was asked if she would come to judge the costumes and hand out the prizes – one for each age group and one for the most original in any group – but we were about to start the parade when Kevin was discovered.’

‘So Mrs Robinson had only just arrived at that point?’

‘No. When she agreed to do the honours she said she’d come at the start and help in any way she could.’ Fellowes raised his brows. ‘Between you and me, Tom, she was bugger-all use except for serving dollops of trifle and smiling the entire evening.’

Tom nodded. ‘I met her very briefly a month or so back. I knew the first Mrs Robinson quite well and liked her. Brisk woman who fought her illness with great courage right to the last days. This one seems a bit otherworldly, less fit to be a padre’s wife.’

‘She might settle to it in time. They’ve only been married six months. First husband was a bank manager.’

‘Switched from saving pounds to saving souls.’ Finishing his coffee and resolutely ignoring the mince pie, Tom asked, ‘How about Sapper Rowe? I’ve not come across him at all.’

‘A good lad. Clever with his hands. The eldest of five, so he’s good with tinies. He set up all the apparatus for the team competitions. You know the kind of thing – scrambling through hoops, putting boxes within boxes, bouncing balls into buckets. He really got them all going, raised their competitive spirits.’

‘Christ, he’ll have the PC brigade after him if they hear,’ put in Tom dryly. ‘These days they all have to win equally.’

Fellowes shook his head. ‘These are army kids. They know all about being the best.’

Tom referred to the printed statement made to George Maddox. ‘You’ve provided the names of the two mothers who were helpers. One of my team will talk to them but, from your recollection, you noticed nothing or anyone suspicious up till the time Kevin was discovered.’

‘Nothing, Tom, but I was pretty well occupied. No time even to visit the bog until I went up there to find the boy. Mind you, there was a steady stream of kids up and down to the toilets all evening. If Kevin was attacked by an intruder any one of them could have been the victim.’ He looked unhappy. ‘Nasty business. Parents will be edgy until you get who did it.’

Tom got to his feet. ‘Your two are back at uni, so no need to worry about them.’

‘Don’t you believe it. The older they get the bigger the problems,’ he said with a smile that belied his words. ‘But they’re good lads.’

Sheila Fellowes walked in at that point. ‘Oh, are you going, Tom? You haven’t eaten your mince pie.’

‘Had an urgent call from the boss. Have to be elsewhere, I’m afraid,’ he replied smoothly, and escaped into the snow.

The McRitchie house was on the end of a block of four in a mini village of married quarters built decades ago and badly in need of renovation. Many families were too uncaring to add personal touches, and regarded their quarter as simply somewhere to sleep, eat and slouch on the sofa to watch TV for hour after hour.

It was instantly apparent to Tom that Mavis McRitchie was a home-maker. The room was bright with framed posters of country or coastal scenes glowing with colour, and the cushions wore handmade red, green and white patchwork covers that matched the tablecloth arranged diagonally beneath a bowl of gilded fir cones. Sitting on what looked like a patchwork throw across the settee were two dark-haired girls dressed in scarlet leggings with blue and white hand-knitted tunics.

‘We were having our usual Sunday question and answer session,’ Greg McRitchie explained as he ushered Tom in. ‘We always enjoy it, don’t we, sweethearts?’

Two heads nodded; two sullen expressions appeared as brown eyes stared at Tom who had intruded into their family activity. With no more than a year between them, Tom put them at around Beth’s age. She was mercurial, with swiftly changing moods, but he had never seen such aggression in her eyes as there was being directed at him from Shona and Julie McRitchie.

‘I’ve come at the right time, then,’ he said encouragingly, ‘because I need to ask some questions to which I hope you’ll give some important answers.’

‘We only play the game with Dadda,’ said one with finality.

‘Yes,’ agreed the other in the same tone.

Their father hastened to soothe them. ‘Mr Black means that he wants to ask me a few things. Nothing to do with our game. That’s our special fun. Go up to your room and make a list of what you want to buy at the market this afternoon, while I talk to Mr Black.’

They rose as one and headed for the stairs, ignoring the visitor.

‘Hey, haven’t you forgotten something?’ asked Greg in teasing manner, and they turned back to run to him and kiss his cheek. ‘That’s better. Off you go. Only one Twix bar each, mind, or you’ll have no room for your dinner at Maxie’s.’

Tom watched all this with mounting disquiet. How long before this insidious petting developed a sexual aspect? He made a mental note to speak to someone in welfare about his concern. He also determined to question the girls about last night’s party in the presence of their teacher tomorrow, although he realized he was unlikely to get useful answers from them. A session with young Kevin would surely yield more about the routine in this family.

Corporal McRitchie turned to Tom still wearing a disturbingly fond smile. ‘Light of my life, those two, sir.’

‘How about your son?’

The smile vanished. ‘I gave my every off duty minute to teach him how to make a success in life, to make something of himself. Wish I’d had a father prepared to provide the wonderful opportunities that boy was offered.’ He scowled. ‘Total waste of effort. He’s weak and spineless. Can’t even catch a ball cleanly if you throw one to him. Know what, sir? When I brought a dog home, he cried and ran to hide behind his mother’s skirts. No guts at all!’

‘Yet last night you charged him with the responsibility of looking after his sisters.’

‘And he even failed at that! Off on his own, smoking! He knows that’s strictly against the rules.’

‘Which rules, Corporal?’

‘Mine, sir, for my family.’ His eyes lit with fervour. ‘An army is successful because there’s discipline, rules that must be obeyed so each individual soldier knows exactly what he and his fellows have to do. Reduce that system to an individual regiment, then to a battalion, a company, a platoon. It works in every case. Adapt that principle to a family and it can’t fail to be successful, too. You’ve just seen my two little charmers. Good as gold and happy as the day is long.’ The fervour faded. ‘Kevin has never understood the need for rules and has now begun openly to defy them.’

Disliking the man more by the minute, Tom said, ‘Evidence of guts that should surely please you. Now, I need a rundown of your son’s main activities outside school, his interests and the names of his principal friends.’

‘The answer to the first two is the same. He fancies himself a future star of the pop scene. He plucks his guitar, prances around and jabbers like all the big names now. That’s all he does. Even his mother can’t get him interested in anything else. His only friends are Johnny King, Malc Carpenter and Callum Peters. They call themselves a group.’ McRitchie’s swarthy face screwed up in disgust. ‘Swinga Kat! They’ve even had it printed on their T-shirts.’

Reflecting that his girls would probably call that a pretty cool name for a group, Tom asked if Kevin and his mates ever played in public.

‘At the Youth Club, sir. They tried to get a gig in town but were told they’re too young. Too bloody pathetic, more like!’

Tom let that pass. The man could be right. ‘Does Kevin know any of the younger musicians in the regimental band, particularly those who play in the splinter group performing at discos?’

‘Shouldn’t wonder at it. That’s all he thinks about.’

‘How about squaddies? Is he friendly with any seventeen-or eighteen-year-old lads?’

‘Doubt it. He rubbishes the army, so he’d have nothing in common with squaddies. Why d’you ask?’

The sound of squealing and running feet overhead took McRitchie’s attention. ‘So is that it, sir?’

‘For now, Corporal, but isn’t there something you want to ask me?’

‘Like what, sir?’

‘Like who could have made such a brutal attack on your son.’

‘Some weirdo who wandered in to use the bog and got angry when he found a kid there having a smoke. It’s the only explanation.’

‘No, Corporal, there are a hell of a lot of possible explanations and, as you appear to have little concern over why Kevin should be the target of a vicious assault, I shall have to ask others to provide me with the answers that’ll lead us to catch the perpetrator.’

Tom drove away curiously loath to leave those two young girls with their father. He wondered just what questions and answers comprised the game they only played with ‘Dadda’. Was it the overture to something criminal? Was the next stage the one where the girls were encouraged to show him their special places while he showed them his? As the father of three daughters Tom held strong views on the rape and sexual abuse of girls. He had even grown slightly wary of horseplay with Maggie, whose breasts and hips had rounded to budding womanhood in the last twelve months. Pubescent daughters were complex. Sons would be easier to handle.

On that thought he questioned himself harshly. If he had a son would he need the boy to be tough, rough and all-out male? If the lad ran in fright from a dog would it disappoint and disgust him? If a son’s sole interest was to grow a long pony-tail, dress in skintight spangled satin and wail into a microphone in smokey dives would he feel the way Greg McRitchie felt?

To banish the uncomfortable suspicion that it might be all too likely, Tom restored his equilibrium with the certainty that, whatever the situation, if young Master Black were ever attacked his father would hunt down the person responsible with rage in his heart.

Unsettled by his train of thought, Tom had just decided to go home for soup, a sandwich and Nora’s uncomplicated philosophies when his mobile rang. He pulled up beside the gymnasium to answer.

‘Tom Black.’

‘Jakes here, sir. Lance-Corporal Treeves has surfaced.’

‘Alive?’

‘And kicking. With a tale and a half to tell.’

‘I’ll be there in ten.’

So much for his plan to offset the unease prompted by the McRitchie interview! He made a three-point turn in driving snow and headed back across the base to their chilly new premises.

Sergeant Roy Jakes was eating a Mars bar with relish when Tom entered the large main office. ‘If that’s a substitute for lunch you’ll be dozy by mid-afternoon,’ he observed, sitting beside the desk where Jakes manned his computer.

‘Bob went over to the NAAFI, brought back fish and chips half an hour ago,’ came the reassuring reply that set Tom wanting some.

‘Give me the stuff on Treeves. Who sent it in?’

‘You’re not going to believe it, sir.’

‘Try me.’

Jakes crushed the chocolate wrapper in his large hand and tossed it in the nearby bin. ‘A certain Herr Haufmann returned with his wife early this morning from an emergency visit to his infirm mother, and discovered an army truck parked well down his driveway out of sight of the road. The cab was empty, as was the interior. Or so he thought, until he spotted in the half-light a bundle in the corner that looked like a roll of carpet.’

‘Our man Treeves?’

‘Inside a sleeping-bag stuffed inside the roll of our carpet. Haufmann initially thought he had a body on his hands, but his wife is a doctor and knew better. She helped Haufmann take him in their house and set about reviving Treeves while her husband called the Polizei.’ Jakes grinned. ‘They passed the buck very swiftly to us.’

Tom grunted. ‘They’re very punctilious when they want out of a tricky problem involving one of ours.’

‘They’ll soon be back in the thick of it if what Treeves claims is true,’ put in Sergeant Bob Prentiss.

‘So he’s back in the land of the aware?’

Bob nodded. ‘We initially attempted to get an ambulance to pick him up, but they’re only turning out for emergencies. The Haufmanns found Treeves’ explanation hard to accept, so he gave them our number to verify his story. We confirmed the fact that one of our trucks was missing with its driver, and described Treeves as well as giving the reg. number of the vehicle. They then allowed their unwelcome guest to speak to us.’

‘Go ahead and amaze me,’ Tom invited.

Roy Jakes referred to his print-out of the conversation. ‘Two men on a motorbike overtook the truck on a long, acute bend which hid the rest of the convoy from view. The bike cut in and skidded, causing Treeves to brake sharply and slew across the road. A guy in a balaclava brandishing a gun appeared from nowhere to climb in the cab and demand the keys. He tossed them to the pillion rider who got behind the wheel, made a three-point turn, and headed back a couple of miles before turning right on to a forest track just wide enough to accommodate the vehicle.’

He glanced up at Tom. ‘Treeves reckons these men knew the forest well. They drove through it like old hands at the game.’

‘I suppose they both had their faces covered.’

Jakes nodded. ‘No hope of future identification.’

‘And Treeves was held at gunpoint throughout?’

‘So he says.’

‘Go on,’ said Tom, thinking it sounded like the screenplay of a cheap thriller.

‘They broke from the forest as darkness fell. Treeves says he didn’t recognize the road they then travelled for two or three hours before entering a long, tree-lined drive that suggested the approach to a large house. They halted before there was any sign of lights ahead. Treeves then realized there was another truck backing up to his.’

‘That’s where the stuff was transferred. I guess three men could do it without much trouble. Did they disable their prisoner then?’

‘When they were ready to drive off. In the darkness he didn’t see the blow coming. Next thing he knew he was lying on a sofa with two irate Germans bending over him.’

Tom sighed. ‘Everything points to the hijackers being a local trio. They knew we were on the move yesterday, they knew the forest tracks well, and it’s likely they also knew the Haufmann place has a long approach hidden from the road. Ideal for their purpose.’ Giving a twisted smile, he said, ‘We’ll pass the buck back to Krenkel as fast as his guys passed it to us. They can check the whereabouts yesterday of their known gangs with contacts over the border.’

‘This was a gang with very kind hearts,’ put in Prentiss with an angelic expression. ‘They brought along a lovely padded sleeping-bag so their victim would be snug and warm until he recovered.’

‘And they ensured they wouldn’t split his skull by coshing him with a sock filled with sand,’ added Jakes.

Tom frowned. ‘Say that again?’

‘Herr Haufmann found it in the truck beside Treeves. A socking great sock filled with grit.’

The Medical Officer’s sons had contrasting personalities. Ten-year-old James Clarkson was forthright and assured to the brink of arrogance, like his father. His brother Daniel, younger by two years, seemed more deeply affected by last night’s drama. He sat quietly, allowing James to answer Max’s questions. Mrs Clarkson had taken their teenage daughters to a small Christmas market specializing in hand-crafted tree decorations. The Major sat in on the interview but refrained from interrupting, which somewhat surprised Max.

After breaking the ice with general questions about the party, which of their friends were there and what costumes they wore, Max asked, ‘Do you remember seeing anyone on the steps or in the corridor when you went up to the toilet?’

‘No,’ James answered firmly.

‘Not even a distant glimpse?’

‘No.’

‘How about footsteps, the sound of someone who was maybe out of sight?’

‘No, nothing.’

‘Did you notice at what point Kevin left the main hall, how long before you did, for instance?’

‘We were involved in team competitions most of the time.’

‘Or eating pizzas and stuff,’ put in Daniel.

Max paused a moment, assessing them before asking carefully, ‘Was there any reason why you went upstairs together, apart from the obvious one?’

The boys exchanged glances with their father, then James said quietly, ‘Dan’s a bit nervous of empty corridors. They can look a bit creepy at night. Good thing we were together to find what we did. We thought he was dead. All that blood!’

‘Kevin is going to be fine. I’ve just seen him in the hospital ward. There was blood because he unfortunately fell on his face, cutting his lip and causing a heavy nose bleed.’ Max then broached the crux of his questioning. ‘We think whoever attacked Kevin only meant to frighten him. Now, you both go to school with Kevin. He’ll be in a more senior class, but you’ll know him well enough to be able to tell me if he’s fallen out badly with any other boy. I don’t mean a short difference of opinion, more a long-term serious hostility.’

Four dark eyes just gazed back at him, so he elaborated. ‘Has there been trouble over a girlfriend, for instance? Or a dispute over ownership of something reasonably valuable? Mobile phone, iPod?’

Still no response. ‘You can’t think of anyone at school who would do that to Kevin as a warning to give up his claim to something?’

James tried to be helpful. ‘You mean had Kev stolen something and refused to give it back?’

Max smiled to soften the moment. ‘I’m sure Kevin wouldn’t do that. I just want to find out if anyone at school constantly picks on him. A bully. Leader of a tough group, perhaps.’

‘That wouldn’t happen,’ James replied with certainty. ‘Kev has cred. He’s leader of Swinga Kat.’

Max tried to understand that, then asked, ‘Would you please explain?’

‘He’s the lead guitar and vocalist of the group.’ Sensing that he was dealing with an old, out-of-touch person here, the boy explained further. ‘Kevin’s formed a group with his mates. It’s called Swinga Kat. Most of us think they’re pretty cool. Even the toughies.’ He frowned. ‘I really don’t think anyone at school would want to hurt him that way.’

Max changed direction. ‘When you both discovered Kevin you ran immediately to tell Sergeant-Major Fellowes. Did you happen to notice if all the other helpers were still in the main hall?’

‘Not really,’ said James frankly. ‘We were upset. We thought he was dead.’

‘Yes, of course. You must feel better now you know Kevin will soon be up and about again.’ Max stood. ‘Thank you, boys. You’ve been very helpful.’

Major Clarkson rose to show him out and closed the door leading from the sitting-room to the hall so they could speak privately. ‘Are you seriously considering an assault by another boy?’

Max turned to him, resenting the scepticism in the doctor’s tone. ‘We have to consider every possibility. The weapon could easily be wielded by a lad nearing his teens.’

Clarkson held open the door. ‘I thought you’d know knives are the must-have weapons for schoolboys.’

Max would not let that pass. ‘On the last investigation during which our paths crossed, you accused me of telling you how to do your job and assured me you wouldn’t dream of telling me how to do mine.’

Clarkson almost smiled, but not quite. ‘Point taken. I’ll be in touch if my boys recall anything useful later.’

Max was halfway down the path when a high voice called to him. Young Daniel stood in the doorway pressing against his father’s side.

‘I’ve just thought,’ he said. ‘There could have been someone there. A lady could have hidden in their toilets next door, and we wouldn’t ever go in there to notice her.’

Smiling at the boy, Max said, ‘I think you’ve just earned some cred yourself, Daniel. That’s a very astute observation.’

Deciding to have lunch, Max called Tom from his car before heading for the Mess. When Tom picked up he asked, ‘Finished with McRitchie?’

‘Not by a long chalk. He’s off my list of suspects for the assault, but I don’t like his attitude with those girls. Or his callousness towards what happened to his son. I’m at Headquarters, by the way. Treeves has turned up alive and well.’

‘He’s there being questioned?’

‘No, sir. He was dumped at the property of an international financial adviser whose wife is a doctor. They found him in the truck early this morning and took him in. He called in from there. I’ve contacted our boys near the border. They’ll pick him up and hand him over to Stubble and Meacher when they manage to push through to them. Driving conditions are very hazardous, so they might have to delay their return until the blizzard dies down.’

‘What’s the story, Tom?’

‘Of the cock and bull variety judging by what Treeves told Sergeant Jakes. Without a doubt our stuff’s in Holland now, and if Treeves wasn’t involved I’m a Dutchman’s uncle.’

‘Have you contacted Krenkel?’

‘Just about to, but we can’t take it far until we have Treeves here and get a full statement. Any useful info from the Clarkson boys?’

‘Only that Kevin is popular with his peers. We’re unlikely to be looking for a school bully on this. I’m more inclined to pursue Beeny’s frustrated sex offender theory. The location of the assault lends strength to that, and one could say the weapon has phallic symbolism.’

‘On that, sir, if our two assault cases hadn’t occurred miles apart on the same night, I’d say there’s a nutter running around with phallic symbols as weapons. Treeves claims he was knocked cold by a sand-filled sock.’

‘Strange coincidence! Maybe they’re the latest must-haves. Remind me to tell Major Clarkson. I’m going to grab some lunch before I come over. I want the statements given by the adults attending last night checked over. We should look into their backgrounds.’

‘Some of the team have called in to say they’ve gone as far as they can on questioning the kids, so they’re coming in.’

‘Good. They can work on it. Then we’ll consolidate info collected so far and explore the most likely avenues. My guts are hinting that the McRitchie case will prove more complex than it appears.’

‘Just what we need in the run up to Christmas.’

‘It was ever thus in this job, Tom.’ He hesitated, then asked, ‘Have you ever heard of something called Swinga Kat?’

‘Of course. Listen to it all the time. It’s a pretty cool pop group.’

Aware of the amusement in his tone, Max said, ‘And you’re a pretty cool liar, Sar’nt-Major.’

Lunch took the traditional Sunday form expected by British officers. Having been deprived of a late dinner last night, Max decided he deserved the luxury of doing it full justice. The tale of Treeves and the sand-filled sock could wait an extra half an hour.

Gazing through the windows at the madly swirling snow while he enjoyed his soup, Max reflected on Daniel Clarkson’s afterthought. Anyone could have hidden in the women’s toilet on hearing the brothers approach, then left when they ran for help. An adult male assailant would not have Daniel’s scruples about entering a forbidden place. But why leave the weapon there to be tested for fingerprints that would incriminate?

‘Hallo. You’re our new mess member, aren’t you?’

Max came to from his thoughts to see a young, curvaceous redhead smiling down at him. Her uniform bore two pips on each shoulder and the scarlet duty officer’s lanyard. He half rose, but she waggled well-manicured fingers to dissuade him and took the seat facing him.

‘Mind if I join you and get acquainted? I’m Lucy Farmer.’

‘Max Rydal . . . and please do,’ he replied, wondering at the stroke of luck that sent to him the subaltern who had helped at the party. Pity she was a possible suspect. She was very easy on the eye.

‘You’re with SIB, aren’t you? We’ve never had a detective among us before.’

She had an upper class accent and frank green eyes that reflected her smile. Unfortunately, her overture strengthened his feeling of being on duty even when off duty, living in-mess as he was now obliged to do.

‘I don’t detect during meals.’ He tried to inject warm humour into the words, but apparently failed.

‘Oh dear, did I sound like a police groupie?’

Her alluring chuckle coaxed a smile from him then. ‘A police groupie! Good God, are there such creatures?’

‘Bound to be. Detecting has been glamorized by Inspectors Morse, Frost and Barnaby on TV.’

Max’s roast beef and her soup were brought at that point, causing a conversational hiatus. When the steward departed, Lucy looked at Max eagerly.

‘I suppose you’ll want my observations on last night’s ghastly end to the kids’ party.’

‘Not over the lunch table.’

She pulled a face but still managed to look attractive. ‘Boobed again! Sorry.’

‘If you’re not yet acquainted with Ben Steele of the Cumberland Rifles, I must introduce you,’ Max said dryly, starting on his beef.

‘Explain, please.’

‘He took too keen an interest in a case we investigated back in April.’

‘I was in the UK then. Is that your tactful way of saying he meddled?’

‘So how long have you been here in Germany?’ he responded pointedly.

‘OK, I give in,’ she said with another chuckle, ‘but you will want to hear my account of last night, won’t you?’

‘Someone will contact you officially later today. Will this be your first experience of a German Christmas, Lucy?’

‘Oh no!’ She finally tasted her soup. ‘My older sister is a ballerina with a touring company based in Brussels. They sometimes stage The Nutcracker here during the festive period. The parents and I twice came over to see her dance, then went on to ski.’

‘What does a ballerina think of your chosen career?’ he asked with real interest.

‘Oh, we both consider the other one crazy. She shudders at the thought of my wearing army boots and participating in mock battles, but I tell you, what her profession does to her feet and body is far worse than the most gruelling exercise has done to mine. She’s twenty-five, but her bones and muscles have suffered the wear and tear of someone twice that age.’ She shrugged. ‘She simply lives to dance.’

‘Do you live for the army?’

She gave a bright smile. ‘I’m much more down to earth. My interests are many and varied.’

‘Two being skiing and watching TV detectives.’

Her smile widened. ‘You’re nice. I was so afraid you’d be grim and judgemental. Look, Max, these days it’s possible for women to do almost anything they choose. It’s all out there, and I mean to take up every opportunity that offers itself.’

The lunch hour passed very swiftly as Max listened to her enthusiastic opinions on any subject he raised, and was not a little charmed by her. By the time they parted he knew there was one of the adults present at the party whose background now did not need to be checked. Not really detecting over the lunch table, was it? Just making friends with another mess member.