TWO

Quartermaster 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?’

It was almost two a.m. when Tom crept upstairs to collect a couple of blankets before settling on the sofa for what remained of the night. Sleep was a long time coming. They were treating the incident as a vicious act by an unbalanced soldier with a need to make a statement, but suppose there really was an active terrorist with access to the base who would strike at every opportunity. How would they ever flush him out? Was his own family safe here?

He awoke unrested and worried, had to compete for a shower, then shaved to the accompaniment of two different pop groups vying for volume supremacy. His normal routine was to rise early enough to claim the bathroom, before descending to the quiet haven of the kitchen. This morning he had been caught up in the daily procession of females in varying stages of undress going from bedrooms to bathroom while nattering non-stop. Before long there would be infant wails added to the chorus. It did not bear thinking about when he had so much on his mind.

Worse was to come. Sitting in a row at the breakfast bar, with bowls of cereal topped with sliced banana, his daughters wanted an account of last night’s drama which they could relate to their classmates with face-saving one-upmanship. They had been very disgruntled over having been sent home so peremptorily when other children had been there for the full experience. They needed inside information to compensate for that.

‘You’d like to have been burned and cut, would you?’ Tom demanded across the table.

Gina said boldly, ‘It was only minor stuff. We know all about it from our friends who’ve texted. They’re all well enough to get to school today.’

‘Some children won’t be going. Gavin Crawford, for one. He’s in hospital with serious damage to his head and face. His hair caught alight. He’s very badly burned.’ There was concentrated cereal eating until Tom added, ‘It seems likely that something unsuitable was mistakenly included in the mass of material supplied from various stores on the base. Until we conduct a full search of the area today we won’t know what that was, and who was responsible. As soon as we know, I’ll tell you.’

‘John Cassidy says it was put there by a suicide bomber,’ said Gina, still resentful over missing the excitement.

‘A suicide bomber who wasn’t killed when it went off?’ put in Nora. ‘John Cassidy will have to think more intelligently than that if he’s going to be a thriller writer.’

‘He’s changed his mind, Mum. He’s going to be a film cameraman.’

‘A much better idea.’ Nora left her seat abruptly, and could then be heard vomiting in the adjacent cloakroom.

After a while, Beth asked, ‘Is Mum all right? She keeps being sick.’

‘This is the third morning running,’ put in Maggie.

‘Perhaps she should see Captain Goodey, Dad,’ said Beth.

‘Yes, she was in a real state last night,’ added Gina. ‘It’s not like her. She’s usually so sensible when there’s any kind of problem.’

Maggie pushed aside her cereal bowl and reached for the toast. ‘It’s probably something she’s eating for breakfast.’

‘No, it isn’t. I’m pregnant.’ Nora had appeared at the kitchen door, and she crossed to stand behind Tom to put a hand on his shoulder. ‘We don’t know which yet, but next year you’ll have a brother or sister.’

There was a stunned silence. Maggie dropped the toast as if it was red hot; Gina returned her full spoon to her bowl. Both girls stared in disbelief which gradually changed to deep embarrassment, then to undisguised disgust.

‘How lovely!’ cried Beth. ‘A puppy and a baby.’

As Tom drove to the base Beth’s words depressed him further. She viewed a new sibling with the same pleasure she accorded the adopted puppy. If only a baby brought as little disruption to routine as a young dog. His initial dismay at the prospect returned. How would Nora cope with it all? Maggie was into her teens; Gina was fast approaching them. Could they be relied on to give more help in the home when they so obviously felt alienated by the evidence that he and Nora still ‘did it’. Even while they slept in rooms just across the corridor! He foresaw a prickly time ahead unless Nora managed to talk them round, which he somehow doubted after this morning’s reaction to the news.

The girls were each two years apart, so the elder pair had been too young to think beyond the fact that there was a new baby in their mother’s tummy. They were now old enough to know how the babies got there. Beth’s caring temperament allowed her to isolate the joy of a brother or sister who would become the youngest in her place. The naturalist of the family she took procreation in her stride, with no thought of grunting and sighing in the bedroom next to hers.

After they had left to catch the school bus – Maggie and Gina without kissing their parents, and Beth thinking up names for the baby – Tom had accused Nora of breaking the news at a very inappropriate moment. They had been on the brink of a row when Nora had to rush to the cloakroom again, which made Tom feel he was behaving like a selfish brute. In typical male fashion he departed for work in the certain belief that she would prefer to be alone. After all, pregnancy was a woman’s thing, and he had to find whoever had put lives at risk last night.

When he reached Headquarters he found the entire team already assembled, and Max there in his office making a phone call. Eager to get started, Tom brought up to date those who had not been present at the Guy Fawkes event, then he posted on the board the names of everyone who had been involved in building the bonfire and who had supplied material from various regimental stores.

‘Those with a cross beside them were interviewed last night and appeared clean. They can be questioned again if anything comes up to cast doubt on their statements. I want the rest of these people interviewed today, and I want lists of what was sent out from each QM Stores, how it was transported and what actually arrived at the Sports Ground. I want details of who took tea breaks and when, who left the stadium and why, and I want to know their attitude towards what they had been detailed to do. Who was resentful because it prevented fulfilling another plan for the evening; who might have a grudge against the person they felt should have been given the job? Make a note of anyone who seems politically motivated or who’s anti-establishment. Find out who these people mix with in town; if they visit any pro-Nazi clubs or organizations.’

‘Bit drastic, isn’t it?’ complained Piercey. ‘This wasn’t a bomb under the Garrison Commander’s car; it didn’t blow up the Ops Planning Headquarters. Surely it was simply crass stupidity at a bonfire party.’

‘You think I’m overreacting?’ Tom commented coldly. ‘Ask Pipe Major McTavish, whose wife is fighting for her life in the hospital, if he thinks we should regard what happened as crass stupidity. This is a military base, the British have enemies, our troops are presently operating in countries hiding terrorists aiming to demoralize us. What occurred last night wasn’t a jolly jape, Piercey, it was a serious attempt to do just that. Do I make myself clear?’

Piercey seemed unabashed, as usual. ‘Yes, sir, I simply thought . . .’

‘Well, don’t,’ he snapped, then began posting another list of names on the board. ‘These people were involved in setting up the firework display. Again, those with crosses against them were interviewed last night. I spoke to Corporal Lines, who was not only OC fireworks he was responsible for the whole show. He was pretty well gutted because his wife had been hit by a chunk of burning wood, which set fire to the nylon scarf around her hair. She panicked and someone put out the flames by holding a blanket tightly over her head and patting it hard. She fainted.’ His mouth tightened. ‘It’s not funny, Piercey.’

The Sergeant schooled his expression. ‘No, sir.’

‘I want someone to have another session with Corporal Lines, and I suggest Connie or Heather – detectives with more understanding and wit than some of their male colleagues.’ He was more than usually irritated by the maverick sergeant today following the upset at breakfast. ‘I intend to visit the supplier of the fireworks. Lines gave me the invoice listing everything he ordered, but he admitted that he hadn’t personally checked the items in the boxes, only the labels stating the contents.’ He tapped the board. ‘Get assurances from these people that the boxes they opened did contain what they should have.’

Heather Johnson looked up from her notebook. ‘Private Brooks told me last night that he believed somebody lodged a rogue rocket in the bonfire unaware that it would react so violently, and his mate, Fiddler, told me rockets are well known for being unstable.’

Tom nodded. ‘I’m considering anything and everything, at the moment. And so should all of you. The one certainty is that an extremely volatile object was lodged inside that huge cone, and it was placed there deliberately.’

Max emerged from his office at that point, and entered the discussion. ‘Although I didn’t witness the explosion I saw the damage it caused, and there’s no doubt in my mind that the foreign object was highly unstable. I’ve been discussing it with Captain Knott of Logistics, who’s sending his explosives team along to the Sports Ground to study the evidence George and his lads have already found. They’ll join in the search of the entire area and study the findings. Captain Knott is certain his men will be able to identify the cause of the explosion from them.’ He frowned at them all. ‘Once we have that we’ll have something to work on. But that’ll be just a start. Finding the perpetrator promises to be a bloody sight more complex. It’s unfortunate that we have just absorbed the Scots – another several thousand personnel. As they only marched in during yesterday afternoon it’s highly unlikely that they could be involved, but unlikely is not impossible. One of them could have wandered in to mingle with the crowd, and inserted something while all attention was on the fireworks. As Mr Black says, we must consider everything. Right, get to it!’

Taking up mobile phones and car keys, they all left the building discussing who each of them would take as interviewees. Max headed for the shelf bearing an electric kettle and a cluster of mugs.

‘I didn’t have time for breakfast, and you look as if you need some immediate caffeine, Tom. What time did you eventually turn in?’

He wandered across to join the boss who was also a friend. ‘Too late. A case like this is very unsettling. We have no idea what we have on our hands. If it was the work of a local employee we’ll have to hand it over to the Polizei and have them swarming all over the base. If it was an act of terrorism we’ll have the Anti-Terrorist Squad doing the same. In those instances we’ll be piggy-in-the-middle, which is the worst place to be in.’

Max opened the snack tin and took out two walnut and sultana muffins, offering one to Tom before spooning instant coffee into the mugs. ‘I’ve to see Major Crawford, Deputy GC at ten. He’s come home from the hospital to change and eat breakfast, but he means to return there this afternoon. His wife’s staying with their son who was badly burned. Imagine if it had been one of your girls, Tom.’

He nodded gloomily, thinking of their hostility this morning. What if something happened to them before the issue of a new baby was resolved?

As Max poured water in the mugs the telephone in his office rang. ‘Do the coffee while I take that,’ he said, plonking the kettle down and heading to the small partitioned area he used as his own domain.

Tom was still brooding over Maggie and Gina’s attitude towards their parents’ continuing sexual habits, when Max returned looking rather grim.

‘Mrs McTavish died in the early hours. We’re dealing with a case of manslaughter, or a religious or political killing. Take your pick, my friend.’