Scotch Mist

The Major looked hollow-cheeked and red-eyed, and invited Max inside as brusquely as if he were an offender coming before him for a reprimand. Max gritted his teeth as he followed him to a room set up as an office, and told himself the man was under stress because his son was suffering. Although there were two padded chairs as well as a chintz-covered box seat, they remained standing. Max began by enquiring about the progress of young Gavin, and received a bitter reply.

‘He’ll be scarred for life. A boy of fourteen years faces resembling a monster for the rest of his days. So what have you done about apprehending the maniac who’s done that to him?’

Choosing words carefully, Max explained that they had done all that was possible so far. ‘My team conducted interviews well into the early hours, sir, and they’re continuing to do so this morning. Captain Knott’s explosives experts are presently evaluating any evidence scattered around the stadium, and they’ll shortly be able to tell us what caused the explosion. Once we have that, progress will speed up.’

‘I sincerely hope so,’ Crawford said icily. ‘I’ve given orders for every local resident we employ to be intensively questioned by Redcaps before being allowed entry.’ He picked up a ruler and began slapping it against the palm of his other hand. ‘I’ve never approved of having civilians on strength. We’re a unique Force which knows best how to look after itself on every level. These nine-to-five Fritzes can possibly handle what’s needed at a manufacturing company’s site, but they’re totally wrong on a military base. They simply don’t understand us.’

Max wondered where the interview was heading. ‘They’re doing those jobs the Army is unable to staff in these days of low manning levels. They leave our troops free to concentrate on active service.’

‘I know all that, man! The serving women traditionally undertook all the supportive roles – catering, clerking, chauffering, store keeping – and it worked smoothly. Now they want to do everything the men do, including active service, so we have to pay civilians to replace them.’ The ruler landed on the desk with a clatter. ‘You know where you are with fighting men. The rules are clear. But civilians! They come in here and behave just as they like.’

‘Sir, we have no evidence that a local employee was involved in last night’s disaster,’ said Max, trying to get the conversation back on track.

Major Crawford regarded him with impatience. ‘Are you forgetting the fact that we fought two wars against these people?’

‘I’ll keep an open mind until the explosives boys come up with their professional opinion after studying the debris. Rest assured the blame will be laid appropriately. I’ll keep you informed throughout, sir,’ Max replied firmly, ending the meeting by moving towards the door.

Driving away Max wondered why he had been summoned by this prejudiced officer. He had to assume Crawford wanted the state of high alert because the man himself was enforcing intensive vetting by Maddox’s men at the main gate. Apart from that there had been no instructions, no real interest in what the SIB team planned to do once they had the vital information from Captain Knott’s experts. Could Crawford truly believe a local civilian working on the base still regarded his employers as wartime enemies?

On the point of laughing that off, Max remembered Tom’s directive to suss out any soldier who might have links with the neo-Nazi groups undeniably active in the area. Would this case have to be handed to Klaus Krenkel, Commander of the local Polizei squad? If the perpetrator was German the prosecution would have to be handled by his men even though the victims were British military personnel and their families.

Max was inclined to believe they had on their hands another case of a soldier, or soldiers, making some kind of statement. Possibly one more deadly than they had intended. Mrs McTavish’s death now put it in the top league of criminal acts. Expressing condolences was Miles Crawford’s responsibility in Colonel Trelawney’s absence. Max hoped the Major would not suggest to the bereaved husband that she had been deliberately killed by a Nazi sympathiser.

The sudden reflection that Eva McTavish had been killed only because she had come to stay with friends a week before her husband’s regiment was due to march in caused Max to pull up by the Recreation Centre and call Tom’s mobile. He took a while to answer against a background of shouts and metallic clattering.

‘Problems?’

‘Can you recall offhand the name of the family Mrs McTavish was staying with?’

‘Uh, Greene, with an e. He’s a sergeant in the West Wilts presently in Afghanistan. Are you on to something?’

‘Just a stray thought. I have a gut feeling this case is going to lead us in some odd directions, and this is one of them. Where are you?’

‘The Armoury, checking if they have anything missing.’ He gave a short laugh. ‘They’re running around like headless chickens.’

‘I’ll get back to you with anything useful.’

‘Ditto.’

Another call, this time to Headquarters where Sergeant Bob Prentiss was on duty, gave Max the Greenes’ address, and he made a three-point turn to head towards the sergeants’ married quarters. The woman who opened the door to him was tall, slender and very striking. Stylishly cropped black hair and pale skin accentuated chocolate brown eyes that surveyed him frankly as he identified himself and asked if he could speak to her about Eva McTavish.

‘Aye, come in.’ She led the way through a short corridor to the living room. ‘I guessed a body would be wanting words with me, but you’re very quick off the mark,’ she added in an attractive Scottish brogue.

Max cast a swift encompassing glance at the room sporting bright colours that individualized the standard MoD furniture, then asked quietly, ‘Have you been told that your friend has died?’

She nodded. ‘Hector called me on the instant, blathering, of course. Crocodile tears! Take a seat. I’ll make coffee . . . or would you prefer a dram?’

Taken aback by her calm manner in the face of her friend’s sudden death, Max said, ‘Coffee would be welcome.’

Crocodile tears? What lay behind that contemptuous phrase, he wondered as he studied the room further in her absence. The colour was provided by throws of complicated design on the chairs and sofa, and by unusual pictures which were actually framed squares of similar fabric. Interesting.

He grew aware of another presence and turned towards the door. At the foot of the stairs stood a girl of around three years, with black curls and big eyes that studied him as frankly as her mother had.

‘Hallo,’ he said.

‘Who are you?’ she asked with interest.

‘I’m Max. Who are you?’

She gave no reply, simply crossed the room and climbed on his lap with total confidence. Although charmed by this doll-like child Max thought her trust should be curbed before it led to problems. He intended to say as much to her mother, but she then entered with a tray and smiled.

‘I see Jenny has adopted you. She misses Billy so much she sees a substitute daddy in any male visitor.’ She addressed her daughter. ‘Offer your friend a biscuit, darling.’

‘He’s called Max.’ She turned her dark eyes up to him. ‘Shall we have biscuits?’

Still charmed, he said, ‘Only if they’re my favourites.’

‘What are they?’

Seeing a couple of custard creams on the plate, he named them. She shook her head. ‘No, they’re my favrits. You must have the others.’

Her mother admonished her. ‘Captain Rydal is a guest. He must be given first choice.’

Max felt the purpose of this meeting was being undermined by this enchanting pair. The woman did not seem upset by the death of a friend who had been her house guest for the past week. His attempts to unseat the child met with resistance, so he spoke over her curly hair as she munched a custard cream.

‘Mrs Greene, I . . .’

‘Jean.’ She smiled. ‘Jean Greene. Quite a mouthful, I know, but I had a school friend called Joyce who married a Frederick Joyce, which is even worse. I’ll put your coffee on this side table where you’ll be able to manage quite well.’

He waited until she settled on the sofa with her own mug of coffee. ‘This isn’t a social call, Jean. I’m here to get from you a few details about Mrs McTavish who was hit by flying debris from the bonfire. SIB is investigating the cause of the explosion so we tend to explore every avenue, however unlikely. I shall be speaking to Pipe Major McTavish in a while, but as he only came on base yesterday few people already here know the couple. I’d like you to put me in the picture. You made a comment just now that suggests they weren’t close, and you don’t appear to be too deeply upset over her death. Why did you invite her to stay with you to await her husband’s arrival from the US with the band?’

Jean leaned back in relaxed manner and nibbled a biscuit. ‘She invited herself, Max. With Billy away I had no solid reason to refuse. We were schoolfellows keeping in contact at Christmas and birthdays, that’s all. Her email came out of the blue and, as I said, it would have made things awkward to deny her. She was going to be living here and I didn’t want to start off on the wrong foot. Time for plain speaking when she had settled in.’

She sipped her coffee, then selected another biscuit. ‘She’s been aware of my business career so I intended to use it as a means of shedding her as soon as she had made other friends.’

‘What kind of business?’ he asked with interest.

She waved a hand at the room. ‘Before I married Billy I ran a village store selling furnishings – blankets, throws, cushions, shawls, wall decorations all designed from fabrics woven by local women in their homes. Cottage industry. I inherited the business from an aunt, and soon developed a mail order outlet. It took off almost immediately with growing sales to the US.’

She smiled again. It was a very beguiling smile. ‘I was set to marry the local doctor and settle in the village, then I met Billy and knew at once that he was the one. Another of my school friends is managing the shop for me and I go home every three months to discuss new products and to meet important customers. I’ve recruited several here in town. You’ll find our goods in Gunters and in Petit Bijou.’

Once again Max felt his command of the meeting was being undermined, and he wondered about Billy Greene who had made such an instant impact on this woman.

‘While Eva McTavish was with you did she discuss the state of her marriage at all?’

‘Aye, non-stop. She made the mistake of taking on the boy from next door without playing the field first. Very unwise. I suppose it worked well enough at the start. He wore big boots and she was a handy doormat.’

Sitting with a pretty child snuggled against his shoulder while listening to a vivacious woman who had a way with words, Max was momentarily saddened by memories of his wife Susan and their unborn son they had already named Alexander, who had died in a road accident. There could have been a boy on his knee, and the woman he had known at once was the one sitting with him.

‘Is something wrong?’

The words reached him and he again focussed on the stranger on the sofa. ‘Was he ever violent with her?’

‘With words, not actions. Hector can blaspheme for Scotland. Even as a boy. I suppose his real love is music; the pipes. Eva was just there to get his meals, keep his togs clean and satisfy him in bed.’

‘And did she, so far as you know?’

‘Aye, surely. He’s a man whose needs are basic; no frills. It would never occur to him to wonder if she was satisfied.’ Her eyebrows rose expressively. ‘Climb into bed, get a quick fix, turn over and fall asleep dreaming of treble clefs.’

Max had to smile. ‘You put it very succinctly. It probably explains why Eva was watching fireworks instead of spending the evening with her newly arrived husband. You and Jenny had a lucky escape last night.’

She shook her head. ‘We weren’t there. Jenny hates fireworks. The bangs frighten her, and so do sudden explosions of colour in the sky. Eva went on her own.’

‘I see. Was she intending to join her husband afterwards?’

‘No. She told me their accommodation hadn’t yet been allocated. I don’t know how true that was but I intended to be rid of her today.’ She frowned, and looked disturbed for the first time. ‘Oh dear, poor Eva! Such a stupid termination of a life so shallowly lived. It’s said we’re all born to play a part on the world’s stage, but that sad girl stayed in the wings.’

Caught up in her terminology, Max said, ‘Perhaps she was the prompter that ensured Hector played his part faultlessly.’

‘Perhaps, and maybe they weren’t crocodile tears he was shedding and his world really has come tumbling down. Oh, dear God, Eva’s luggage is upstairs in the spare room. What shall I do about it?’

‘I’ll arrange for someone to collect it and give it to McTavish when he’s ready for it.’ It was the moment for him to leave, but Max realized Jenny had fallen asleep so he struggled to rise from the chair, still holding her.

Jean chuckled. ‘Don’t worry about waking her. She cat naps all the time.’

He succeeded in arranging the still sleeping girl on the seat he had just vacated, however, and departed with guilty reluctance which he managed to dispel by reminding himself he had not been there to interview an actual suspect. And he had gained some interesting facts about Hector McTavish.

Deciding to have an early lunch in the Officers’ Mess of which he was a member, his curiosity about the absent Billy Greene was interrupted by the ring of his mobile. He reached out to connect and heard Tom say, ‘Nothing missing from the Armoury.’

‘Bit quick off the mark to offer that guarantee, aren’t they?’

‘They had a very recent stocktake, and everything they checked out since then is safely back. I’m off to interview someone at Max-ee-million, the fireworks manufacturer. Anything on McTavish?’

‘Zilch.’

‘How did it go with Major Crawford?’

‘As bloody-minded as usual and understandably angry about the damage to his son. Any news from the explosives team yet?’

‘They’ll let us know as soon as.’

‘Hmm, we’re walking through treacle until we get something from them.’

Parking at the Mess, Max called George Maddox and arranged for a Redcap to collect Eva McTavish’s things and hold them in store, then he went to the cloakroom to spruce himself up before walking through to the dining room. Spotting Clare in a far corner he collected a plate of braised beef, poured himself a large glass of water, then crossed to sit with her.

‘Hi! Your car wasn’t there when I went home around three a.m., nor when I left this morning.’

‘Ha, checking up on me, Mr Detective? I had a few hours’ sleep on the camp bed at the surgery. We had five children in overnight, two women with badly burned hands and a lance corporal with injuries to his eyes. Luckily, his sight won’t be permanently affected.’

‘Any chance of David Culdrow getting back to work yet, to reduce your hours?’ Max asked, sitting beside her and starting on his meal. ‘You look completely washed out.’

‘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.’

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.’

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.’

Max changed direction. ‘When were you and your mates last on exercise?’ Mooney looked bewildered. ‘Answer the question, man!’

‘Last month we was on mock manoeuvres. We didn’t make no scarecrow then.’

‘When you returned to base how much of your ammo did you hand in?’

Greenish-brown eyes widened in tardy understanding. ‘Every bit I signed out, sir,’ he added as if that made his statement more veritable.

‘How about other times when you’ve been issued with items from the Armoury?’

That really got to Mooney. ‘I need to speak to the Platoon Commander.’

‘Why?’

‘You’re charging me with what I haven’t done. I know my rights. I’m entitled to have my Platoon Commander here.’

Max leaned back and surveyed him with dislike. There were born soldiers, and mediocre soldiers who nevertheless put all they had into the job. What he had no time for were men who took and gave nothing in return. Uniformed layabouts, in his opinion.

‘You want the support of the officer you parodied as a scarecrow and put on a bonfire to burn? As a joke.’

Mooney took a deep breath and began a stumbling defence. ‘We didn’t mean anything by it. Second Lieutenant Freeman came just five weeks ago and he started laying into us like we was useless. Well, we didn’t like it. Lieutenant Cummings what was here before never did that. The scarecrow was just our way of making a protest.’

‘And “laying into you” is Second Lieutenant Freeman’s method of making his protest over your lack of effort and dedication, I suspect. He knows his rights, one of which is to expect maximum effort from everyone in his platoon.’ Max looked down at the open file on the desk. ‘On your way out tell Rule he’s next.’

‘But what about . . . ?’

Max looked back at him with narrowed eyes. ‘I see why you’re having a rough time of it. You can’t even respond to my simple command. In a war situation you’d be a dead loss, with the emphasis on dead. Learn to behave like a soldier and you might eventually be of some use to your platoon. Now, go out there and tell Rule I want him in here next,’ he ordered in tones that brooked no further argument.

The other interviews followed similar lines. There was always someone in every platoon who failed to pull his weight. Freeman was unfortunate enough to have four of them. Max swiftly assessed their lack of culpability regarding the explosion, but he hoped he had frightened them enough to improve their attitude. It was probably a vain hope.

He gave this opinion to the young subaltern, who had managed to retrieve his report along with some self-confidence, but their conversation was cut short by a call on Max’s mobile. He left the building to hear what George Maddox had to say.

‘We have a result regarding the explosive material, sir. Are you able to come to the Sports Ground?’

‘On way,’ said Max with enthusiasm. This information would at least break the stalemate they presently had.

When he reached the Sports Ground he walked through to the spot where the bonfire had stood and found a small group studying a collection of tiny fragments spread on a sheet of plastic. Tom was already there in discussion with the experts who had been scouring the area for evidence.

‘So, what’s the verdict?’ he asked, joining them.

‘It was an improvised explosive device, sir.’

Max was taken aback. ‘So we’re looking for someone who’s served in Afghanistan and knows a hell of a lot about those things. An explosives expert.’

‘Not necessarily,’ came the defensive retort from one such expert. ‘Anyone can access the Internet and find out how to make a bomb.’

Max gave a grim smile. ‘I agree, but we’re on a military establishment and the military know a bloody sight more about exploding devices than the Internet.’