TEN

Max was furious and he made the fact obvious to Miles Crawford. ‘This is not the work of a terrorist. I thought I’d made that perfectly clear during the past fifteen minutes.’

The Deputy Garrison Commander had red anger spots on his cheeks showing he was in no mood to be thwarted. ‘What you’ve failed to make clear, Rydal, is who you imagine is responsible for these attacks. A squaddie up for some mischief? For a lark? For a touch of one-upmanship?’ All this said in a biting, derogatory tone. ‘This is out of SIB’s league, which is why I intend to call in the Anti-Terrorist Squad.’

‘Has Colonel Trelawney agreed that?’

The red colour deepened on Crawford’s cheeks. ‘He’s presently involved with high-powered NATO talks, during which I’m deputizing for him with regard to any matter concerning this base.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘You’re under my command until he returns, and I now relieve you of the duty of investigating these enemy attacks.’

Max stood his ground. ‘At least wait until tomorrow, when I can give the GC an account of the evidence we’ve collated and on which we’re working flat out. The pattern is not that of a terrorist.’

‘So you keep saying. On what experience do you base that statement? A few cases of drug abuse, theft of mess funds, marital infidelity – commonplace military crimes. You’re out of your depth here, Rydal. Be man enough to admit it.’

Desperately fighting the loss of his temper completely and giving this senior officer his frank opinion of his fitness to deputize for John Trelawney, Max said stiffly, ‘Terrorists aim to kill. The IED placed in the bonfire was constructed to do no more than make a big bang and cause the cone to collapse. Only the additional items inserted by squaddies resulted in that forceful explosion. We have been told that by Captain Knott’s experts, who aren’t out of their depth when it comes to explosives,’ he could not help adding, ‘Last night’s fire in the mess car park was set at a time when all vehicles were empty, and when it would swiftly be seen from inside the building and dealt with. The Chief Fire Officer’s report will bear that out.’ He took a deep breath. ‘At neither incident was there deliberate intent to take lives. I say yet again, the pattern is not that of a terrorist.’ Into the taut silence, he added more quietly, ‘Your son, sir, suffered injury from the outcome of something not intended to be harmful but which went badly wrong.’

The third man in that office, who had been silent after his initial greeting, now offered his opinion. ‘The bonfire incident occurred while I was settling my battalion in its new home with as few problems as possible. I’m not equipped to give a slant on SIB’s findings although, of course, a life was lost that evening. The lady will be interred at noon today and there is no belief that she died at the hands of a terrorist.

‘As for yesterday’s fire, I was there in the Mess alongside you, Miles, and witnessed the whole incident. It was alarming, certainly wicked, but I agree with Max that the prime object did not appear to be to endanger life.’

‘The building was filled with more than three hundred people,’ protested Crawford. ‘How can you say there was no threat to lives?’

‘Because there was ample time and opportunity to evacuate the Mess,’ responded Dougal Carnegie. ‘The fact that hedges standing well distant from the building were targeted surely upholds that belief. If, as Max suggests, the two incidents are linked with the possibility of more to come, that’s a highly disturbing prospect.’

He turned to Max, grim-faced. ‘In your resumé you mentioned the coincidental timing of these incidents with the advent of the Drumdorran Fusiliers. I’m extremely concerned by that theory and, because of that alone, I support your request to leave the status quo until Colonel Trelawney gets back tomorrow.’ Ignoring Crawford’s gusty breath of protest, he continued. ‘You say Captain Knott will be returning with him? Good. His evidence regarding the devices used will be invaluable.’

Max countered that swiftly. ‘I haven’t requested that we do nothing until the GC gets here, just that the ATS shouldn’t be called in at this stage. My team will work throughout the weekend following up info received and analyzing those facts we already have. The coincidental timing with your arrival is only one theory of several, sir. I hope to have an in-depth report ready for Colonel Trelawney tomorrow, but SIB’s main task is to prevent another incident by tracing the perpetrator as swiftly as we can.’

The Scot stood indicating an end to this aggressive meeting, once more acting as if he was the driving force on the base rather than Miles Crawford.

‘I have a funeral to attend, gentlemen,’ he said, making for the door.

Max delayed him. ‘Major Carnegie, there seems to have been no effort made to reveal to your men the true cause of Mrs McTavish’s death. They still believe she was killed by flying debris from the bonfire.’

He stopped, half-turned towards Max and said in a pseudo-pleasant tone, ‘Do they now?’

‘It would reduce the aggro in town tonight if the facts were made public. Our uniformed boys have enough to deal with on these serious cases without having to monitor unnecessary violence in the pubs and discos.’ Seeing the glint in Carnegie’s eyes, he added firmly, ‘At our previous meeting on the subject you suggested that we should all make every effort to work together amicably.’

The glint became a laser beam of real anger. ‘And there was I under the impression that it’s Major Crawford who is deputizing for the Garrison Commander!’ With that shot he departed.

‘That man’s a law unto himself,’ Max told George Maddox fiercely when he called in at the RMP post en route to Headquarters. ‘Due to him tonight’s brawls in town will be unnecessarily violent.’

‘I’m ready for that, sir. Extra cruising patrols. We want to be on the spot before the Polizei are called; deal with our guys ourselves. Saves a lot of hassle in the law courts.’

Still angered by Carnegie’s avoidance of the issue of Eva McTavish’s death, Max grunted agreement. Law-breaking outside the base or in any way affecting German nationals had to be dealt with by the local police. Like all British military personnel, Max preferred to keep everything within their closed ranks. Defend their own, whatever the charge against them. An age-old tradition in any fighting force.

‘George, if Chummy is making some kind of protest against our new Scottish residents what are the chances of him targeting the funeral?’ He glanced at the standard MOD clock on the wall above George’s head. ‘An hour from now the cortège will be arriving at the Garrison Church.’

‘Minimal, I reckon. What could he do, what would he gain?’

‘What did he gain, apart from satisfaction, from his two strikes? Find the answer to that and we’ll find him.’ He frowned. ‘I guess it’s too soon after last night’s affair to go again . . . and he’d draw the line at attacking a funeral, surely.’

‘To be on the safe side I’ve arranged for Meacher and Babs Turvey to watch from a respectful distance.’

‘Good.’ Max prepared to leave. ‘I’ve never been up a creek without a paddle, but I’ve taken a skiff up to the weir when the river was in flood and I didn’t enjoy the experience.’

George nodded. ‘I know the feeling. Helpless to fight the flow of events.’

Max glanced over his shoulder and summoned a faint smile. ‘We will do something about this once the in-fighting stops and we get full co-operation.’

‘Chummy has an issue with the Drumdorrans. It’s obvious.’

‘I wonder.’ He pulled a face. ‘I have an issue with them, but I’m not thinking of an alarm clock and dynamite in a suitcase. Yet!’

The funeral was a low-key affair. Max sat at the back of the church for the service conducted by the Drumdorrans’ own Scottish Padre, who had such a strong accent Max understood little of it. He observed the behaviour of Hector McTavish, who looked very impressive in his kilted uniform despite the raw grief etched on his face. Had Jean Greene been wrong in suggesting the marriage had been a one-sided affair? If so, why had Hector refused to reunite with his wife on Tuesday, and ignore her seventeen desperate calls from the sports stadium?

He was still reluctant to pen a report concerning a suicide. He was certain that for some reason the full facts were being suppressed. His gaze passed to the two majors in the front pew with McTavish; Carnegie and MacPherson. Iron men, both, although the medical man’s personality appeared on the surface to be more flexible. Enough to pay attention to Clare whenever the chance arose.

That thought led Max to study the women in the pew behind the two officers and Drum Major Andrew Lennox, who were there to support the bereaved husband. In contrast to her dismissive comment concerning Celtic rituals, Jean Greene had positioned herself next to an elegant woman in black who appeared to be Carnegie’s wife. Jean also wore black and presented an appearance of deep sadness which made Max’s lips curl.

That woman was certainly a creature of many parts and he was unsure which of them she played in respect of McTavish. Although she had tried to destroy the bottles that were partial proof of Eva’s bid to end her own life, Max could do nothing. Strictly speaking, the law allowed her to be charged with several counts of hindering a police investigation, but it was too petty to pursue when there was a very serious case to solve. Yet Max was irked by her duplicity which he had failed to recognize at the start. He wondered then if she had taken Jenny to the surgery for advice on her habit of falling asleep so frequently. Brenda Keane had been seriously concerned about it.

The congregation consisted of grouped Drumdorran Fusiliers who Max took to be McTavish’s fellow musicians, and a few women who were probably their wives. He, and the regular padre in a forward pew, were the only ‘outsiders’ present, and Max slipped out when the coffin was about to be lifted by the pall-bearers. He recognized Corporals Meacher and Babs Turvey hovering on the edge of the churchyard, and joined them as the piper began the lament.

The interment was performed with due respect and the mourners then departed, leaving at the graveside just the widower, Carnegie, MacPherson, the Scottish padre, Mrs Carnegie and Jean Greene. Max pursed his lips speculatively. Just what was that woman’s relationship with McTavish?

The reports produced at the late afternoon briefing completed Max’s day of frustration. Having been informed of the Fire Officer’s report the team had switched attention to soldiers with engineering, electrical or weaponry skill. Being Saturday, they had only traced a small number to question about their whereabouts on the previous evening, and on Tuesday. Each person questioned was able to produce enough evidence to prove he was not the man they sought.

Bearing in mind the proposed meeting with Colonel Trelawney on the morrow, Max resignedly told them all to go off duty, but to remain on call in case there should be another incident.

‘Make the most of the short break,’ he warned. ‘There’s a heavy time ahead of us, that’s for sure.’

Left alone with Tom, he said with exasperation. ‘There’s a curtain of mist hiding what ought to be obvious about this. If we could just clear it . . .’

‘We’ll go at it full power on Monday. It’ll be possible to question whoever we wish then. I’d say it’s unlikely there’ll be another incident tomorrow, and the GC’ll be back in command.’

Max nodded. ‘At present there are too many people who think we’re under their command, and treat us as such. I’ll acquaint Trelawney with the facts we have, and the direction we’re set to pursue, but if there’s any suggestion of taking the case out of our hands, I’ll contact our Regional Commander.’

Taking up his car keys, he said, ‘Crawford had the effrontery to say he relieved me of the case because it was out of SIB’s league. I’ve tried to make allowances for his stress over his son, but that’s at an end after today’s meeting. As for Carnegie!’

Tom walked with him to the main entrance. ‘The GC will sort them both. He’s dealt with worse.’

‘True. I’ve no doubt the Scot is an admirable Battalion Commander and a first-class fighting soldier. It’s his bloody-mindedness over the McTavish woman’s death I find insufferable.’

Emerging once more to haze caused by fine rain, Tom locked the door and set the security alarms before crossing with Max to where their vehicles stood glistening with wetness.

‘The truth will out. He must realize that.’

‘But what is the truth?’ asked Max doggedly.

Tom stared at him with impatience. ‘You’re not still querying the suicide verdict?’

‘That note she left would back my report.’ He unlocked the door on the passenger side of his car and opened it to drop his briefcase on the seat. ‘When Connie and I interviewed McTavish he seemed quite unfazed by his sudden loss; said it was bound to happen sooner or later because Eva was so careless with her medication. He denied any responsibility for ensuring she didn’t overdose. Her ailments, her responsibility. This morning, however, the man looked as grief-stricken as anyone I’ve seen at a graveside.’ He frowned at Tom. ‘There’s more to that death than appears on the surface.’

‘So what if there is?’ snapped Tom. ‘The woman’s now six feet under and we have a number of witnesses who saw her popping pills on Tuesday evening. For God’s sake drop it! We’ve enough to deal with on this other, more serious, case. We’ve got the weapons, but no motive or witnesses, much less suspects. I can’t come up with a reasonable course to pursue. It’s like trying to see beyond this curtain of fine rain. The answer’s there, but we won’t see it until the mist clears. Don’t cloud the issue further by attaching unnecessary importance to that woman’s demise.’

Max walked around his car, giving Tom a stormy look. ‘We both need a break. Two or three hours of dedicated rowing in the morning will revitalize my energy ready for the late afternoon meeting . . . and I suggest you sort out over the weekend the problem that’s been affecting your judgement these last few days.’

As he settled behind the wheel Max heard Tom say stiffly, ‘Yes, sir.’

Tom drove home through the misty veil unable to contain his anger. He had had very little sleep since the drama on Tuesday, and subsequent annoyances and aggravations had piled one on the other to add further stress. He had swiftly instigated a top security alert only to be told later, in derisory terms, that he had over-dramatized the translation of IED. The dynamite in a case ongoing joke failed to amuse him.

He had followed what seemed to be a hot lead by interviewing Greta Gans, then had suffered her father’s wild accusations and a stricture from Miles Crawford. The manner of Eva McTavish’s death had changed from day to day, and the fire last night further complicated all these issues. Miles Crawford ruled that they were out of their depth, the Scots were playing their own game, Max was making a mountain from the molehill of Eva’s suicide and had just now pulled rank by advising him to get his act together. Maggie and Gina were still playing up over the coming baby and he was in the right mood to sort them out.

With all that running through Tom’s head he swung his 4x4 onto the drive with a scowl on his face, thankful only to escape the shroud of fine rain. He would tackle the baby issue straight away so that he could then enjoy his meal and home comforts after two nights in the Sergeants’ Mess. He opened the front door to the sound of voices raised in argument.

‘You did, you did. Because I lent you my glitter scarf last week.’

‘I never wore it. It’s too little girly.’

‘You borrowed it. That’s what counts, so I’m going to wear your sweatshirt tonight.’

Maggie and Gina were at the foot of the stairs mounting a tug-of-war with a scarlet jumper.

‘Stop that!’ ordered Tom crisply.

They turned, startled by his arrival they had been too heated to notice. Then, when his presence registered with them, they started up the stairs abandoning their quarrel.

‘No, you don’t,’ he said. ‘Come down here. I want a serious talk with you two.’

‘We have homework to do,’ said Maggie, putting a foot on the next stair.

‘It’s Saturday. If you have homework you have all day tomorrow to do it in.’

‘I’ve promised to go round to Jilly’s to work on our joint project,’ Gina said defiantly.

‘Nobody’s going anywhere tonight. We’re going to spend an evening as a united family. Now, come down and go in to the sitting room. Put that top on the hall table. Whoever owns it can claim it later. Come on!’

They hesitated, then decided he was in no mood for rebellion and literally slunk along the wall and in to the room where Tom could hear Nora and Beth talking to each other. It was a cosy room, a family room, with a comfortable settee and chairs, a bookcase filled with well-thumbed favourite volumes, jigsaw puzzles and popular board games. Nothing fancy, just a place where they could relax and enjoy being together.

Nora looked up with a smile and gave him her usual greeting after a short absence. ‘Hallo, whoever you are.’

Beth jumped up and came to hug him. ‘We went to town to buy a bed and things for when we fetch Strudel at the end of the month. They’re in the kitchen. Come and look.’

‘Later. We’re going to have a serious talk right now.’ He saw Nora’s eyebrows rise in interrogation and gave her a firm nod in return. ‘Let’s all sit down.’

Maggie and Gina remained standing, both looking apprehensive.

‘I said sit down,’ snapped Tom. ‘I don’t want any nonsense from you two.’

The pair flopped moodily on the settee and began picking at their fingernails, which incensed Tom further.

‘Maggie, how old are you?’ he demanded. When she made no reply he repeated the question more forcefully.

‘Nearly fourteen,’ she mumbled.

‘And you, Gina, how old are you?’

Without looking up she said, ‘You know.’

‘I want to hear you tell me.’

Scratching at her jeans she took her time to say, ‘I’ll be twelve next month.’

‘Right, can either of you tell me why you’re behaving like prim old maids?’ Silence. ‘I know you’re taught the fundamentals of sexual behaviour at school, and you’re both at the age when the teachers consider that you should be made aware of the risk of experimenting with boys. Is that correct?’

They both nodded with chin against chest, still refusing to look at him.

‘That risk is that you could get pregnant. That’s the way the human animal procreates and, because our social pattern is the most complex and intelligent of the creatures on this planet, the accepted ideal is that our young are loved and cared for in a close family group. As you are,’ he added pointedly.

‘Felicity Barber and Joanne Blake – two of your sixth form girls – are about the produce babies conceived during a drunken binge at Easter. The reason for their sexual coupling was certainly not to further the human race, nor was it due to love of those boys. It was heedless, alcohol-fuelled disregard of personal pride and the consequences of something they had considered as simply part of the fun of that evening.’

He frowned, because they still refused to look up at him. ‘The lives of poor schoolchildren have been marred by irresponsible behaviour, as have the lives of four sets of parents. But what about those babies? They’ll most likely have to be cared for by their grandparents until Felicity and Joanne marry and have children with their husband. Those husbands might not want the first child to live with them, but even if they do can you imagine how the others will treat the fatherless half-brother or sister?’

Gina, more rebellious than Maggie, spoke angrily, still staring at the floor. ‘Why’re you saying all this to us? We haven’t done anything stupid.’

Conscious of young Beth sitting in the corner, Tom softened his tone slightly. ‘I’m giving you one side of the coin. The flip side is entirely different. A boy and a girl meet and something happens between them. Nobody can explain why, but the feeling they get leads them to be together whenever they can, to hold hands walking along, to kiss each other goodbye. Like you and Hans, Maggie.’

She looked up sharply at that, cheeks flushed. ‘That’s all we do.’

‘I’m sure it is. But in a few years’ time you’ll meet someone and the feeling you’ll have for him will make you want to do a lot more. Not because you’re drunk, not because it’s fun. Adult love is more intense than teen fancies, and infinitely more lasting if the right pair get together. Like Mum and me,’ he said meaningfully.

‘But you had us years ago,’ muttered Gina. ‘You’re old now.’

‘I’ll accept that remark as the foolishness of someone who’s only eleven. Do you wish you’d never been born, Gina?’

Her head came up. ‘Of course not.’

‘Do you wish Maggie and Beth hadn’t been born?’

Her cheeks reddened. ‘I never said that.’

‘Maggie, do you wish your sisters hadn’t been born?’

‘Don’t pick on me! It’s her,’ she replied, jerking her elbow into Gina’s side.

‘So I’ll take it that you two are fully aware of how you came into the world, and are comfortable with that fact.’ Silence. ‘And you’re also comfortable with how Beth arrived among us?’ Still silence. ‘Yet you’ve decided that someone waiting to become part of this united family has no right to be born and enjoy what you have; loving parents, a nice home, friends and all those things girls of your age like to have. Don’t you think that’s very selfish?’

‘That’s unfair. We haven’t said anything like that,’ cried Gina.

‘So you’re happy about having a brother or sister?’ he shot at her. The girls glanced at each other, then nodded while studying the floor again. ‘But you’re not comfortable with how it came about? Tough,’ he said in teenspeak. ‘Get this straight. Mum and I are not old. Even Granny and Grandad aren’t old. That adult love I mentioned lasts an entire lifetime, as you’ll discover, so get used to the idea and return to being acceptable Blackies instead of melodramatic, ill-mannered strangers.’

He turned to where Nora sat with a rather pale-faced Beth. ‘I’ll shower and change before we eat supper. Give me a shout when it’s ready.’

He half expected Nora to follow him to the bedroom because she had looked faintly taken aback by his ferocity, but she did not, although the glass of beer on the dresser had not been there before he went for his shower. He rarely had cause to become the heavy father and when he did he suffered slight sadness tinged with a curious suggestion of guilt. He had been involved with several instances of child molestation during his career and, like all policemen, found those cases the most distasteful of all. Girls were so vulnerable. He could more easily have given sons a dressing down. Boys were more . . . He hoped to God Nora was not carrying another girl.

That depressing possibility added weight to his sense of impotence, of being powerless to deal with any aspect of his life at the moment. He drank the beer in one draught, telling himself he was losing his grip.

Going downstairs, he headed for the nook in the hall where his scale models of famous steam engines were set out, and took up the latest edition of the enthusiasts’ magazine. Maybe he would drive away his frustrations by immersing himself in his hobby, but he sat gazing at the words on the pages taking none of it in. Then he grew aware of someone beside him and turned to see Beth. She had red-rimmed eyes and was clearly very upset. Her sisters standing behind her had also been crying.

‘You didn’t come to the kitchen to see what we bought for Strudel, Dad,’ Beth said in a wobbly voice. ‘There’s a lovely basket with a mattress, and there’s a pink blanket, and . . . and . . .’ She tailed off on a heavy sob. ‘Can’t we have the puppy now?’

Tom’s heart turned over as he reached out to her and drew her close. ‘Of course you can. Corporal Casey has told her she’s coming to live with us in time for Christmas. That’s definite. Nothing will change it.’

‘We’re sorry, Dad,’ Maggie offered in a whisper. Gina simply nodded agreement without meeting his eyes. ‘We didn’t mean to upset you and Mum.’

Feeling a new man, Tom stood and encircled them all with his outstretched arms to chivvy them gently towards the kitchen door. ‘Let’s have a look at what every cool puppy should have.’

All sunshine after the storm, Beth told him eagerly, ‘There’s also a pretend bone, a squeaky mouse and a little ball with a bell in it. D’you think she’ll like them?’

‘Certain to, sweetheart. She’ll become a true Blackie in no time.’

After an evening of fruitless brain searching followed by a restless night, Max rose early and drove to the river for his usual energetic spell in a hired skiff. It relaxed his muscles but did little to relieve his frustration. Blomfeld’s bonhomie irritated him as it never had before, and he felt an urgent need to get his thoughts on track in preparation for the meeting with Colonel Trelawney later in the day. He hoped the GC would delay it until the morning. After all, the man had been engaged in heavy talks for the past ten days, so it would be in everyone’s interest to allow him time to relax before tackling the problems here.

Returning home to shower and change Max had half-expected to see MacPherson’s Range Rover outside the apartments. It had been there last night, but gone when he had set out at dawn. If the Scot had stayed the night he must have departed very early, but there was every chance that he would return to spend time with Clare today. They seemed to have more than professional interest in each other.

She had put a note through his letter box informing him of the nature of the pills crammed into the bottle he had found in Eva’s effects; apparently they were merely a homeopathic remedy for the menopause which had either begun early or were held by her in anticipation of the onset. Quite possible for a health-obsessed woman.

At some time during the previous evening Max had decided to take Tom’s advice to close the case on Eva McTavish’s death, so he had written a report stating that she had taken her own life while the state of her mind was disturbed. He would hand that over at the end of the forthcoming meeting.

Brewing a pot of coffee, Max sat with it beside him on the small desk in the main room of his flat as he made a list of every aspect, firstly of the bonfire incident, then of the car park fire. He then looked for any matching points. There were a few, and he poured more coffee while he reviewed them.

1. The devices which had caused both incidents had been made by someone with good technical knowledge.
2. The attacks had been during the hours of darkness.
3. Neither device had been designed to maim or kill. So a statement?
4. Each had been where a large crowd of people were socializing, so the aggression was not directed against a single person.
5. Both incidents occurred after the arrival of the Drumdorrans.

Max then studied the differences.

1. The IED had been placed in the bonfire while a large number of men were in the vicinity, but the fire had been started in a car park empty of people.
2. On Tuesday evening the Drumdorrans were all on the far side of the base settling into new quarters, but on Friday the Mess was full of them.
3. The crowd at the Guy Fawkes party had consisted of soldiers and families who had lived on the base for some years; in the Officers’ Mess were military personnel only, with a good mixture of new arrivals and old hands.

Pouring more coffee and munching biscuits, Max studied these lists for some time before he came up with the facts he would give Trelawney. As he had believed from the start, these incidents had been perpetrated by someone making a statement, a protest. He was not a member of the Drumdorran Fusiliers, but the protest could be against the arrival of another regiment in an already crowded base. The present facilities were barely adequate enough for the long-term residents, and government spending cuts would not allow these to be enlarged. Protests had been voiced in the past, so this could be an escalation into violence.

The next part would be to give the GC details of action already taken and outline his proposed steps to reach a resolution. To do that Max knew he would have to read every report by the team of their interviews. Although the only fact that had jumped out of reams of paper had been Rifleman Carter’s lies about his cut hand and subsequent unofficial departure from bonfire duty, that had been a false lead and caused Tom unnecessary problems.

The interviews of families who had provided the evidence of Eva’s pill-taking might contain something that would suggest how the IED was put in the bonfire without being noticed. By reading them in the quietness of his office Max might pick up something that was not evident at the time, because the issue had been clouded by the thoughts of terrorism.

Changing into something smart enough to attend the GC’s meeting, if it was called later in the day, Max drove to the base and sat in his office with a tall stack of interview reports, prepared to stay there until he had tooth-combed through them all.

With practised expertise he cross-checked them and, after a couple of hours, he had as good a description of the construction of the bonfire as if he had been there. The only opportunity to insert an IED appeared to have been when the straw image meant to represent Second Lieutenant Freeman had been attached to the pile. Max had interviewed the four who had made it and knew they were all too unintelligent to make an explosive device, and Corporal Naish was too dedicated to constructing the perfect cone to then blow it apart.

Putting that pile aside, Max then began to read interview reports of evidence by families who had been present throughout that party evening. The emphasis had been on sightings of Eva McTavish, and Max found his doubts returning on reading the statement by a woman who said Eva had been sitting at the very back of the pavilion, making phone calls and swallowing pills.

I watched her for a while wondering if I should see if she was all right, because she looked very agitated, but I had to keep my eye on the kids with all those fireworks flying about. Then I spotted a Redcap fixing a ‘guy’ on the bonfire and thought I’d get him to check her. When the fireworks ended and we all moved from the stadium the woman had gone, and I had my hands full trying to keep the little devils in sight and well back. Good thing I did. All those people hurt. And that poor woman killed! I feel awful about it now.

Anger over the Scots’ decision to allow the belief that Eva’s life had been lost through the carelessness of garrison soldiers began to burn in Max again. These witness statements showed clearly enough the woman’s desperate state before the bonfire erupted. Where the hell had McTavish been, and why had the bastard ignored seventeen calls from the wife he had not seen for three months?

His mobile rang to interrupt this constant worry. He answered with half his mind elsewhere and briefly acknowledged the news that Colonel Trelawney would not hold the meeting until tomorrow morning. Flexing his shoulders, Max noted the time. Mid-afternoon already. Pale sunshine now filtered through the office window giving him the urge to get out in it.

Filing the reports again he left the base and drove to an area that offered hillside walks with extensive views; one of his favourite ‘thinking’ places. The fact that there was an excellent old inn just ten kilometres beyond the hills was a bonus. He felt he had reviewed all the information SIB had garnered on both the bonfire incident and the car park fire. He now needed space and silence to mentally mull them over and attempt to lift the veil that obscured the breakthrough that he sought. Switching off his mobile, he left it in the car and strode out.

Darkness fell before he reached the end of his walk, but the paths were well defined and the distant lights of the village kept him heading in the right direction. In any case, no self-respecting detective would be out late on a November afternoon without a torch in his pocket.

Max then discovered that a large number of people had also taken advantage of the sunshine to walk the hills and enjoy a hearty meal in the hostelry boasting an excellent chef. Being a single diner he was able to secure the last table for two, which was in a far corner with the view across the restaurant restricted by a wooden coat stand heavily laden with garments. He added his own topcoat, thinking this would be an ideal romantic rendezvous well hidden from curious eyes. However, he was still wrestling with facts, opinions and sightings, so an obscured nook was just what he needed.

He left the inn having enjoyed a satisfying meal and a carafe of wine, but still seeking that breakthrough that was proving so elusive. The easy run back to his apartment was hampered by the fine rain that had arrived on several evenings recently. In another month or so it would be snow, and he would have to put chains on the wheels.

Clare’s car was not in the usual parking place. She must be making another night of it with Duncan MacPherson. He thought the affair was too hot, too soon. He had pursued both Susan and Livya with that brand of urgency, and lost them. Maybe he should point that out to Clare.

A large whisky while he undressed and showered, then a CD of balalaikas playing Russian folk tunes to calm his mind ready for sleep did not produce the required effect. He lay awake wondering what he could say that would convince John Trelawney that SIB could put a stop to the violent incidents before another was launched.

Some time after the CD ended and before sleep claimed him, Max had a vague conviction that something in the reports he had scanned earlier had struck an odd note. He must sift through them again before the meeting, in the hope that it would shed enough light to strengthen his case for continuing to investigate the two attacks.

Although Max had set his alarm to an hour earlier than usual a loud, continuous ringing woke him long before the hands on his clock reached the desired time. Puzzlement lasted mere seconds before he realized someone was leaning on his doorbell. At five a.m.? Pulling on a robe over the boxer shorts he slept in, he padded to the small hallway to find out who wanted him so urgently.

On the top step of the flight leading up to the apartment stood the Regional Commander, Major Keith Pinkney. Conscious of his own dishevelled appearance, and taken aback at this early morning call, Max took too long to react appropriately.

‘We need to talk, and I’m not doing it on your doorstep,’ the visitor said waspishly.

‘No. Sorry, sir, please come in.’

By the dim light from a bedside lamp the large area that was bedroom and lounge-diner did not look suitable for a professional meeting with his boss, yet when Max switched on the main lights it looked even more unappealing. Rumpled bed, whisky bottle and glass beside it, and discarded clothes over a chair suggested dissipation.

After a swift comprehensive glance at it all, Pinkney said, ‘I suggest you stick your head under the tap, then get into some clothes while the kettle boils for the strong coffee we’ll both need. This is one hell of a tricky situation and I have to get to the bottom of it.’

Knowing that only something extremely serious would have led this man to call on him at the crack of dawn, Max’s spirits sank. Clearly, there had been another incident, with truly dire consequences this time. As he speedily freshened up and donned casual slacks with a woollen shirt, his thoughts raced speculatively and continued to do so as he made a pot of coffee. Carrying a tray through from his kitchen, he suggested that they repair to the shared lounge for their discussion.

‘It’s more comfortable there.’

‘This is fine. Sit down, Max,’ said Pinkney with new warmth in his tone. ‘We have to sort this out, man, and fast.’

Mystified by this chummy change of approach, Max sat at his desk facing his boss, who had settled in one of the easy chairs. What on earth was this all about?

Ignoring the mug of coffee beside him, the senior man embarked on an explanation of his last remark. ‘Tom Black called me at midnight to report that a child named Jenny Greene had disappeared from the garden of her home mid-afternoon. George Maddox set up a major search of the base with volunteers, once it became clear she had not simply wandered off but had been snatched.’

Alarmed, Max said, ‘Jenny has a serious problem needing medical advice.’

‘She was found asleep, wrapped in rugs, in the sports stadium at twenty-three fifteen,’ Pinkney continued heavily. ‘Unable to contact you, Tom called in the MO. and a woman from the Joint Response Team. Captain Goodey found no evidence of physical or sexual abuse, and Sergeant Kinross asked the bewildered child a few questions before a full session today.’

Pinkney frowned at Max. ‘Jenny claims the man she went off with – apparently willingly – was you, and Mrs Greene stated that you’ve shown marked interest in her daughter on several occasions.’

‘What?’

‘You were seen entering the base yesterday morning, but there was no sighting of your car leaving. Your mobile was switched off – still is, I checked – and your home number was set on voicemail. Max, unless you can provide me with proof of your whereabouts between fifteen hundred and midnight, I’m afraid you could be facing a charge of abducting and holding a child captive for eight hours.’