Scotch Mist

Keith Pinkney nodded. ‘Tom guessed you’d been in your office and checked the cameras. You arrived at ten past eleven and departed at fourteen thirty-five. That doesn’t prove you left the base and, unfortunately, the timing allows for you to have driven to the Greenes’ quarter and taken the girl.’

Still feeling much as he had on being brought down in a rugby tackle, Max said, ‘You know how it is on Sundays. The gate guards check anyone entering, but tend just to wave them out. There were four vehicles ahead of mine. Lads going out on the razzle in town, and two more coming up fast behind me. Surely someone witnessed my departure.’

The senior man shook his head gently. ‘We need to keep this in the family. Once we start asking for witnesses it becomes an official enquiry, you know that. Now, you can’t prove you were walking in the hills, but how about the inn where you dined? You said you’d eaten there on previous occasions.’

‘Not often enough to be known by the staff, and you’ve just said we don’t want to make it official.’

‘It would be for my own benefit.’

Max stared at him in disbelief. ‘You don’t think I did take her?’

‘Not for a moment, but I’d like something concrete to back my defence if it should grow out of hand.’

‘It won’t. It can’t,’ he protested. ‘I worked in my office preparing for a possible meeting later in the day, but the GC’s adjutant called to say it wouldn’t be convened until this morning. That was around fourteen fifteen – you can check with him – so I decided to walk in the hills while I mentally reviewed witness statements I’d studied, hoping for a clue that would suggest a line of enquiry we badly need. I ate at a table practically hidden from other diners by a branched stand bulging with topcoats. I then drove home, arriving here soon after twenty-three hundred.’

As he said that, Max realized why Clare’s car had been missing. Not a late-night date with MacPherson. She had been looking for signs of abuse in a child who claimed he had abducted her. Would Clare believe that of him?

‘But you can’t prove any of that,’ prompted Pinkney breaking into his thoughts.

‘No.’ He frowned. ‘You’ve had my reports on the serious incidents last week. Could this be another attempt to make a statement? You said Jenny had not been harmed, but if he’s now targeting children we need to identify him, and fast.’

‘I can’t see any obvious link with the previous attacks.’ Pinkney drank his coffee thoughtfully, then topped up his mug and held up the pot. ‘Get some of this inside you. Sharpen your wits.’

The sensation of having had the breath driven out of him remained. Max did as suggested while he tried to come to terms with what was happening. If Jenny continued to insist she had gone off with him he could be in trouble. Crimes against children were viewed with abhorrence by any police force, and Max knew George Maddox was particularly intense on the subject. As was Tom, the father of three girls. Did he believe Jenny’s claim?

As he drank the strong coffee Max studied his inquisitor, a man he had known for some years but as his immediate boss for only two. Tall, thin, greying at the temples and with a neat brown moustache, Keith Pinkney had spoken of keeping it in the family, by which he meant the Corps. He surely would, to the best of his ability, but without an alibi Max knew his defence was shaky.

‘So, let’s get to the nitty-gritty,’ Pinkney said briskly. ‘Why was your mobile switched off yesterday? Isn’t that unusual?’

‘I wanted to think without any interruptions. Major Crawford was threatening to call in the ATS. He even ordered me to relinquish the case; maintained SIB wasn’t equipped to handle it. I need to persuade Colonel Trelawney that we’re making headway. Hence why I was reviewing witness statements in my office. I feel it’s imperative to retain control of something that is not linked with terrorist activity. Tom Black is perfectly capable of dealing with any problem without my advice or intervention. As he did, apparently.’

‘Mmm, yes. And I have to tell you your entire team is behind you.’

Max sighed. ‘I’d be a poor kind of boss if it wasn’t.’

‘Agreed. You’ve been very successful over the past two years. That’s why we have to sort this before it goes any further, Now, why did Mrs Greene say you showed marked interest in her daughter?’

Max explained how Jenny had taken a fancy to him when he called to reveal that Eva McTavish had died, and she got very excited on seeing him.

‘How have you responded to the little girl’s interest?’

For the first time Max was reluctant to answer. He had been charmed by Jenny when she had climbed on his lap and offered him biscuits. He had been alarmed and protective when she fell asleep over her lunch. He had been wistfully delighted when the child had refused to get in the car seat and had yelled his name.

‘She’s very . . . engaging.’ The silence grew awkward as he realized how Pinkney might interpret that. ‘I haven’t children of my own so I’m unused to the way they behave. Jenny is a very outgoing little girl. Any person would have to be flint-hearted to resist her appeal.’

‘I see. Mrs Greene spoke of several occasions. How many times have you been to the house?’

‘Initially, on the morning following the bonfire incident. I was curious about a couple who had made no attempt to meet after an absence of three months. I returned with more questions about them when it transpired the woman had committed suicide that night.’ He gave a twisted smile. ‘I’m still curious about the McTavishes.’

‘And that’s it?’

‘No, I called on Mrs Greene to tell her I’d spoken to a friend with medical training about Jenny’s habit of falling asleep all the time, and she advised getting the child to a doctor.’

‘So you have taken quite an interest in Jenny.’

Max rose to that. ‘She fell asleep in my presence with her face in a plate of food. The mother laughed it off, which I considered to be highly irresponsible. Look, sir, I don’t have an unhealthy interest in Jenny. My visits to the house were all in the course of an investigation into the death of Eva McTavish, and on that last meeting I discovered Mrs Greene was attempting to destroy evidence pertaining to the suicide. She had also lied to me from the start about the nature of her own relationship with the widower. I pulled her in and questioned her about it, which she strongly resented. If she’s fingering me for this . . .’

‘No, Max, Jenny gave your name voluntarily. As I said before, this is a tricky situation which needs to be nipped in the bud.’ He got to his feet. ‘I’ll have a word with the Garrison Commander about the proposed meeting. Tom Black reckons it’s unnecessary, so I can get it delayed. Preferably indefinitely. I’ll also speak to Sergeant Kinross before she questions Jenny again, and tell her you were elsewhere checking witness statements at the vital time. She’ll get to the truth eventually. I know her well. She’s very good with bewildered kids.’

He headed for the hall, Max following. ‘You’ll stay here until it’s sorted. And switch on your bloody mobile!’

‘I didn’t get to bed until three. Again!’ he responded sourly. ‘Don’t know who you were dreaming of, but you had me in a half nelson before my head hit the pillow.’

‘Mm, I think it was Colin Firth last night.’

‘Huh, that bloody wet shirt!’ He became fully aware of her broad smile. ‘Must have been some dream. You’re still looking smug.’

She crossed to kiss him. ‘I’m feeling fine. It’s stopped.’

‘What has?’ he asked, wondering how large a breakfast he had time for. He really should be on base when Sheila Kinross arrived to question that child again.

‘Morning sickness, chump.’

‘Ah, good.’

‘And the girls are talking freely, with the first hint of real excitement about the new Blackie.’

‘Good,’ he said again, conscious of just how late it really was. A full English breakfast was right out of the question. ‘Can you do me some poached eggs on toast? I need to get in sharpish, love. Max is caught up in something pretty messy.’ He headed for the stairs. ‘I’ll fill you in while I eat.’

‘Certainly, oh Master.’ Her reply floated to him as he took the stairs two at a time, cursing the fact that he had slept in so long. With plenty of practice at hurried preparations behind him, Tom was ready for work in record time and descended to find a fully prepared grapefruit and eggs ready for poaching, as well as a large cafetière of coffee.

‘You’re a marvel,’ he said warmly. ‘Colin Firth has no idea what he’s missing.’

Between mouthfuls Tom related what had occurred the previous night, and how he had called in Keith Pinkney as the appropriate person to stand behind Max.

‘The Greene woman has it in for him after he grilled her over those vodka bottles, of course, but I don’t think she’d go as far as to prompt Jenny to name him out of spite. After all, someone did take the girl and Jean was half-demented until she was found alive and unharmed.’

‘As I would be. And you,’ Nora said. ‘Poor woman. But what was the child doing in the sports stadium?’

‘Sleeping. It doesn’t make sense to me. What was it all about? The kid was unharmed and wrapped warmly in blankets.’ He grimaced. ‘Max will doubtless say it was a statement. Once that bee’s in his bonnet it’s difficult to shift, yet I can’t come up with what else could be behind terrifying a little kid for eight hours, can you?’

‘We don’t know the full story. Once Sheila Kinross gets the details from Jenny it’ll make more sense. But was she terrified? A three-year-old who apparently went willingly with a man she knew, was not harmed, and then left sleeping peacefully in cosy blankets, hasn’t gone through a frightening experience to my mind. Aside from being away from her mother, Jenny sounds to me like a child who’d view it as an adventure. Kids can be very trusting, can’t they?’

‘Maybe, but my concern is to find who lured the girl away, and why she should say it was Max.’

‘Oh, Tom! You have three daughters and haven’t learned what liars three-year-olds can be? Jenny had had an adventure; she was tired and well into her deep night-time sleep when she was woken from it to find what seemed to her to be hundreds of people asking questions. Mummy was there to take her home, so what’s all the fuss about? Who has she been with? The first name that comes into her head is Max so she says it, drinks her warm milk and goes happily to bed. She has no idea why people are acting so strangely. She’s three, Tom. She could just as easily have said she’d gone off with Father Christmas or Postman Pat. Surely the most significant aspect is that whoever did take her meant her no harm. A statement? I’d say it was more likely an attempt to hurt the mother. She’s the one who had the terrifying experience.’

Tom grinned. ‘While we’re all reading enormous significance into events, you never fail to offer a down-to-earth explanation that makes perfect sense. Trouble is, that premise opens up a completely new can of worms.’

‘Put it aside until you’ve opened the other cans and found the worms don’t provide the right answers.’ She lifted the cafetière. ‘Got time for another?’

His reply was reduced to a shake of the head as his mobile rang and he stood, ready to say truthfully that he was on his way.

‘Where are you?’ asked Max.

‘At home, about to leave. How did it go with the Regional Commander?’

‘Sticky. I can’t prove I wasn’t on base, but thanks for calling him in on it.’

‘Regs demand it, but we’re all available to get whatever info is needed to let you off the hook.’

‘Even Piercey won’t manage to do that. The penalty of deliberately isolating myself. Tom, I’ve been ordered to stay here pro tem, but I need to go through the witness statements concerning Eva McTavish’s behaviour at the Guy Fawkes do. Will you get one of the team to email them to me? I’m sure we overlooked something odd the first time round.’

Some of Tom’s goodwill evaporated. Surely he was not still agitating about that suicide when he had this charge hanging over him. ‘Do I attend the meeting with the GC?’

‘Our boss is going to get it postponed. Concentrate all efforts on questioning the whereabouts on Tuesday and Friday evenings of everyone with mechanical or engineering knowledge. We have to compile a list of likely suspects for the two incidents before that meeting.’

‘And before he strikes again.’

‘Primarily that. Keep me in the picture, especially on this Jenny Greene affair. We have to discover who took her, Tom. Why she should name me is worrying.’

‘She’s only three and could just as easily have said she’d gone off with Father Christmas or Postman Pat,’ Tom told him smartly, hearing a smothered snort of laughter from Nora. ‘I’m liaising with Sheila Kinross to fill her in on the connection you have with the mother to prove it was purely professional.’

He ended the call and shrugged on his topcoat as Nora came to him, saying, ‘I expect I’ll see you when I see you. If you arrive in the early hours again don’t spoil my erotic dream.’

‘I’ll come to bed in a wet shirt. You won’t need to dream.’

After the dreariness of last week’s misty rain and fog this one had begun with sunshine that sparkled a heavy frost. As a result colours looked vibrant. Autumn leaves glowed red, gold and amber, newly-washed buses gleamed yellow, net curtains were as snow-white as the grass around apartment blocks, and wares in shop windows looked enticing enough to lure customers inside. The chilly sunshine even brightened people; rosy cheeks, keen eyes and rainbow scarves.

The weather cheered Tom despite the weight of the problems he faced. As he drove he told himself he was being as fanciful as Max in thinking this atmospheric clarity would herald fresh insight. It was certainly energizing. Arriving at Headquarters he found every member of the team primed for positive action on the Jenny Greene abduction. He had to divert their zeal with Max’s instructions.

‘Have you any idea how many people that directive covers?’ moaned Piercey. ‘We’ve been at it for three days and made no more than a dent in the list of possibles. As the bomb boys keep telling us, anyone can access the Internet and read instructions on how to blow something up.’

‘You should have learned by now that much of detective work is painstaking elimination that leaves genuine suspects.’ Piercey scowled as Tom added, ‘The device that ignited the hedge at the car park was the work of someone with advanced specialist knowledge, which allows us to narrow the search.’

He addressed them all. ‘It’s Monday, start of a week when everyone should be on base. No manoeuvres, no courses at other venues, no block leave for troops returned from war zones and the Christmas exodus is several weeks away. In short, you should be able to find personnel where they should be. Start with the Sappers.’

‘We’ve already quizzed them,’ said Heather wearily.

‘Do it again. See if they tell the same story. You and Connie search their lockers. Look for magazines, pamphlets, any signs of interest in incendiary gadgets. Piercey, you and Beeny go back to Logistics and the bomb boys who say we overreacted about the IED. Find out if any of them have Scottish links or a grudge against the lads from north of the border. Search their lockers, too. You might fall foul of Captain Knott who returned from the NATO meeting yesterday. If you do, refer him to the Boss, who’s eager to have a go at him regarding courtesy of info.’

‘He didn’t go,’ said Connie.

‘Who didn’t go where?’

‘Captain Knott. To the NATO conference. Had gastroenteritis.’

Tom frowned. ‘Where’d you get that nugget of info?’

The healthy pink of her cheeks surprisingly deepened. ‘Sergeant Carr.’

Tom’s eyes narrowed. ‘Why didn’t you report that earlier?’

‘I only heard about it last night.’

It was unwelcome news. He thought she had more sense than to start socializing with a man concerned in an ongoing investigation. Heather was getting dewy-eyed over a blond German policeman which he was not happy about, either. Women! Throwing both of them a scathing look, he directed the remaining members of the team accordingly before heading for the Greenes’ quarter in the hope of a word with Sheila Kinross before she questioned Jenny again.

They arrived outside the house at the same time, and he gave her a rundown of Max’s movements in a tone of authority that suggested it could be verified.

‘Well, she could have been confused last night, but if she continues to name Captain Rydal as the person who lured her away we’ll have to question him.’

‘But he’s the last man to . . .’

‘Tom, he clearly features largely in Jenny’s life and, if she insists she went off with him, we have to discover why. There might be deep undercurrents here.’

‘No. No!’

She gave him a significant look which he resented, then asked if he planned to wait in his car or if he’d like her to call his mobile at the end of her first session with the child.

‘We have to take things slowly. They frequently change their story as time passes because they grow scared, or because they think it’s what we want them to say.’

Impatient with her, yet aware of the sensitivity with which such cases must be handled, Tom said, ‘I’ll be in my office. Call me there when she decides she went off with Postman Pat.’

In fact, Tom had just remembered Max’s request for witness statements to be emailed to him, and returned to Headquarters to do it himself. Until Max had been cleared of this charge Tom knew he could not fully concentrate on anything, but emailing would keep him occupied. Even so, as he began searching the files for the relevant documents he worried about the possibility of Jenny sticking to her story. This could not have happened at a worse time. Max could be suspended while the affair dragged on, his future in the hands of a fanciful three-year-old.

The statements of witnesses who saw Eva McTavish taking pills in the sports stadium had been taken by Connie and Heather, which reminded Tom of Connie’s apparent fancy for one of the stick of dynamite and an alarm clock brigade. She was normally level-headed. What had possessed her to get involved with a possible suspect in a serious case like this one?

After making coffee Tom sat at his desk and began to read through each report before scanning it, looking for something odd that had been overlooked. His mood was not lightened by the repetitious descriptions of the woman swallowing pills and making calls on her mobile. He was heartily sick of the McTavish affair Max was still making such a big deal of.

With just two reports left to send, Tom made more coffee and raided the goodie tin for a chocolate bar as a treat for failing to see anything odd that had been overlooked first time around. Max was after a goose even wilder than most he chased. Munching a chocolate-covered biscuit, he speed read the next but last statement and was about to scan it when he realized it was there and had, indeed, been overlooked because they had all been concentrating on the McTavish woman. Bravo, Max, although it raised an unwelcome premise.

Reaching for his landline he punched in the number of the RMP post. The call was answered by Babs Turvey, who told him George Maddox had gone home suffering from the gastroenteritis that was spreading around the base with the usual speed of such bugs. Could she help?

‘Yes, Babs. Look at your duty rosters and tell me who was on patrol at the Sports Ground during the firework display last Tuesday.’

After a few moments she gave him two names, then asked, ‘You did mean before the explosion, didn’t you? The rest of us were called out to deal with the resultant situation.’

‘Yes, that’s fine. Thanks.’

He disconnected and sat for a while gazing at the names of two men he knew and thought well of. Then he checked their military careers on screen and discovered Meacher had transferred from REME. Mmm, electrical and mechanical engineers. Very significant. He reached again for the telephone to ask Babs Turvey for Meacher’s mobile number, but it rang before he could call her.

‘Sergeant Major Black,’ he announced with a touch of asperity at being prevented from pursuing this unwelcome lead.

‘Sheila Kinross, Tom. Are you free to come here?’

‘Developments?’

‘Something you should hear. How long will you be?’

‘Ten minutes max.’

Shrugging on his padded coat Tom walked out to the sunwashed chill, and drove around the perimeter road to reach the Greenes’ house wondering what he was about to be told. Sheila was watching for him and let him in, leading him to the kitchen. From the main room came the sound of jolly music and a soothing voice talking about Paddington Bear. No irate mother, no sobbing child. Just normality. Or apparent normality. Someone had taken Jenny from here for eight hours yesterday, which was far from normal.

Confronting Sheila, Tom asked, ‘Is she still naming Max?’

The woman gave a wry smile. ‘Yes. In her own way. After half an hour of gentle discussion in which Jean and I dropped identifying clues about Captain Rydal, Jenny gave one of those exasperated looks kids do so well when adults get it wrong. She said, ‘Not that Max. The other one who’s sometimes a lady.’

‘What?’ asked Tom, bemused.

‘Sometimes wore a kilt.’

‘A Drumdorran?’

‘Exactly. Someone Jenny has no fear of because he’s been to her house and Mummy was friends with him.’ Sheila poured herself some coffee from a filter machine, then explained that she would be having another session with Jenny after lunch to get further details of what happened during those eight hours. ‘So far, the child’s been telling with some delight how he made tunes by blowing into a shopping bag.’

The truth then hit Tom. ‘Bagpipes!’

‘You’ve got it! Jean told me that while Eva was living with her last week Jenny called her Auntie Max Tavish.’

The Regional Commander confirmed that the meeting with Colonel Trelawney had been put on hold, and added that this development was strong enough to keep it there ad infinitum. Pinkney undertook to inform Major Carnegie of the arrest of one of his revered pipers. Max knew it would come as a blow, but he felt little sympathy for a commander who had allowed hostility to continue by withholding the truth of Eva’s death.

Entering the interview room with Tom, Max saw that the man who, at their previous meeting, had been assured to the point of belligerence was, today, an abject figure with head bowed, hands clasping and unclasping with agitation. Max had seen a suspect full of guilt before, and here was another. Tom started the tape recorder and Max went through the preliminaries, then read out the charge.

He had hardly finished speaking when the Scot mumbled, ‘Before God, I meant the lassie no harm. I could’nae help it. The wanting was too strong.’

Exchanging a swift glance with Tom, Max asked, ‘You admit to taking Jenny Greene from the garden of her home to some other place where you kept her for eight hours?’

‘She was happy to be with me, laughing and dancing to my music. Such a sweet innocent lassie, she is. Laughing and dancing. It did’nae seem wrong.’

‘Where did the dancing take place?’ demanded Tom.

‘Practice room four, where I always go to play the beloved auld airs.’ He suddenly looked up, his eyes dark with shock. ‘They’re all that’s left to me now, for the Lord has surely forsaken this sinner.’

Irritated by the religious drama, Max said, ‘Didn’t it occur to you that Jean Greene, the child’s mother, would be frightened and worried over Jenny’s disappearance?’

McTavish stared as if unable to understand the question, then whispered, ‘She knows I’d not harm her, and the wanting was too strong.’

‘Wanting to do what?’ demanded the father of three young girls.

The dark gaze swivelled to fix on Tom. ‘We were to have a bairn way back, but Eva went out on the ice against ma wish and fell. She denied me. Denied me,’ he repeated. ‘A McTavish. A man of pride could’nae have the fruits of his seed. Father saw it as reaping as I’d sown. And so it was. I turned to the Lord and repented my ways, seeking peace with my music. But she would’nae have it.’

Letting the man pour out his confession as if to two priests, Max and Tom heard facts that clarified many points concerning Eva’s suicide. Some of them echoed what Jean had told Max. Hector’s conversion to his parents’ religious zeal had driven a wedge between the couple, and the gap had widened as Eva tried to regain his interest with imagined illnesses. Divorce was not an option, so they lived separate lives until the next blow fell.

‘Callan joined the Drumdorrans to fight alongside the brother he remembered as being so bold. He mocked me. Said I was no a soldier but a preacher.’ The suggestion of shock in his eyes intensified. ‘He went to war and died with bad blood between us.’

Max recalled Jean saying this man blamed himself for his brother’s death and, as a result, was trying to deny any responsibility for what Eva had done. Although he had not before encountered anyone with extreme religious beliefs, Max knew well enough the lengths to which such people could be driven in their zeal. He sensed Tom’s impatience, but gave a slight shake of his head. McTavish was in full flow and best not interrupted.

‘The woman grieved for him more than was seemly in public, and the tongues began to wag. I chastised her for always being at the bottle for a dram, as any man would, and forbade her to touch a drop while I was away with the band.’

McTavish fell silent, looking at his questioners as if for vocal support. When their unflinching eye contact became too unnerving he said brokenly, ‘She sent letters every week reminding me of him, and how I’d let him go to his death with my curses in his ears. She . . . she even sent photographs of his grave. Every week. Cold earth on the dear brother of my youth.’

He took time to deal with that, and Max had again to signal Tom to remain silent. The volcano of this burdened man’s emotions was slowly erupting.

‘I would’nae, could’nae face her when we came here last week. You can understand that.’

Getting no response, he appeared to shrink as his head drooped and his shoulders shook. ‘She committed the unforgivable sin to dishonour me. A McTavish, to be humbled in the eyes of a regiment of proud warriors. May the Lord forgive her, for I have no will to.’

Max now seized the moment. ‘You’re saying your wife took her life deliberately? Committed suicide to punish you?’

‘Aye.’

‘Punish you for what?’

‘Taking Callan from her. So she wrote in the letter.’

Max gave Tom a grim smile of satisfaction. ‘The letter sent across to you on the morning after your wife’s death was a suicide note?’

McTavish nodded.

‘Please voice your confirmation of that.’

‘Aye, it was.’

‘Where is that letter now?’

‘Burned. It was vile.’

Tom could keep quiet no longer. ‘What has all this to do with the abduction of the child Jenny Greene?’

This reversion to the charge he had been arrested for created a hiatus that lasted until McTavish had mastered his distress and got his mind around the new direction it had to follow.

‘Jenny Greene,’ Tom prompted harshly, to break the silence.

‘Aye.’ McTavish sighed. ‘I went to speak to Jean. I had the need d’ye see? An old friend. For one summer more than friends. Along with others. I was a wild boy. Jean knew how things were and has a kindness for me still.’

‘Oh?’ said Tom. ‘Then why take away her daughter and fill her with anguish?’

Shaking his head, McTavish said, ‘That was nae in ma mind. The little lassie saw me and came over with smiles, and I knew she could have been mine if I’d no been denied the right to have the like. The wanting was so strong I took her away to hear my music and to show her the dancing. We were happy. She laughed and danced to the pipes. We had tea and bannocks and cakes, while I told her stories of the clans and Bonny Prince Charlie. I gave her a plaid to wear, and sang the auld songs from down the ages. She slept awhiles now and then, but wanted more music when she woke.’

He appealed to them with eyes bright with remembrance. ‘I knew how it would have been to have a bairn, so I took her to the place where that woman kilt herself. See how it could have been, I told her. See what you denied me.’

‘Why did you leave Jenny there alone?’ demanded Tom roughly.

‘Och, the lassie was tired from the dancing; fell asleep as I held her. I sat with her awhiles until I heard voices calling her name nearby. I knew then the moment was over and slipped away.’

‘And if you hadn’t heard the searchers calling her name?’

McTavish appeared unable to answer that, just gazed in puzzlement.

‘Was it your intention to return Jenny to her mother and explain why you had taken her?’ asked Max to clarify the situation.

All McTavish said was, ‘Jean still has a kindness for me.’

Tom snapped off the tape recorder and turned on the Scot to say, ‘Which is more than you have for her, you bastard, putting her through eight hours of fear and anguish.’

Over a late lunchtime sandwich Max put forward to Tom his thoughts on that twisted relationship. ‘Being a member of a regiment gives a man comradeship, help in need and a sense of communal pride, but it also means that his failures and humiliations are common knowledge. For Hector, who had adopted those narrow beliefs he had rebelled at in his youth, his wife’s suicide was the ultimate sin. What’s more, in an élite regiment like the Drumdorrans, whose history boasts of clan giants performing Herculean deeds, weakness or failure of any kind isn’t tolerated. Hence the fostering of the belief in Eva’s accidental death at the Guy Fawkes evening. The Pipe Major’s status was being protected, the way Keith Pinkney was preparing to do for me earlier today.

‘What I find difficult to equate is that kind of extreme religion with military life. How did he get around the commandment Thou Shalt Not Kill?’

Tom was still looking aggressive. ‘Slaughtering the enemy isn’t regarded as murder. Anyway, when he joined the Drumdorrans he was still a normal, high-spirited lad. It was his father claiming the death of a foetus was punishment for Hector’s wild youth that did the damage.’

‘Mmm, if anyone pointed out that that claim had led to years of vindictiveness between a husband and wife, cruel estrangement of brothers, a suicide and public disgrace for his remaining son, the old man would never see the truth of it. Not in a hundred years.’

‘You omitted something. It also led to his remaining son becoming a paedo.’

Max shook his head. ‘No, he didn’t mean any harm to Jenny. The balance of his mind was disturbed. That’s what the psycho boys will say when the GC sends him to them.’

‘I’d send him to boys who smash men’s balls with a sledgehammer,’ Tom retorted vigorously. ‘Making the kid dance to his pipe music? Taking her to the sports stadium to show her to a woman who had killed herself there last week? If that isn’t the behaviour of a pervert, what is it? And he avoided answering when I asked if he had intended taking Jenny home.

‘All that bloody bullshit about an élite regiment with a proud history you went on about a moment ago? A regiment is a regiment is a regiment. Each one has its past heroes and glorious victories. They also all have failures and losers. Take those four who put a straw effigy of their platoon commander on . . .’ Tom broke off and put down his sandwich. ‘Christ, I forgot about Meacher.’

‘What about Meacher?’ asked Max.

‘I found what you said had been overlooked the first time around, and I’m afraid it looks likely that the man we’ve been searching for is among our own ranks.’