Scotch Mist (5 page)

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.'