Scotch Mist (21 page)

‘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.