Scotch Mist (12 page)

‘Glad to have you with us after what I've heard was a most successful tour of the US,' Max began. ‘A great pity your arrival coincided with the tragic death of Mrs McTavish. Not the best omen for easy integration with the regiments already in residence, but I'm sure time will soften attitudes.' He adopted a tone of greater authority then. ‘We need a private word with Pipe Major McTavish.'

Lennox stood his ground. ‘And why would SIB need to speak to a man just two days bereaved?'

Thinking, as he so often did, of how mufti robbed him of the respect a uniform with three pips on his shoulder would command, Max said cripsly, ‘That concerns only SIB and Mr McTavish. Will you fetch him, or shall we look in every room until we find him?'

The other man's hesitation lasted just long enough to convey the message that he did not jump to Redcaps' orders, but not so long as to be regarded as insubordination.

‘I'll call him to meet you in practice room three.' He waved an arm at the corridor leading off to the right. ‘End door facing this way. He may be a wee while coming if he's at his prayers, sir.'

‘I'm sure the Lord will excuse him in order to talk to us. He'll know we have to find whoever caused injuries to some of His flock, before further harm is done.'

Reaching room three, Max held open the door for Connie to enter then left it open behind him. Connie glanced up and mimed wiping sweat from her brow.

‘Not a man to meet in a dark alley at night. I confess he was a splendid sight on Tuesday all togged up in kilt and white gaiters, but in combats he looks a real force to be reckoned with.'

Max grinned. ‘He was on the point of pushing his luck out there when he thought better of it. He's worth keeping an eye on, however. He very obviously has no love for the English, so he'll play no part in defusing the aggro stirred up last night. Might even fan the flames.'

Connie perched on the edge of the table in this room furnished with two chairs, two music stands, recording equipment and an upright piano. ‘I suppose to the Scots, Guy Fawkes was a hero for trying to do what they would have applauded.'

‘Quite likely,' Max agreed with amusement. ‘They're not a very forgiving race. Tend to relish old battles and resentments. Even amongst themselves. If it's not religious, it's clannish feuding.'

‘Mmm, more deep-seated and, perhaps, more understandable than we English, who fight each other over football match results. How pointless is that?'

The sound of heavy footsteps on vinyl prevented an answer to that frequently asked question, and Hector McTavish entered the room. Max was surprised to see a man of very striking appearance pull up and stand waiting for whatever came next. McTavish was about forty, with a body that suggested regular workouts. Nothing unusual for army men who had to be very fit, but his black hair and black eyes were almost startling in their compulsive effect. Max's first reaction was to wonder why he had remained married for so long to a frumpish hypochondriac. Indeed, Connie was visually responding to this man dressed in dark cord trousers and a long-sleeved polo shirt.

Max identified himself and Connie, then expressed their sympathy for the loss of his wife. Hector thanked them solemnly and stood waiting once more to hear the reason for their visit.

‘We're now in receipt of the hospital report on the true cause of your wife's death,' Max said quietly. ‘You were told the facts by the doctors, I assume.'

‘Yes.'

‘Did it come as a shock?'

McTavish blinked several times while he thought that through. ‘Yes and no.'

‘Would you explain that?' said Connie. ‘We have to submit a report in cases of suicide.'

His dark gaze bored into her. ‘She was nae in the armed forces. Just a wife.'

Max thought those three words said a lot.
Just
was dismissive,
a
instead of
my
, and
wife
was spoken as if suggesting an accessory.

‘As Sergeant Bush said, we have to send in a report on all deaths that occur on this base, suicides included, so please elaborate on “yes and no”.'

‘Yes, their conclusion came as a shock. No, because Eva was very careless with her medication and it's obvious that she took an overdose without knowing. I was forever telling her it was dangerous and that she should get one of those gadgets that register the times and dosage to prevent such an accident.'

‘You didn't buy one for her?' probed Connie.

Hector frowned as if puzzled by her question. ‘She was the one taking the pills. Her responsibility.'

‘So you believe Eva took an overdose in error?'

‘It was bound to happen sooner or later.'

‘How about the excessive amount of vodka your wife had drunk during that evening?' asked Max.

Hector shrugged. ‘What do they mean by excessive? She was nae planning to drive anywhere. Or work with machinery,' he added, as if recollecting the warnings written on some medication.

‘She liked vodka, did she?'

‘How should I know? I'm away a great deal with the band. She never gave me a rundown of everything she'd done when I got back.'

‘You didn't ask, show interest in how she'd filled the time during your absence?' asked Connie with deliberate surprise in her voice. When McTavish ignored that, she pushed him further. ‘So, as far as you are aware, your wife wasn't unhappy, depressed, worried, ill; had any kind of problem that would drive her to take her own life?'

‘But she didn't. Yes, she forgot she had already taken her pills and swallowed another dose. Yes, she had a dram or two of something to warm her while she watched the fireworks. But a bloody English dickhead put some effing explosive in the bonfire and puir Eva was struck down by a flaming wooden shard which kilt her. Put
that
in your sodding report, Sergeant Boosh,' he concluded in explosive manner that highlighted his accent through lack of control.

Max allowed a long silence to develop after that proof of Jean's description of this man's temper. He held eye contact until McTavish looked away and the angry colour faded from his face and neck. According to Jean Greene he was violent with words not actions, but suppose he had been pushed beyond bearing by Eva on Tuesday evening, and snapped.

‘Now you have regained your control we'll continue,' Max said coldly. ‘Mrs Greene told me she found a letter in the room your wife had occupied in her house, with your name on the envelope, and sent it across to you yesterday morning. What was in that letter?'

The black eyes narrowed. ‘What has that to do with SIB?'

‘Just answer my question.'

‘It was a press cutting about our tour of the US. I promised my mother I'd send it on when Eva had read it.'

‘Do you still have it?'

‘No, I sent it off first thing this morning.'

Until now Max knew McTavish had been inventing answers, but he was lying, coolly and calmly about this. Without doubt, he had destroyed the contents of that envelope and they might never know the truth. Pointless to pursue that line of questioning.

‘Mr McTavish, did you meet your wife on the evening of Tuesday last, or at any time during that day?'

‘We marched in through the morning, and even you will know the demands of settling in and allocating quarters. We're hardly organized yet today.'

‘That doesn't answer my question. Did you meet with Eva anywhere on this base two days ago?'

‘I did not, sir.'

Max made signs to Connie that he was going to leave, then said, ‘The funeral might have to be delayed, I'm afraid.'

‘
Why?
' The red colour flooded McTavish's neck once more.

‘In my opinion there is some doubt over the way your wife died. There are further questions to be asked. It shouldn't take more than a few days, depending on how soon people start giving us truthful answers.'

As he was passing through the doorway Max turned back to ask, ‘Who is Tammy?'

‘Who told . . . how did you . . . ? He shook his head as if to clear his confusion, and Max saw real distress now in those deeply dark eyes. ‘He was my young brother. He died early this year.'

Max was assuaging his mid-afternoon hunger with several cereal bars, an apple and a large mug of coffee while he and Tom exchanged reports on their morning activities, when a staff car drew up outside. Seconds later, Major Carnegie and Duncan MacPherson entered. The two detectives got to their feet, Max cursing the evidence of his much delayed lunch scattered over his desk. With the whole team out on the job it looked as if 26 Section was a ramshackle unit, with its OC lounging and snacking.

Major Carnegie showed no actual signs of disparagement as he got straight to the point of this surprise visit. ‘I understand you told Hector McTavish his wife's funeral will have to be delayed, due to your doubts over the cause of her death.' He indicated the Medical Officer at his side. ‘Duncan assures me that you've seen the hospital report which gives a full medical assessment. Is that correct?'

‘Yes, sir,' agreed Max, realizing this man was behaving as if he was the Garrison Commander, as he had earlier that day. Max resented it more this time.

‘Then what doubts can you possibly have?'

‘When a person ingests large quantities of pills washed down with equally large quantities of alcohol in order to expire, it's a slow, deliberate act leaving time to write a note of farewell and explanation. Mrs Greene, with whom Eva McTavish lodged for the last week of her life, found an envelope addressed to Hector amongst the dead woman's things, and sent it across to him.'

‘And?'

‘He told me it contained a press cutting about the band's US tour which he had promised to send to his mother. He couldn't produce it because he claimed he had posted it first thing this morning. He prevaricated throughout the interview, but
that
was surely highly questionable. The wife he had been parted from for three months apparently swallows enough noxious substances to kill herself, apart from being seriously injured in the chest, yet he hastily sends a mere press cutting to his mother barely a day after the tragic death of his wife. Don't you find that curious?'

Carnegie's eyes narrowed. ‘Sudden, shocking bereavement causes people to behave in ways that might seem inexplicable to others. Perhaps you've no experience of that to guide you.'

Flashbacks to a day of thunder and torrential rain when a duo of uniformed men had arrived to tell him Susan had been killed outright in a road accident ran through Max's inner vision, but he said nothing. Those memories were crowding in more often since the humiliating end to his hopes of a new future with his father's ADC. No way would he allow them to interfere with his job now.

Duncan MacPherson asked, ‘You thought the envelope contained a suicide note from Eva?'

Max nodded. ‘A natural enough assumption.'

‘And you suspect Hector of destroying it?'

‘He lied about it. I have enough experience of
that
to guide me,' he returned grittily.

‘Why would he lie?' demanded Carnegie, causing Max to feel he was being interrogated the way 26 Section treated a proven perpetrator of a crime. His anger rose.

‘That's what I attempted to find out. If he had answered truthfully I'd now have the answer. If Eva took her own life she chose a bizarre method. I need to know when and where she took all those pills and drank about three-quarters of a bottle of vodka. I certainly regard the fact that she left in Mrs Greene's house an envelope addressed to her husband as very significant . . . and the fact that he lied to me about it even more significant.'

Tom suddenly entered the lists. ‘Sir, we were told only this morning that Mrs McTavish didn't, as we all believed, die from the chest wound. Our entire team is out gathering evidence to enable us to find whoever caused the explosion on Tuesday evening. In addition, we have to submit a report on the death of Mrs McTavish to the Garrison Commander. As Captain Rydal said, it's a most unusual suicide pattern. One we've not come across before in all our combined years of investigation, and when the victim's next of kin shows little sign of grief and palpably avoids the truth, we're obliged to dig deeper into the background of this sudden death. We have never taken the easy way out, particularly in a case of loss of life. In short, Major Carnegie, we think it's possible someone forced Eva McTavish to swallow that lethal mixture.'

The Drumdorrans' OC was looking thunderstruck now. ‘What evidence do you have to support that wild theory?'

‘So far, none, sir,' Tom returned swiftly. ‘The truth about her death was only relayed to us three hours ago. We need time to resolve the case to our satisfaction.'

‘And this is why you propose to delay the funeral?' asked Duncan MacPherson. At Max's nod, the red-haired doctor said, ‘That's quite unnecessary. Whether or not Eva took that fatal mixture willingly or under duress, there's no dispute over what killed her. Her corpse will tell you nothing more if you keep it from the grave than it can tell you now. I'm referring to medical evidence, Max. Since we spoke this morning I've examined the body, and I can tell you now that the report from the hospital is comprehensively correct. There was nothing to suggest maltreatment or any kind of restraint. There is no legitimate cause to postpone Saturday's funeral. I give you my professional word on it.'

Carnegie looked set to depart, and his next words supported this. ‘You have from now until ten thirty on Saturday morning to check Duncan's assurances. The cortege will leave for the church at precisely eleven o'clock.' His final comment was made over his shoulder. ‘The sooner this affair is concluded the sooner we can work on establishing good relations on the base, even if it's no more than unarmed neutrality. Good day to you.'