Scotch Mist (4 page)

It was almost two a.m. when Tom crept upstairs to collect a couple of blankets before settling on the sofa for what remained of the night. Sleep was a long time coming. They were treating the incident as a vicious act by an unbalanced soldier with a need to make a statement, but suppose there really was an active terrorist with access to the base who would strike at every opportunity. How would they ever flush him out? Was his own family safe here?

He awoke unrested and worried, had to compete for a shower, then shaved to the accompaniment of two different pop groups vying for volume supremacy. His normal routine was to rise early enough to claim the bathroom, before descending to the quiet haven of the kitchen. This morning he had been caught up in the daily procession of females in varying stages of undress going from bedrooms to bathroom while nattering non-stop. Before long there would be infant wails added to the chorus. It did not bear thinking about when he had so much on his mind.

Worse was to come. Sitting in a row at the breakfast bar, with bowls of cereal topped with sliced banana, his daughters wanted an account of last night's drama which they could relate to their classmates with face-saving one-upmanship. They had been very disgruntled over having been sent home so peremptorily when other children had been there for the full experience. They needed inside information to compensate for that.

‘You'd like to have been burned and cut, would you?' Tom demanded across the table.

Gina said boldly, ‘It was only minor stuff. We know all about it from our friends who've texted. They're all well enough to get to school today.'

‘Some children won't be going. Gavin Crawford, for one. He's in hospital with serious damage to his head and face. His hair caught alight. He's very badly burned.' There was concentrated cereal eating until Tom added, ‘It seems likely that something unsuitable was mistakenly included in the mass of material supplied from various stores on the base. Until we conduct a full search of the area today we won't know what that was, and who was responsible. As soon as we know, I'll tell you.'

‘John Cassidy says it was put there by a suicide bomber,' said Gina, still resentful over missing the excitement.

‘A
suicide
bomber who wasn't killed when it went off?' put in Nora. ‘John Cassidy will have to think more intelligently than that if he's going to be a thriller writer.'

‘He's changed his mind, Mum. He's going to be a film cameraman.'

‘A much better idea.' Nora left her seat abruptly, and could then be heard vomiting in the adjacent cloakroom.

After a while, Beth asked, ‘Is Mum all right? She keeps being sick.'

‘This is the third morning running,' put in Maggie.

‘Perhaps she should see Captain Goodey, Dad,' said Beth.

‘Yes, she was in a real state last night,' added Gina. ‘It's not like her. She's usually so sensible when there's any kind of problem.'

Maggie pushed aside her cereal bowl and reached for the toast. ‘It's probably something she's eating for breakfast.'

‘No, it isn't. I'm pregnant.' Nora had appeared at the kitchen door, and she crossed to stand behind Tom to put a hand on his shoulder. ‘We don't know which yet, but next year you'll have a brother or sister.'

There was a stunned silence. Maggie dropped the toast as if it was red hot; Gina returned her full spoon to her bowl. Both girls stared in disbelief which gradually changed to deep embarrassment, then to undisguised disgust.

‘How lovely!' cried Beth. ‘A puppy
and
a baby.'

As Tom drove to the base Beth's words depressed him further. She viewed a new sibling with the same pleasure she accorded the adopted puppy. If only a baby brought as little disruption to routine as a young dog. His initial dismay at the prospect returned. How would Nora cope with it all? Maggie was into her teens; Gina was fast approaching them. Could they be relied on to give more help in the home when they so obviously felt alienated by the evidence that he and Nora still ‘did it'. Even while
they
slept in rooms just across the corridor! He foresaw a prickly time ahead unless Nora managed to talk them round, which he somehow doubted after this morning's reaction to the news.

The girls were each two years apart, so the elder pair had been too young to think beyond the fact that there was a new baby in their mother's tummy. They were now old enough to know how the babies got there. Beth's caring temperament allowed her to isolate the joy of a brother or sister who would become the youngest in her place. The naturalist of the family she took procreation in her stride, with no thought of grunting and sighing in the bedroom next to hers.

After they had left to catch the school bus – Maggie and Gina without kissing their parents, and Beth thinking up names for the baby – Tom had accused Nora of breaking the news at a very inappropriate moment. They had been on the brink of a row when Nora had to rush to the cloakroom again, which made Tom feel he was behaving like a selfish brute. In typical male fashion he departed for work in the certain belief that she would prefer to be alone. After all, pregnancy was a woman's thing, and he had to find whoever had put lives at risk last night.

When he reached Headquarters he found the entire team already assembled, and Max there in his office making a phone call. Eager to get started, Tom brought up to date those who had not been present at the Guy Fawkes event, then he posted on the board the names of everyone who had been involved in building the bonfire and who had supplied material from various regimental stores.

‘Those with a cross beside them were interviewed last night and appeared clean. They can be questioned again if anything comes up to cast doubt on their statements. I want the rest of these people interviewed today, and I want lists of what was sent out from each QM Stores, how it was transported and what actually arrived at the Sports Ground. I want details of who took tea breaks and when, who left the stadium and why, and I want to know their attitude towards what they had been detailed to do. Who was resentful because it prevented fulfilling another plan for the evening; who might have a grudge against the person they felt
should
have been given the job? Make a note of anyone who seems politically motivated or who's anti-establishment. Find out who these people mix with in town; if they visit any pro-Nazi clubs or organizations.'

‘Bit drastic, isn't it?' complained Piercey. ‘This wasn't a bomb under the Garrison Commander's car; it didn't blow up the Ops Planning Headquarters. Surely it was simply crass stupidity at a bonfire party.'

‘You think I'm overreacting?' Tom commented coldly. ‘Ask Pipe Major McTavish, whose wife is fighting for her life in the hospital, if he thinks we should regard what happened as crass stupidity. This is a military base, the British have enemies, our troops are presently operating in countries hiding terrorists aiming to demoralize us. What occurred last night wasn't a jolly jape, Piercey, it was a serious attempt to do just that. Do I make myself clear?'

Piercey seemed unabashed, as usual. ‘Yes, sir, I simply thought . . .'

‘Well,
don't
,' he snapped, then began posting another list of names on the board. ‘These people were involved in setting up the firework display. Again, those with crosses against them were interviewed last night. I spoke to Corporal Lines, who was not only OC fireworks he was responsible for the whole show. He was pretty well gutted because his wife had been hit by a chunk of burning wood, which set fire to the nylon scarf around her hair. She panicked and someone put out the flames by holding a blanket tightly over her head and patting it hard. She fainted.' His mouth tightened. ‘It's not funny, Piercey.'

The Sergeant schooled his expression. ‘No, sir.'

‘I want someone to have another session with Corporal Lines, and I suggest Connie or Heather – detectives with more understanding and wit than some of their male colleagues.' He was more than usually irritated by the maverick sergeant today following the upset at breakfast. ‘I intend to visit the supplier of the fireworks. Lines gave me the invoice listing everything he ordered, but he admitted that he hadn't personally checked the items in the boxes, only the labels stating the contents.' He tapped the board. ‘Get assurances from these people that the boxes they opened did contain what they should have.'

Heather Johnson looked up from her notebook. ‘Private Brooks told me last night that he believed somebody lodged a rogue rocket in the bonfire unaware that it would react so violently, and his mate, Fiddler, told me rockets are well known for being unstable.'

Tom nodded. ‘I'm considering anything and everything, at the moment. And so should all of you. The one certainty is that an extremely volatile object was lodged inside that huge cone, and it was placed there deliberately.'

Max emerged from his office at that point, and entered the discussion. ‘Although I didn't witness the explosion I saw the damage it caused, and there's no doubt in my mind that the foreign object was highly unstable. I've been discussing it with Captain Knott of Logistics, who's sending his explosives team along to the Sports Ground to study the evidence George and his lads have already found. They'll join in the search of the entire area and study the findings. Captain Knott is certain his men will be able to identify the cause of the explosion from them.' He frowned at them all. ‘Once we have that we'll have something to work on. But that'll be just a start. Finding the perpetrator promises to be a bloody sight more complex. It's unfortunate that we have just absorbed the Scots – another several thousand personnel. As they only marched in during yesterday afternoon it's highly unlikely that they could be involved, but
unlikely
is not
impossible
. One of them could have wandered in to mingle with the crowd, and inserted something while all attention was on the fireworks. As Mr Black says, we must consider everything. Right, get to it!'

Taking up mobile phones and car keys, they all left the building discussing who each of them would take as interviewees. Max headed for the shelf bearing an electric kettle and a cluster of mugs.

‘I didn't have time for breakfast, and you look as if you need some immediate caffeine, Tom. What time did you eventually turn in?'

He wandered across to join the boss who was also a friend. ‘Too late. A case like this is very unsettling. We have no idea what we have on our hands. If it was the work of a local employee we'll have to hand it over to the
Polizei
and have them swarming all over the base. If it was an act of terrorism we'll have the Anti-Terrorist Squad doing the same. In those instances we'll be piggy-in-the-middle, which is the worst place to be in.'

Max opened the snack tin and took out two walnut and sultana muffins, offering one to Tom before spooning instant coffee into the mugs. ‘I've to see Major Crawford, Deputy GC at ten. He's come home from the hospital to change and eat breakfast, but he means to return there this afternoon. His wife's staying with their son who was badly burned. Imagine if it had been one of your girls, Tom.'

He nodded gloomily, thinking of their hostility this morning. What if something happened to them before the issue of a new baby was resolved?

As Max poured water in the mugs the telephone in his office rang. ‘Do the coffee while I take that,' he said, plonking the kettle down and heading to the small partitioned area he used as his own domain.

Tom was still brooding over Maggie and Gina's attitude towards their parents' continuing sexual habits, when Max returned looking rather grim.

‘Mrs McTavish died in the early hours. We're dealing with a case of manslaughter, or a religious or political killing. Take your pick, my friend.'

THREE

M
ax approached the Deputy Garrison Commander's house with misgivings. Major Crawford was one of what Max thought of as black and white officers. Everything either was, or wasn't; no room for might be. Never bend the rules. Tom's demand for high security implementation had been the correct thing to do following the explosion, but Max could not dismiss Piercey's protest that a bonfire was an offbeat site for a terrorist bomb. Unfortunately, they dare not dismiss the possibility when Miles Crawford asked if the situation still warranted a red alert, as he surely would.

The Major looked hollow-cheeked and red-eyed, and invited Max inside as brusquely as if he were an offender coming before him for a reprimand. Max gritted his teeth as he followed him to a room set up as an office, and told himself the man was under stress because his son was suffering. Although there were two padded chairs as well as a chintz-covered box seat, they remained standing. Max began by enquiring about the progress of young Gavin, and received a bitter reply.

‘He'll be scarred for life. A boy of fourteen years faces resembling a monster for the rest of his days. So what have you done about apprehending the maniac who's done that to him?'

Choosing words carefully, Max explained that they had done all that was possible so far. ‘My team conducted interviews well into the early hours, sir, and they're continuing to do so this morning. Captain Knott's explosives experts are presently evaluating any evidence scattered around the stadium, and they'll shortly be able to tell us what caused the explosion. Once we have that, progress will speed up.'

‘I sincerely hope so,' Crawford said icily. ‘I've given orders for every local resident we employ to be intensively questioned by Redcaps before being allowed entry.' He picked up a ruler and began slapping it against the palm of his other hand. ‘I've never approved of having civilians on strength. We're a unique Force which knows best how to look after itself on every level. These nine-to-five Fritzes can possibly handle what's needed at a manufacturing company's site, but they're totally wrong on a military base. They simply don't understand us.'