Free Scotch Mist by Elizabeth Darrell Page A

polishing their skills in the vast area used by the Army for every aspect of battle technique. On it were mock villages, open plains, areas of undulating ground for tracked vehicles to tackle, high ground and gulleys, and a stretch of the river which ran through that region of Germany.
    As he drove, Tom recalled the first case 26 Section had tackled following Max’s emergency appointment to replace the officer whose two sons had been killed in a school bus crash in the UK. They had come to this same training area through thick snow to apprehend an officer who had regarded shooting another officer as justified retribution, not murder.
    For two years now they had worked well together. Max had flights of fancy – what the team called his wild geese – but Tom had learned not to dismiss them out of hand because once or twice the investigation had been advanced by pursuing them. Tom kept his feet firmly on the ground, so they complemented each other.
    It had been a successful pairing, and he did not envy Max trying to satisfy two aggressive majors that SIB was well on the way to arresting someone for Tuesday night’s exploding bonfire. Tom smiled as he approached the training area. How satisfying it would be to discover Carter was the perpetrator and return with him.
    The interviews with Captain Knott’s squad had proved fruitless. Unless one of them was a very accomplished liar, they all had alibis that could be supported by numerous witnesses. So it was even more to be hoped that Carter, who had lied, succumbed under questioning and confessed. The case could be wrapped up and Tom could tackle the problem over the coming baby.
    The girls had been in bed by the time he had arrived home last night, and Nora had steadfastly watched a late night film until he dozed off on the sofa beside her. When he had roused she was in bed feigning sleep. He had deliberately made an early start to the day, leaving the house during the usual two-way traffic from bedrooms to bathroom, with a double bacon sandwich to eat in a handy lay-by. He would welcome a large coffee before interviewing Carter. He needed it.
    Max had disturbed Captain Boyce’s dinner with the biting tone of command he could adopt when angry or frustrated, and the man had called back within ten minutes with the requested information. Another no-nonsense call to Lieutenant Meg Fleet arranged for Rifleman Carter to be available for interview at 09:00 today.
    Beeny had provided full details of Charles Carter late last night. The only son of six children he had probably joined the Royal Cumberland Rifles to escape the female majority, thought Tom with a modicum of understanding, and on paper appeared to be an eager soldier. Reports from the RCR Depot on his basic training said he was a promising recruit with a good sense of team spirit. An assessment by his Platoon Commander, Meg Fleet, noted that Carter had been steady and controlled under fire during their recent deployment in Afghanistan, but that he had shown signs of boredom since their return two months ago.
    Tom thought that was an unusual comment. It did not reflect on his efficiency or his dedication to duty, which were the two phrases mostly used by commanders. Or did it? Was that a woman’s way of expressing a sudden change of attitude towards the job? It did, however, tell Tom quite a lot. Carter had been a good soldier in the making until six months in a war zone had ended. It was a fairly common situation, particularly with young, unattached men. The stress, the danger, the extreme demands, the excitement of warfare made normal non-active routine seem flat and . . . yes, boring . Tom reversed his opinion of Meg Fleet. Maybe she had it right.
    Bored young soldiers tended to get up to mischief. They did things to liven up the sudden predictability of their lives. Like planting an explosive device in a bonfire then making sure they were nowhere around when it went off? Oh yes, Carter could very