Scotch Mist by Elizabeth Darrell

wish to leave. He say this Korp is meaning to punish him for no reason.’
    â€˜So he was very angry?’ asked Tom, pursuing the point. At her familiar nod, he went further. ‘So angry that he asked you to put something extra in one of the boxes of fireworks that he could use to punish the Corp instead?’
    Greta looked totally uncomprehending, so Heather asked quietly, ‘Did you add something to one of the boxes that wasn’t written on the label – something Charlie could use to show his anger over not being allowed to come to your party?’
    â€˜But he did come,’ the girl said, still unsure of what was being implied. ‘His hand it was hurt, so this Korp has say all is right for him to leave.’
    By this time Tom knew this particular train had hit the buffers, but he pitched one more question. ‘Miss Gans, has Rifleman Carter ever asked you to give him something from this factory without anyone knowing you had taken it?’
    Fear returned. ‘You say me I have taken money? I steal ?’
    â€˜No, Greta,’ soothed Heather. ‘We just wish to know if Charlie has ever asked for fireworks for himself to use. Something in addition to what was in the boxes.’
    She shook her head vigorously, turning to her boss with a flood of explanatory German. The Polizei men now intervened, the more arrogant one saying, ‘All is now clear. Fräulein Gans is not the villain. You have mistaken.’
    Turning to the Estonian, he spoke rapidly in German and indicated that Greta should return to work. The girl, however, grabbed Heather’s hand.
    â€˜Tell me that Charlie is not hurt. That Korp is not to punish him because I have say wrong today.’
    â€˜Charlie will be fine,’ Heather assured her with a smile. ‘Call him this evening on his mobile and he’ll tell you all is well.’
    Back on the pavement, Heather became engrossed in conversation with the young German who appeared to be flirting with her, which left Tom to give the parting shot by advising his partner to investigate the factory before many days passed.
    â€˜If that girl is an example of their overseers, I imagine things could be smuggled out with ease – and they have the ingredients to produce items vastly more explosive than Feuerwerks , chum. Can’t be too careful these days.’
    Walking to his car with a depressing conviction that he had been aping Max in chasing a wild goose, Tom saw Heather exchanging cards with the young policeman who, as far as he saw it, had contributed nothing to the investigation apart from a cheeky smile and a body as virile as his own had been at that age.
    Driving back to the base Tom mentally struck Carter’s name from the list of suspects. What list? he asked himself sourly. They were landed with one hell of a job. He had never worked on a case with so many victims. Just one death, but enough injuries to make it imperative to find the perpetrator swiftly. To add to the urgency, there were ravening Scots at the door, snapping at their heels.
    Nearing his house he was momentarily tempted to call in for a snack lunch, but he abandoned the idea after recalling the outcome of calling in yesterday. One problem at a time. He would cheer himself up with a good hot lunch in the Sergeants’ Mess.
    George Maddox looked harassed, as well he might with complaints against him and his staff piling up over the exploding bonfire, to say nothing of the fight in the NAAFI the following night. Max appreciated the man’s workload, but he had as much and of a more serious nature on his own hands.
    The senior sergeant got to his feet and left his desk where the computer screen showed a column of close-listed data. ‘Morning, sir. Anything interesting?’
    â€˜That’s debatable. Captain Goodey’s just had the hospital report which puts a bloody different slant on the entire case. Eva McTavish died as the result of swallowing a mixture of