Suddenly he bent over the box, peering at it closely, then rail the fingertips of his right hand over the surface.
He beckoned Arrow. 'Look, Adam. D'you see what's embossed in the surface?'
The little man squatted down beside him, bending to follow his friend's pointing finger.
He too felt the surface.
It's a crest, isn't it?'
`That's right. The Scottish Office crest, to be exact. That means that this was Roland McGrath's Red Box. With luck Davey's should be around here too.'
Aye,' said Arrow, 'and it looks as if t' buggers are bombproof at that.'
`Too bad their owners weren't. Come on, let's join in the search.'
They made their way back up the hillside, where Legge and the Sergeant who had found the box continued to pore through the flotsam of the disaster. The second NCO was at work on the other slope. Arrow broke off to the left, to widen the area of the search, while Skinner headed right. As he passed the Major, he called to him. 'Bob, here a second, please.'
The slope was at its steepest and Skinner had to dig his heels in to make progress upwards.
When he reached Legge, he found him standing upright and grim-faced. On the ground, at his feet, the top part of a human body, with the head in right profile, was embedded in the bank of the gully, just as the Red Box had been. The policeman's stomach heaved, and he was glad that he had not eaten since breakfast. Even at that, for a few uncertain moments his record of never having thrown up at the crime scene hung by a thread.
He took a deep breath and gathered up his self-control once more.
`Look at it. If you can…' said the Major. Skinner nodded and crouched beside the thing.
The arm was twisted and shrivelled, without a hand, and seemed to point up at them. The face was burned black, but the features were still obviously human, apart from the ear, which resembled nothing more than a piece of charcoal. The hair, rising from a high forehead, and the beard and moustache were frizzled and melted.
Aahh!' he hissed. 'It's like some sort of demented sculpture, but still it's recognisable.'
`You know him?' said the Irishman, surprise in his voice.
`Yes. This was Roland McGrath, the Scottish Office Minister.'
`Well, if it's any consolation, the fellow never knew what hit him. The blast must have taken him out in an instant.' He dropped on both knees beside the head. 'Sorry, Bob, but this has to be done.' Carefully, he dug his fingers into the mud beneath the remains and turned them over, freeing them from the ground. Skinner took a step sideways and watched. The left arm was gone, at the shoulder, and the torso ended just below that point in a tangle of bone and muddy organs. The policeman drew a quick breath and concentrated his gaze on the face. The left side looked more human, with unscorched flesh tones showing through the dirt. The left ear, although filled with mud and grass, was still there and reddish hair still clung to temple and jawline.
`Where was this fellow sitting?' Legge asked.
Row 1 seat B.'
Tells us something then. D'you know who was in seat C?'
A bodyguard. I think that's him down there in the burn, minus his top half.'
`Munn. And the politicians were across the aisle?'
`Yes.'
In that case, from the way the blast seems to have radiated, I'd say the bomb went off more or less in the lap of our late; Secretary of State!' He lifted up the remains of McGrath, then placed them gently back on the ground. 'I doubt if we'll find even this much of him, or the souls on either side of him.'
He stood up. 'So how did the bloody thing get there? Interesting question, isn't it? How did the Secretary of State for Defence come to be sitting right on top of an explosive device powerful enough to tear an aircraft apart?'
Skinner looked at him, almost stunned by the idea. 'Any answers?'
Legge smiled, wickedly. 'Right at this moment, the only thing I can suggest is that you find out where he dined last night… and never ever eat their curry!'
The policeman winced. 'Bloody hell. Is that how you Bomb Squad guys manage to stay sane?'
Absolutely,' said Legge. He was still grinning, but Skinner looked at him and acknowledged the effort behind his control and objectivity. 'You have to laugh your way through these things. Soon as my guys start to dwell on the effects and consequences of an explosion, then they're no good to me.
`Sure, man, you think that down there is something.' He pointed quickly at the remains on the ground, but without looking at them. 'I remember once in Ireland we were called out to a scene where this lad had his back to a steel chain-link fence when the bomb he was planting went off early. When we got there he was stretched out on the other side like a hundred long tubes of dog food.'
They were interrupted by a piercing whistle. They looked round and saw Arrow, fifty yards away, his fingers still tugging the corners of his mouth.
'Always wished I could do that,' said Legge. 'Let's see what the klittle bugger wants.'
They scrambled across the hillside towards him. Once, Skinner's foot settled on something soft and spongy. He froze in midstride, and discovered that he was quite unable to look down. With an effort he pushed himself off and hurried on.
`What's up, Adam?' he said as he reached him.
`This is. Remember you said those boxes were bombproof?'
He held up, very carefully by two of its corners, a buckled, angled sheet of metal. Skinner took it from him, and saw that originally, it had been two hinged pieces of metal, but that they had been melted and fused together into a wide L-shape. On the inside, the metal was bright and shining, almost mirror-like, as if all traces of dirt and contamination had been seared off. As he looked at it a distorted reflection of himself stared back.
He turned the strange object over so that the L pointed towards him. On this side the metal was lustreless. Instead it was covered in a black substance, which felt rubbery, yet crumbled away under his touch. Superimposed upon the black, there were other, strange marks. On the upper of the two pieces of fused metal, he saw, embossed upon it, two sets of four short parallel lines running from the edge on either side. They were black also, and pointed towards each other. On the lower part of the object there were two more black parallel abrasions, wider than the others and running from the bottom towards the centre.
As he looked at the marks, a cold certainty crept through him.
But still he held the thing up for Legge to see. 'What d'you think, Gammy?’
‘You don't really need me to tell you, do you? I'd say that this is, or was, a Red Box.'
If it is, since we've found McGrath's, this must have been Davey's. It must have been open when the bomb went off.' The DCC paused. 'And what would you say that these marks are?'
Legge took the object from him and held it out. would say…' he began. Looking at him, Skinner was certain that for all of his training and experience, Legge gave a small shudder. would say that these top abrasions, these two sets of four, are the fingers of whoever opened the box, fused into its surface. The others? Well, I would suppose that he had the box on his lap, and that those two wider marks are the tops of the poor fellow's thighs.' He gazed at Skinner and Arrow, this time without the faintest hint of a smile.
`But Bob, if I may correct your assumption, ever so slightly. You said that the box was open when the bomb went off. I'd put it another way. I'd say that because it was open, the bomb went off.
I'd say that the bomb was in the bloody Red Box!'