‘Do we pay our respects?’ Kaye asked, as they slowed for a junction.
‘No.’
‘What then?’
‘Back to Edinburgh.’
‘Now you’re talking.’
‘And to while away the time, we’ll have a little quiz.’ Fox leaned forward so his face was between the two front seats. ‘What can either of you remember about 1985? Specifically, late April…’
Kaye’s way of insisting that they have a drink at Minter’s before going their separate ways was to drive directly to the pub and park outside it.
‘My treat,’ he said, ordering a pint for himself, a half for Naysmith and a Big Tom for Fox. From experience, the barman knew Naysmith’s ‘half’ was a joke, and began pouring two pints of Caledonian 80. They took their drinks to a table, and Kaye asked Fox how long it had been since he’d allowed himself a proper drink.
‘I’ve stopped counting.’
‘Aye, right.’ Kaye wiped a line of foam from his top lip.
‘You know,’ Joe Naysmith commented, ‘surveillance isn’t a bad idea.’
‘Hey,’ Kaye warned him with a wagging finger, ‘we’re off duty here.’
‘I’m just saying, it’s how we’d normally build a case.’
‘I thought I’d already explained…’ Fox began.
Naysmith nodded. ‘But – correct me if I’m wrong – we’re going to get nowhere otherwise. Say we asked Bob McEwan for permission, set everything up without letting anyone in Fife know. Then, when we get something-’
‘If we get something,’ Fox corrected him.
‘Okay, if we get something-’
‘And it’s a big “if”,’ Kaye added.
‘Yes, but what we’d then do is present it to Fife HQ as a fait accompli.’
‘The boy’s losing me with all these big words,’ Kaye complained to Fox.
‘What makes you think McEwan would agree to it in the first place?’ Fox asked Naysmith.
‘We’d ask him nicely.’
Kaye snorted. ‘Oh aye, he’s a sucker for a kind word.’
‘Like I said,’ Fox told Naysmith, ‘it’d have to be a Fife call.’
‘So where’s the harm in asking them? You must know somebody on the Complaints over there…’
Fox hesitated for a moment before nodding. ‘I doubt we’re in their good books, though. We’re working what should be their patch.’
‘But you do know somebody?’ Naysmith persisted.
‘Yes,’ Fox conceded, turning to look at Kaye.
Kaye shrugged. ‘Can’t see it working.’
‘Why not?’
‘Surveillance operation needs the okay from upstairs. Haven’t we been saying all along that Glenrothes doesn’t necessarily want us finding anything?’
‘But if they deny their own Complaints department,’ Naysmith argued, ‘that looks bad, too.’
Kaye’s eyes were still on Malcolm Fox. ‘What do you say, Foxy?’
‘It’s a protocol minefield.’
‘First step might not blow us up, though.’
‘Home phones and mobiles,’ Naysmith added, ‘just to hear what Carter’s saying to his pals in CID.’
‘I’ll have a think about it,’ Fox eventually said.
Kaye slapped a hand down on Naysmith’s knee. ‘That means he’s going to do it. Well played, Joseph. And it’s your round, by the way …’
Once home, Fox microwaved another ready-meal and ate it at the table. The TV stayed off. He was lost in thought. After he’d cleaned up, he called his sister and apologised for not getting back to her sooner.
‘Don’t tell me: you’ve been busy?’
‘It happens to be true.’ Fox squeezed the skin at the bridge of his nose.
‘But you did go see Dad?’
‘Last night, as promised. He was back to himself by the time I got there.’
‘Oh?’
‘We took a look through some of those photographs.’
‘They didn’t upset him?’
‘Not so much, no.’
‘Maybe it’s me, then – is that what you’re getting at? You think I’m overreacting?’
‘No, Jude, I’m sure you’re not. And I saw the pack of pads in the bathroom.’
‘If he starts wetting himself, they’re going to kick him out.’
‘I doubt that.’
‘They’ll want him home with one of us.’
‘Listen, Jude-’
‘It can’t be me, Malcolm! How am I supposed to cope?’
‘They’re not going to get rid of him.’
‘Why? Because you keep coughing up for his bed and board? That’s fine as long as he’s not a bother to them.’
‘Would it put your mind at rest if we went to see them?’
‘You do it – they hate me.’
‘No they don’t.’
‘They treat me like dirt. You don’t see it because you’re the one waving the chequebook. That’s all right, though, isn’t it? You’ll be the one getting the lion’s share of his will. It’s you he likes, the one he’s always talking about when I’m there. Never me – I just fetch and carry, like one of the fucking staff!’
‘Listen to yourself, Jude.’
But instead it was Fox who listened – listened to his sister as her complaints lengthened and intensified. He pictured the photograph of her as a small girl, atop Chris’s shoulders, bursting with carefree energy. Now distilled to this.
Sometimes you have to draw a line…
Fox watched himself lower the telephone receiver back on to its charger. As the connection was made, the line went dead. He drew in his bottom lip, staring at the machine, wondering if it would ring, Jude enraged on the other end.
But it didn’t, so he made himself some tea, considering whether there was anything he could have said to her to make things better – offered to visit his father more often; arranged for the three of them to go to lunch some weekend. It’s you he likes… I just fetch and carry.
With a sigh, he went over to his computer and switched it on, wondering what his search engine could tell him about 1985, while the stinging memory of the phone call began to melt away.
Three
8
‘You’re not a ghost, then?’
‘Flesh and blood, last time I looked.’
Fox was starting to reach out a hand, but saw she was holding both of hers towards him. He made to grasp them, then realised it was the prelude to a hug. Awkwardly, he hugged her back.
‘Has it been three years or four?’ she asked. Three years or four since their one-night stand at, of all things, a Standards of Conduct conference at Tulliallan Police College.
‘Not quite four. You look just the same.’ He took a step back, the better to judge the truth of this. Her name was Evelyn Mills, much the same age as Fox but wearing the years lightly. She’d been married at the time of their fling, and, by the ring on her left hand, she still was. They were standing on the seafront in Kirkcaldy. There had been a heavy shower earlier, but it had blown over. Thick gobbets of cloud glided overhead. There were a couple of cargo ships on the horizon. Fox took it in, while waiting to see if she had any comment to make about his own appearance.
‘Still in the Complaints, then?’ she asked instead. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and gave a shrug.
‘And you, too.’
‘Mmm…’ She seemed to be studying him intently. Then she linked arms with him and they started walking in silence.
‘Good result for you,’ Fox offered eventually. ‘Paul Carter, I mean.’
‘Wasn’t really us, though, was it? It was down to the witnesses. Even then… different day, different courtroom – it could have swung the other way.’
‘All the same,’ he persisted.
‘All the same… we’re so good at what we do, you have to be hauled here from the bustling metropolis.’
‘Arm’s-length, Evelyn. This way no one can accuse you of looking out for your own.’
‘You think we’d do that?’
‘It wouldn’t be me pointing the finger.’ He paused. ‘If it’s any consolation…’
‘I’m not looking for consolation, Malcolm.’ With her free hand she gave his forearm a squeeze, and he knew she was offering herself as ally rather than foe.
‘Carter is walking the streets,’ Fox said. ‘Did you know that?’