‘Jimmy Nicholl,’ Scholes echoed, folding his arms. ‘Owner might’ve done the decent thing and taken you with him, eh, Jimmy?’ Then, to Michaelson: ‘We ready for the off?’
Fox was torn between staying and going, but Scholes was not going to give him the choice. ‘Out, out, out,’ he said.
‘The dog,’ Fox remonstrated.
‘You want it?’
‘No, but…’
‘Leave it to the professionals, then.’
They emerged to blue flashing lights: another patrol car, with an unmarked van behind it.
‘It’s all yours,’ Scholes called to the driver at the front. But there was manoeuvring to be done: too many vehicles in a tight space. Someone had the idea of unlocking the gate to the neighbouring field. A bit of reversing, a three-point turn, and they were on their way. Scholes and Michaelson had made sure Fox’s Volvo was in front. As they approached the main road, the same constable as before undid the cordon to let them through. There was a white scooter parked next to his car. Brian Jamieson sat astride it, one foot on the tarmac for the sake of balance. He was on his phone again, pausing as he recognised the driver of the Volvo. Fox kept his eyes on the road ahead, Scholes and Michaelson tailing him for the first couple of miles, just to make sure.
Four
11
‘A right little Jonah.’
Fox gave Tony Kaye a look. ‘That’s what Scholes said, too.’
It was the following morning and they were back in Kirkcaldy. They’d ruled out ever using the storeroom again, so had commandeered the interview room.
‘We’ll be needing it all day,’ Fox had informed the desk sergeant. The man had put up no resistance, just nodded and gone back to his paperwork.
Fox had wondered about that: no gloating over Teresa Collins? ‘No,’ he’d said out loud, once seated in the interview room. The man’s in mourning…
‘No?’ Joe Naysmith had echoed, arriving with a spare chair from the storeroom.
‘Never mind,’ Fox had said.
Kaye had been out to a cafe and fetched them cardboard beakers of coffee. Fox had phoned him the previous night to tell him about Alan Carter.
‘Coincidence?’ Kaye had asked, getting right to the heart of it.
‘Got to be coincidence,’ Naysmith said now, prising the top from his cup and adding a couple of thimble-sized cartons of milk.
‘I don’t know,’ Fox countered. ‘Scholes said something last night about guilt. Maybe he got wind that his nephew was out and might be lodging an appeal.’
‘So he went and stuck a pistol to his head?’ Kaye said, his tone one of disbelief.
‘Revolver,’ Fox corrected him.
‘Must be more to it than that, Malcolm.’
‘Or less,’ Naysmith added.
‘You didn’t tape your interview with him, did you?’ Kaye was asking Fox.
‘Wasn’t as formal as an interview… but the answer’s no.’
‘Reckon it might take some heat off? With this to occupy them, maybe Teresa Collins will stop being the headline.’
‘Maybe.’
‘Nobody’s spoken to you?’
Fox shook his head. ‘Far as I know, we’re still on the case.’
‘Such as it is.’
Fox allowed the point with a shrug of his shoulders.
‘So what are we doing today?’ Naysmith asked.
‘Good question.’ Kaye scratched his head. ‘Foxy?’
‘There are two more victims we could talk to.’ Fox wasn’t managing to sound enthusiastic.
‘The drunken lassies?’ Kaye sounded keener. ‘That’s a point.’
‘What about the surveillance?’ Naysmith added.
‘Might be up and running,’ Fox conceded.
‘Or we just sit in here all day scratching our arses,’ Kaye offered. ‘I’ve a pack of cards in the Mondeo somewhere…’
‘There are heaps of questions still to ask DI Scholes,’ Naysmith reminded them. ‘We’d hardly started when he got called away.’
‘That’s true.’ Fox finished his coffee, trying to locate any flavour at all in the final mouthful.
‘And DCI Laird needs another going at,’ Kaye added. ‘Even if he gives us hee-haw.’
‘I hate to mention it,’ Naysmith added, ‘but we’re not really finished with Teresa Collins, either…’
‘Leave her for now,’ Fox cautioned.
‘Scholes, then?’ Kaye was making to rise to his feet. ‘Want me to fetch him?’
‘I’ll do it, Tony. You finish your drink.’
But as he headed for the stairs, Fox saw the unmistakable shape of Ray Scholes walking in the other direction. He was with a stooped elderly man, his hand resting lightly across the man’s shoulders. They were headed for reception. Scholes didn’t see the visitor out, though, just pointed him in the right direction before turning to head back to his office. He saw Fox and slowed his pace, jutting his chin out.
‘I keep thinking you’re going to bring me bad luck,’ he said.
‘Maybe I am. We need you in the interview room.’
Scholes shook his head. ‘Not now. Might be a bit of movement on Alan Carter.’
‘What sort of movement?’ Fox couldn’t help asking.
‘Never you mind.’ Having said which, Scholes headed for the staircase. Fox watched him, then turned and made for reception. The visitor had yet to leave. He was talking with the desk sergeant. They were shaking hands. When he did push open the front door, Fox followed.
‘Where you going?’ the desk sergeant barked, but Fox ignored him. The elderly man was standing at the bottom of the steps, looking bewildered.
‘Needing a lift back to Kinghorn?’ Fox asked him. ‘I can do it, if you like.’
The man peered at him. Short-sighted, but lacking glasses. What hair he had left was jet black. Fox reckoned it was dyed. His eyes were small and deep-set, his mouth drawn in on itself, as though he’d forgotten to put his teeth in.
‘I’m fine walking,’ he said, having studied Fox. ‘Do I know you?’
‘My name’s Fox. Sorry, I don’t know yours.’
‘Teddy Fraser.’
‘You’re the one who found Mr Carter?’
Fraser nodded solemnly. Fox noticed that he wore a thin black tie with his threadbare shirt. Mourning again. ‘A bad, bad thing,’ he muttered to himself.
‘You’ve just been seeing DI Scholes?’
‘Aye.’
‘I only met Mr Carter the one time, but I liked him.’
‘He was hard to dislike.’
‘Did you walk here this morning, Mr Fraser?’
‘I like walking. It’s not that far.’
‘Busy road, though.’
‘There are a few short cuts.’
‘Must have been a shock, finding Mr Carter…’
‘A shock?’ Fraser gave a short, cold laugh. ‘You might say that.’
‘What I mean is… I didn’t really know him, but he seemed fine in himself.’
Fraser nodded again. ‘There was nothing wrong with him. The DI’s saying they’re checking his health, in case the doctor had given him bad news. But he’d have told me, wouldn’t he? No secrets between us.’
‘You’d known one another a long time?’
‘We were at school together – two years between us, but we were in the team.’
Fox didn’t like to say that Fraser looked a lot older. If he were the elder by two years, then he’d be no more than sixty-four. ‘Football?’ he asked instead.
‘Fife champions two years in a row.’ Fraser sounded so proud, Fox wondered if anything since had given the man the same satisfaction.
‘Where did Mr Carter play?’
‘Right up front – a real poacher. Twenty-nine goals one season. That was a school record. If the minister doesn’t mention it at the funeral, I’ll be on my feet reminding everyone.’
Fox smiled at this. ‘What did DI Scholes want?’
‘Ach, he was just asking about the gun and stuff. How was Alan positioned when I found him? Had I moved anything?’
‘And had you?’
‘I picked up the phone and dialled 999.’
‘But Mr Carter wasn’t dead, was he?’
‘As good as.’
‘You tried rousing him?’
‘He was breathing. Not conscious, though. But a gun? Alan never owned a gun. And the door unlocked?’ He shook his head vigorously. ‘Kept it locked, even if he knew I was expected. If he heard me, he’d be at the door waiting, but otherwise I had to knock and Jimmy Nicholl would start barking.’