Cash was looking at Naysmith. ‘What sort of time?’
‘It was just before eight when they sat down with their drinks,’ Naysmith obliged.
‘And when did they leave?’
Naysmith looked towards Tony Kaye for help.
‘They clocked him,’ Kaye told Cash. ‘By ten past the hour, we were on our way.’
Cash didn’t say anything for a few moments, happy to bask in the Complaints’ inefficiency.
‘So your undercover surveillance lasted a maximum of fifteen minutes?’ He turned his attention to Fox and offered a gloating smile.
‘All right, you’ve had your fun,’ Fox said coldly. ‘The thing is, they’ll know what sort of state Paul Carter was in, and what time the session broke up.’
‘That they will,’ Cash acknowledged with a nod.
‘So we need to talk to them.’
Cash stared at him. ‘No promises, remember?’
Fox had had enough. He got right into Cash’s face. ‘One thing you’re forgetting – my report goes straight to your Chief Constable. That report’s already going to make pretty interesting reading. The whole reason we’re here is so your boss can show everyone how spick and span everything is. Last thing he wants is the media getting wind that obstacles were put in our way. Names will be named, Detective Inspector Cash.’ Fox paused. ‘I never did catch your first name. Better spell it out for me, just to be on the safe side.’
Cash made Fox wait – which was fine by Fox. He knew the man would climb down eventually. Eventually he held his hands up in a show of surrender.
‘Cooperation has always been my byword,’ he said with a humourless half-smile. ‘We’re all on the same side after all, aren’t we?’
Fox maintained eye contact, their faces only inches apart.
‘Duly noted,’ he told the CID man.
There was further news waiting for them at the station – news that changed everything. Cash mulled it over and decided he wanted all three of Paul Carter’s colleagues in the same room at the same time. The interview room was too cramped, so he cleared the CID office. DS Young had been sent to fetch Scholes, Haldane and Michaelson.
‘We’ve got recording equipment,’ Fox told Cash. The DI nodded his agreement and Joe Naysmith started setting everything up: video as well as audio. The three others – Cash, Fox and Kaye – started moving desks, making a decent-sized space. Eight chairs were needed: five facing three. Phones rang but went unanswered. Cash wiped sweat from his forehead with a voluminous white handkerchief.
‘You three,’ he explained to Fox, ‘are here to listen.’
‘Until advised otherwise,’ Fox agreed.
The door opened and four figures trooped in. Haldane and Michaelson looked dazed, Scholes wary. DS Young pointed towards the three chairs.
‘What is this?’ Scholes asked.
‘Got a few questions for you,’ Cash stated.
Scholes took in the three Complaints officers and nodded his understanding. ‘Next time you try a stunt like that,’ he said, eyes on Fox but gesturing towards Naysmith, ‘use someone old enough not to be asked for proof of age by the landlord.’
The colour rose to Joe Naysmith’s cheeks as he checked the gear. Scholes had turned to his colleagues.
‘It’s because we were out with him last night,’ he told them. Then he sat down. There was silence in the room, until Naysmith said, ‘Okay.’ Cash took a deep breath and folded his arms.
‘It’s pretty grim, all of this,’ he said. ‘Sorry you’ve lost a friend…’
Scholes grunted a response.
‘As you say, you were out with him last night…’
‘Few jars at the Wheatsheaf,’ Michaelson stated.
‘What time was that?’
‘We left the back of nine, maybe half past.’
Cash kept his attention on Scholes, whether or not he was the one to answer. ‘What were the four of you talking about?’
‘This and that.’
‘His uncle’s death?’
‘For a bit.’
‘You all left the Wheatsheaf together?’
There wasn’t an immediate answer. Haldane glanced in Scholes’s direction.
‘Yes, DS Haldane?’ Cash prompted him.
‘We’d had a few words,’ Scholes admitted, pre-empting his colleague. ‘Bit unsettling to find you’re being tailed.’ He gave Naysmith a hard stare. ‘Paul was on his high horse about it.’
‘And after a few drinks, he did have a bit of a temper.’
‘It wasn’t that,’ Haldane blurted out. ‘It was just such a bloody headache listening to him drone on.’
‘Droning on, was he?’
‘The Complaints, the court case hanging over him, then his uncle and the finger of blame.’
‘Poor bastard was cracking up,’ Scholes commented.
‘So you had words in the pub?’ Cash asked.
Scholes nodded. ‘We left him to it.’
‘He was still there?’
‘We had work the next day.’
Cash nodded slowly. ‘I gave the manager a bell. He reckons it was close to eleven when DC Carter staggered out of there. Manager guesses he’d had about six pints and three nips by then.’ He paused, unfolding his arms and pressing his hands together. ‘So how do you think he ended up in the water?’
‘Does it matter?’ Scholes glared at Cash. ‘Makes your job that bit easier, doesn’t it, now he’s not here to fight his corner. Pin his uncle’s murder on him; case closed. No trial necessary… all nice and tidy.’
‘Ah, but that’s just what it isn’t.’ Cash waited for his words to sink in.
‘How do you mean?’ Michaelson eventually asked.
‘We had a phone call earlier. Member of the public happened to be out walking his dog last night. He saw a man down on the beach. He was being chased by another man. First guy wasn’t screaming or shouting or anything. Just running as best he could.’ Cash broke off, waiting for a reaction.
‘What makes you think it was Paul?’ Scholes eventually asked.
Cash shrugged. ‘Just that the witness saw him run into the sea. His only chance of getting away. Onlooker took them for a couple of drunks having a laugh.’ He looked down at his lap. ‘We’re not long back from the autopsy. DC Carter somehow ended up with a broken nose and grazes on his hands…’
‘Wait a minute,’ Haldane said, voice unsteady. He had gripped the arms of his chair and was starting to rise to his feet.
‘Sit down,’ Cash said.
Scholes placed a hand on Haldane’s shoulder, and Haldane lowered himself back on to the chair.
‘What’s this got to do with us?’ Scholes asked.
‘You tell me.’
‘I will, then – the answer is: nothing. We left Paul in the pub, went back to our cars and drove home.’
‘You weren’t over the limit?’
‘Of course not. We’re the law, aren’t we?’
‘And you went your separate ways – meaning none of you can vouch for the others, unless you have psychic powers.’
Michaelson snorted and shook his head. ‘This is fucking unbelievable,’ he announced, pointing a finger at Fox. ‘That lot’ll stop at nothing to see us flushed down the pan.’
‘Your wife will vouch that you were home before ten?’ Cash asked.
‘Absolutely.’
‘How about you, DS Haldane?’
‘I went round to my mum’s. Left her place just after eleven.’
‘Night owl, is she?’
‘She nodded off for a bit; the news does that to her…’
Cash nodded. ‘Which brings us to you, DI Scholes.’
‘I really can’t believe I’m hearing this.’ Scholes looked calm enough, but he only just had his emotions under control. When he spoke, it was as if his voice was trying to rid itself of a straitjacket. ‘Paul was our mate. Now you’re saying one of us smacked him? You’re saying he was so scared of us, he ran into the sea?’ Scholes actually laughed, arching his head back.
‘I’m waiting,’ Cash said, sounding as if he had all the time in the world.
Scholes stopped laughing. ‘You might as well lock me in the cells,’ he stated. ‘All I did was drive to Milnathort to see my girlfriend. She was out, so I came back to town. Didn’t see or speak to anyone.’ He stared at Cash. ‘So I must’ve done it, mustn’t I?’