‘That might be a dead end, then – and we’re back to the nephew again.’
Kaye did a circuit of the room, opening drawers, studying ornaments, even crouching down in front of the fireplace and peering at the ash and dead cinders in the grate. He got to his feet, sniffed, and made for the kitchen, after which all three men climbed the stairs to the upper floor.
‘Cottage used to belong to Gavin Willis,’ Fox recited. ‘Willis was Alan Carter’s mentor – seasoned DI to his L-plate DC. When Willis died, Carter bought the place and practised his lack of DIY skills on it.’
‘Should’ve stuck to the day job,’ Kaye agreed.
‘When Paul Carter was young, his dad brought him here – Uncle Alan said he didn’t need any help.’
‘He was lying,’ Kaye stated.
‘Bit of replastering… new wallpaper…’
Kaye looked at Fox. ‘You think he was looking for something?’
‘Money went missing when Vernal died – a few thousand.’
‘Cash? That would make a hell of a bump in any patch of wallpaper.’
‘Maybe it wasn’t money, then,’ Fox speculated.
Kaye had caught on by now: he knew Fox was using him as a sounding board, and acknowledged as much with a wink.
‘The car?’ Joe Naysmith asked. ‘Much better hiding place.’
‘Yes,’ Fox agreed.
‘But the car was in the garage, right?’ Kaye said. ‘So why tear the cottage to pieces?’
‘Maybe Alan Carter didn’t know about the car,’ Naysmith replied. ‘Not straight off.’
‘Maybe,’ Fox conceded.
‘You want to come back here with some tools and start stripping the place?’ Kaye offered. He watched Fox shake his head. ‘Because you think if anything was here, Alan Carter found it?’
This time Fox shrugged.
Kaye took another of his little tours, opening drawers and cupboard doors. ‘We’re all cops here,’ he commented. ‘Where would we hide something?’
‘In full view?’ Naysmith suggested.
‘That might actually work, so long as it was the likes of Cash and his stooge looking for it. How about you, Foxy?’
‘Under the mattress… maybe a loose floorboard…’
Kaye stared at him. ‘At least Joe’s got a bit of imagination.’
‘There are acres of farmland and hundreds of trees out there. Could be anywhere.’
Kaye considered this. ‘Seems to me Paul Carter’s still the obvious candidate.’ He paused. ‘Can we go home now?’
Fox met his colleague’s stare. ‘I’d like it if you took a look at the garage first,’ he requested.
‘And then we can go home?’
‘Maybe,’ Fox hedged.
The key to the garage’s padlock was back on its hook in the kitchen. It seemed that nobody from CID had been particularly interested in the rusting wreck. Naysmith and Fox removed the tarpaulin while Kaye looked at the tools and paint cans on the cobwebbed shelves.
‘Removed from the crash site before anyone could really examine it,’ Fox stated.
‘Willis went to the scrapyard personally,’ Naysmith added. ‘Had them bring it here.’
‘So?’ Kaye brushed dust from his palms.
‘All we really know about Willis is he was old-school, he was close to Alan Carter, and he maybe pocketed firearms instead of getting rid of them.’
‘None of which ties him to Francis Vernal.’
‘Except that Vernal had links to radical groups, and those radical groups had weapons.’
‘What do we have on the gun that killed the lawyer?’
‘Next to nothing,’ Fox conceded.
Kaye folded his arms. ‘Okay,’ he said, ‘give me the wildest fucking conspiracy theory you can come up with.’
Fox hesitated for only a moment. ‘Spooks,’ he said. ‘Vernal was being followed, office and home broken into. His friends in the Dark Harvest Commando were scaring the powers-that-be.’
‘They assassinated him? Why?’
‘He was a threat?’ Naysmith offered.
‘Was he, though?’ Kaye asked Fox.
Fox considered the question. ‘At most, he handled the money. Nobody seems to think he led any group.’
‘Then who did?’
‘Donald MacIver.’
‘Have you spoken to him?’
‘He’s in Carstairs.’ Fox paused. ‘You think I should go see him?’
‘Your call, not mine.’ Kaye walked around the Volvo. ‘You’ve checked it out?’
‘I did,’ Naysmith replied. ‘Climbed in and had a rummage.’
‘Find anything?’
‘No.’
‘The logbook,’ Fox corrected him.
‘Look in the boot?’
When Fox shook his head, Kaye lifted a chisel from the workbench and started prising at the metal. Naysmith joined in with a screwdriver. Eventually the lock gave way. There was straw inside: all that remained of a nest of some kind. The spare tyre was flat, the rubber perished. Kaye lifted it and checked beneath. When he tried moving the felt flooring, it crumbled. There was a jack, but nothing else. Fox realised he’d been holding his breath, half expecting the money to be there. Kaye made a non-committal noise and walked to the other end of the vehicle, examining the crumpled frame. ‘I thought these things were built of bricks. Must have been doing a fair lick…’
‘Vernal had been visiting his lover,’ Fox informed him.
‘Was he in a hurry to get away?’
‘Someone could have been on his tail.’
‘Spooks again, eh? Reckon they’d open their files to us?’
‘Doubtful.’
Kaye placed the tarpaulin on the ground and lay down on it, shuffling underneath the car. ‘Doesn’t look like anything’s been tampered with. Hard to say, though, after all this time…’ When he emerged, he brushed himself down. ‘Does the girlfriend have anything to add?’
‘She did a vanishing trick soon after.’
‘Which you interpret as someone putting the frighteners on her?’
‘Not necessarily.’
Kaye rubbed at his jaw. ‘If I’m being honest, Malcolm, I don’t think you’ve got anything.’
‘But is that because there’s nothing there to get?’
Kaye narrowed his eyes and thought this over. ‘I wouldn’t go quite that far.’
‘Would you keep at it, though?’
‘Me personally?’ Kaye shook his head slowly. ‘Simple life’s what I’m after. You, on the other hand…’ He didn’t feel the need to finish the sentence.
Fox stared at the car, then grabbed a corner of the tarpaulin. Joe Naysmith helped him cover it up again.
Fox dropped them back at the car park behind the police station.
‘What’s next?’ he asked.
Kaye looked at Naysmith. ‘I’d say we’re ready to prep a final report.’
‘I might have a couple of supplementary questions,’ Naysmith countered.
‘And would those be for the fragrant DC Forrester?’
Naysmith tried his hardest not to let the colour rise to his face. Kaye chuckled and slapped him on the back.
‘How about you?’ he asked Fox.
‘Cash doesn’t want me anywhere near here.’
‘The perfect excuse to go back to your archaeological dig?’
‘Something like that.’
Kaye nodded, then slung an arm around Naysmith’s shoulders. He was offering dating advice as the two of them headed for the station’s rear door. Fox sat in his car with the engine idling, thinking of the smashed-up maroon 244. Willis had wanted it for a reason. He must have thought that it represented evidence of something – a little insurance policy of some kind. If he had removed the money, why hang on to the car? And how could he have known about the money in the first place? Unless he had ties to the Dark Harvest Commando. Close ties.
A member?
A sympathiser?
Fox looked down at the floor in front of the passenger seat. The 244’s logbook was lying there. He reached down and picked it up. What was it Naysmith had said…?
In full view…
And Tony Kaye: That might actually work…
A lot of the pages had stuck together. Fox tried separating them, but they tended to tear. He ran his fingers over them, feeling for anything hidden inside. At the back was the clear plastic pocket containing MOTs and service invoices. These weren’t in the best of health either. The car’s owner was listed as Mr F. Vernal, address in the Grange. The car had been serviced by a garage on Edinburgh’s south side.