‘No,’ she admitted. ‘Though he may be wondering about it now.’ She was using her feet against the floor to swivel gently in the chair. There was a slice of lime in her glass, and she extracted it, placing it on a corner of the desk.
‘DCI Jackson filled you in?’ Fox surmised.
‘Some; maybe not all.’ She squeezed the bridge of her nose, as if trying to ward off a headache. ‘What’s this bad news you’ve had?’
‘Never mind,’ Fox said. ‘Let’s concentrate on your affair with Francis Vernal.’ He ignored the glower she gave him. ‘It was a way of infiltrating the Dark Harvest Commando?’
She was still giving him the same hard stare.
‘I know what you’re thinking,’ Fox went on. ‘It was a long time ago, you were a different person. And this isn’t the best time for it all to come bobbing up again.’ He paused, placing the photos back in his pocket.
‘I’ll tell you what it was,’ she eventually said, keeping her voice low in case anyone outside the door might be listening. ‘It was two years down the pan.’
‘Because of the car crash?’
She nodded slowly. ‘The whole bloody edifice just crumbled after that. Some were too scared to go on – they thought MI5 were out to assassinate the lot of them.’
‘And were they?’
‘I wasn’t MI5.’
‘You were recruited by Special Branch?’
‘They needed someone on the inside – a pretty face usually does the trick. But it couldn’t be a pretty face from south of the border, could it? The English were supposed to be the enemy.’
‘While you were fresh out of Tulliallan and looked younger than your years. So Special Branch managed to get you into St Andrews, where you could become political, burrow ever deeper and feed information back?’
‘If you know so much, why do you need me?’
‘I need you because a man was murdered, and no one at the time or since has done anything about it.’ He watched her for a moment; it was impossible to read her face. ‘The home address in Glasgow…?’
‘Short-term office let,’ she explained. ‘Used for mail drops.’
‘And all the time you were edging closer to Francis Vernal?’
‘Francis was the conduit. He was supposed to lead to the people we were really interested in.’
Fox was thoughtful for a moment. ‘He was with you that evening, the night he died?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you knew he was being tailed?’
She gave a slow nod.
‘Did you know about the money he kept in the car?’
‘He usually had some. Every meeting the DHC held, someone needed a bit of cash.’
‘For buying weapons?’
‘All sorts of reasons.’
‘According to Donald MacIver, there could have been as much as forty grand hidden in the boot – that was a chunk of money back then.’
‘Donald MacIver?’ She gave a wistful smile. ‘He lives in a fantasy world, Inspector; he always did.’
‘He remembers you fondly.’
‘It’s Alice he remembers,’ she corrected him.
‘How about John Elliot?’
‘I see him on TV sometimes.’
‘He’s never gleaned that you’re Alice Watts?’
‘We didn’t know one another back then – John was only interested in women who were on heat.’ She stared at him. ‘As far as I know, you’re the first to make the connection, so well done you.’ Her voice dripped sarcasm.
‘Alan Carter never got in touch?’
‘He’s the ex-detective?’ She watched Fox nod. ‘I didn’t know anything about that until Jackson mentioned it.’
‘Do you know the name Charles Mangold?’
She gave a heavy sigh. ‘This really can’t wait a week or two?’
‘It really can’t,’ Fox stated. ‘Charles Mangold?’ he repeated.
‘Francis’s partner in the law firm. He had a thing for Mrs Vernal, I seem to remember. Francis thought so, anyway.’
‘Mangold was paying Alan Carter to look into Vernal’s death. He wanted to prove something to the widow.’
‘What?’
Fox shrugged. ‘Either that her husband was a political assassination…’
‘Or?’
‘Or that he was a terrorist and sleazebag she’s been a fool to idolise all these years.’
‘You sound like you favour the latter theory.’
‘I think I do. You never met the wife?’
She shook her head. ‘I’d no interest in her. All I wanted was whatever information Francis could provide.’
‘Did you get any?’
‘Not much.’
‘But you went to quite a lot of trouble to seek it out.’
The glower was back. ‘Meaning?’
‘Sleeping with him.’
‘Who says I did?’
‘You’re telling me you didn’t?’
‘I’m telling you it’s none of your business.’
He let the silence sit between them for a moment, then mentioned that he had the letters.
‘What letters?’ She failed to stop a spot of colour appearing on either cheek.
‘The letters you sent him. Imogen Vernal found them and hung on to them.’ He waited for her to take this in. ‘You’re telling me you never loved him?’
She squeezed shut her eyes, then blinked them open again. ‘I’m telling you it’s ancient history – and also none of your business. You’re a Complaints officer. This is not a Complaints matter.’
‘You’re right. Maybe I should just hand everything over to CID…’
‘Don’t be crass.’
Fox waited a beat before continuing. ‘There was a cop called Gavin Willis. He led the inquiry – such as it was – when Vernal died. But you’d vanished by then.’
‘Special Branch didn’t want me sticking around – the questions could have been awkward. Besides, the DHC had scattered…’
‘So you said. For some reason, Willis held on to Vernal’s car.’
Her eyes widened a little. ‘Why did he do that?’
‘I’m not sure. One thing I do know: he was selling guns to groups like the DHC. Specifically to a man called “Hawkeye”.’ Fox handed her the photograph. She took her time studying it.
‘I haven’t seen this in years.’
‘The man you’ve linked arms with?’ Fox prompted.
‘Hawkeye, yes. He looks a bit awkward, doesn’t he? The arm thing would have been my idea. He wasn’t much of one for socialising… or for the ladies. Never went to the pub after meetings – most people, that was what they looked forward to: not the political theory but the booze-up.’
‘After Vernal’s death, you never spoke to any of them again?’
She shook her head and folded her arms across her chest, as if suddenly chilled. ‘I was another person,’ she stated quietly.
‘How do you think Francis Vernal died?’
‘I think he shot himself.’
‘Why?’
‘The drink, his marriage, the fear of discovery. He knew we were monitoring him.’
‘The two of you didn’t argue that night?’
‘Not really. I think it annoyed him that all I ever wanted to talk about was the group. He said it was a madness in me.’ She unfolded her arms, and studied the photograph again.
‘He never twigged you were undercover?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘If he had…?’
‘It might have led him to do something, I suppose.’
‘Did you ever see a gun in his car?’
‘Doesn’t mean one wasn’t there.’
‘That’s a no, then?’ Fox paused for a moment. ‘DCI Jackson doesn’t know?’
‘About Francis and me?’ She considered this. ‘I don’t think so. Why should he?’
‘He’s been digging in the files.’
‘Why?’
‘Wondering why I was interested. He told me something…’
‘What?’
‘The agents tailing Francis Vernal took a look at him after the crash.’ Fox was studying her reaction. ‘He was still alive. No head shot at that point.’
‘What did they do?’ The blood had drained from her face. Her voice was pitched just above a whisper.
‘If Jackson’s to be believed, they didn’t kill him. They just walked away and left him there. No call to the emergency services. Nothing.’
She seemed to wrap her arms more closely around herself. ‘That’s awful,’ she said.
‘I’m glad we agree.’
There was silence in the room for almost a full minute.