‘They could have shot him,’ Alison Pears eventually conceded. ‘Shot him and taken the money.’
‘They could,’ Fox agreed. ‘Tell me, was Vernal really just a job to you?’
Her look hardened a little. ‘How often do I need to say it? That’s something I’m not willing to discuss.’
‘It might be the one thing I can take back to Charles Mangold for him to give to the widow.’
‘I think this has gone far enough.’
‘Alan Carter really never contacted you? Never connected you to Alice Watts?’
‘I’ve already told you, Inspector – you’re the first.’ She stood up, indicating that the meeting was over. Reluctantly, Fox got to his feet. ‘I need to know how far you’re going to take this,’ she asked.
‘I can’t answer that.’
‘It would put my mind at rest,’ she persevered. ‘There’s a job I should be focusing on.’
He nodded his understanding. ‘Thank you for seeing me.’ He was holding out his hand for the photograph.
‘I’d like to keep it,’ she said.
Fox kept his hand held out. Her phone rang and she answered it, relinquishing the photo at the same time. ‘Speak to me,’ she said. As she listened, Fox watched her turn into a Chief Constable again. It was as if her talk with him had been slotted into a filing cabinet somewhere.
‘No,’ she was stating, ‘Govan can’t bloody well have them. They’re my suspects.’
Govan: the high-security police station in Glasgow. It was where terrorist suspects usually ended up, but Pears was fighting her corner. As the argument continued, Fox realised she craved the media attention because it gave her the chance to shine. What was it her husband had said? Something about her ‘needing’ this case. By the time she ended the call, she had made her determination clear to the other participant. She looked at Fox, and he knew what she was telling him: I’m a fighter. I’m used to winning. Just remember that… He nodded and opened the door for her. She marched out ahead of him, making for the stairs again. Stephen Pears was watching TV, but rose to greet Fox.
‘Everything cleared up?’ he asked, watching his wife disappear from view.
‘I’m fairly satisfied,’ Fox decided to answer. He noted that Andrew Watson seemed to have left. The lights by the tennis court had been switched off.
‘A case of mistaken identity, then,’ the financier was stating.
‘It happens,’ Fox concurred.
Pears patted him on the back and said he would show him out. ‘In fact, it’s such a lovely evening, I might take Max for a walk.’
‘Thank you again, Mr Pears,’ Fox said, shaking the man’s hand. Pears applied his free hand to Fox’s wrist.
‘Sorry again about your father. I hope he’s all right.’ He paused, still grasping Fox’s wrist. ‘And if you ever need anything, Inspector …’
Fox could see he meant nothing by it – it was just something the self-made millionaire had grown used to saying. But he thanked him again anyway.
Jude was asleep on her chair. The nurse said she hadn’t moved from the spot.
‘We told her to go stretch her legs, but she wouldn’t. I brought her tea and biscuits but she left them.’
They were standing at the nurses’ station, keeping their voices low. Almost all the patients were asleep. ‘My dad’s not woken up?’ Fox asked.
‘Not yet.’
‘What about the scan?’
‘CT’s a bit backed up. It’ll be tomorrow now.’
‘What’s the drip for?’ Fox nodded towards the tube inserted into his father’s arm.
‘Need to keep his fluids up,’ the nurse explained. ‘Do you want to rouse your sister, or will I do it?’
Fox had been informed on his arrival that there was a bed ready for his father on a proper ward. Orderlies would be coming to wheel the bed along to its new berth.
‘I’ll do it,’ he said. He walked up behind Jude and rested a hand against her neck. Her skin was cool. She inhaled, twitched and jolted awake, giving a moan of complaint.
‘They’re putting him on a ward,’ Fox explained. ‘Nothing we can do till tomorrow. Let me give you a lift home.’
‘I can manage.’ Sleepily, she pushed the hair out of her eyes. ‘There’s buses and a taxi rank outside.’
‘Be a lot quicker if I did it.’ He paused. ‘Please, Jude.’
She focused on him, and saw something in his eyes. For whatever reason, he needed to do this for her. She was giving a little nod of acquiescence as the orderlies arrived for their patient.
The nurse made sure brother and sister had the ward details and a contact number. Fox thanked her and walked with Jude back along the corridor past the A and E desk. He didn’t recognise any of the people waiting. The doors swung open, Jude sucking in lungfuls of the cold night air.
‘Better?’ he asked her. She made a non-committal sound and followed him to his car.
They didn’t say much during the drive. Fox was thinking back to the house in Stirling, the Chief Constable and her politician brother. And the money man making sure everyone got what they needed.
Fox was wondering if he had got what he needed. It took him a moment to realise that Jude was crying. He assured her that everything would be fine.
‘What if it isn’t, though?’
Then it isn’t.
But he found himself saying ‘It will be’ instead.
He dropped her at her terraced house. She had a neighbour called Pettifer and Fox said she should knock on her door.
‘I’ll do it for you, if you like,’ he offered.
But Jude shook her head. ‘I’ll just go to bed,’ she countered. ‘Bit of a lie-down.’
Fox could only nod. ‘I’ll pick you up tomorrow – we’ll go see him together.’
‘Don’t put yourself out on my account.’
‘Let’s not do this, Jude.’
She rubbed at her eyes. ‘What time, then?’
‘I’ll phone you.’
‘Something might come up,’ she warned him.
‘I won’t let it.’
‘Didn’t stop you tonight, did it?’ She studied his face, then gave a sigh. ‘All right,’ she conceded. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’ She closed the passenger-side door and began walking up the path towards her house with its curtainless front window and unkempt garden. Fox remembered a promise he’d made three or four months back – I’ll help you tidy it; only take us a couple of hours. A couple of hours he had never quite found. Jude didn’t glance back over her shoulder towards the car, didn’t turn and wave. Once indoors, her lights went on but she didn’t come to the window. Fox put the car into gear and drove off.
Twenty minutes later, he was sitting outside another house – nicer, more modern. No front garden for Tony Kaye, just lots of lovely monoblock so he could park his Mondeo off-road. Fox had just ended the call. He watched shadows moving behind the living-room curtains. Then the curtains parted and Kaye gestured towards him. But Fox shook his head. The door opened and Kaye padded out in what looked like a pair of leather carpet-slippers. His shirt was untucked, open at the neck.
‘My place not good enough for you?’ he said, yanking open the passenger-side door and getting in.
‘Didn’t want to disturb you. How’s Hannah?’
‘She was fine till five minutes ago. Now she’s wondering what she’s done to offend you.’ Kaye peered towards the house, as if expecting to see his wife scowling at a window.
‘I’ve had a hell of a day and I need to dump it on someone,’ Fox confided.
‘Think you’ve had it hard? I spent about three hours on the phone to Cash, trying to persuade him to bring Tosh Garioch in for an interview.’
‘And?’
‘Tomorrow morning first thing.’ Kaye sounded proud of the achievement.
‘What about the report?’
‘On your desk. McEwan likes it well enough.’
‘Has it gone to Fife Constabulary?’
‘Not without your say-so, Foxy.’
‘Then I’ll look at it in the morning.’
Kaye nodded, then fixed his eyes on Fox. ‘Is it Evelyn Mills?’ he asked.
‘What?’
‘Throwing herself at you, and you need my advice?’
‘I haven’t heard a cheep from her.’