‘That’s because you’re good.’ Fox paused again. ‘Cardonald must have been livid when the prisoner he’d just released from custody was suddenly in the frame for murder. Won’t do his reputation any favours.’
‘Cardonald knows his place. I’ve made him a bit of money down the years.’
‘Plus I’d guess you can be persuasive when the occasion demands it. What about the arms dealer in Barbados? Was he proving troublesome too?’
‘You’re not seriously suggesting…?’
‘His name was Benchley.’
‘I know – he drowned in his pool.’
‘And that’s just coincidence?’
‘Of course it is.’
Fox thought for a second. ‘Cigarettes and a fifty-pound note went AWOL from Vernal’s car.’
‘Then someone must have taken them – maybe one of your own kind, Inspector.’ Pears allowed himself another little half-smile and signalled on to a new road.
‘Seems to me you’ve a destination in mind,’ Fox commented.
‘Maybe I do.’ Pears was checking in his mirror again – no sign of any headlights behind him. His mobile rang, and he checked the display without answering.
‘Chief Constable wondering where you’ve got to?’ Fox guessed.
‘I’m beginning to wonder if you’re jealous.’
‘Jealous?’
‘It’s a normal enough emotion,’ Pears said, ‘when you see someone with something you’ve not got and probably can’t get. It’s what drove Alan Carter – doesn’t matter if it’s money, status or love, it can make you a bit crazy.’ Pears paused. ‘How’s your father doing?’
Fox glared at him.
‘I know your own marriage didn’t last long,’ Pears continued. ‘You’ve got a sister who’s seen some trouble in the past. And now your father’s been in hospital. He’s home, though, right? Not at that care home – but home with you?’
Fox was still staring. Without looking, Pears knew it.
‘Private care costs money,’ he went on. ‘A sister with no job can be a bit of a drain. Then you look at what Alison and I have got – not that we didn’t work hard for it, but sometimes there’s luck involved too.’ He paused again. ‘I know you’re not after money, but that doesn’t mean you can’t feel bitterness at others’ good fortune.’ Pears gave Fox a good long look. ‘How am I doing, Inspector?’ he asked, throwing Fox’s question back at him. ‘The world’s missing one alcoholic womaniser and one blackmailer. Three cheers for the world…’
‘I think I know where we are,’ Fox said quietly, gazing out of the passenger-side window.
‘Where else would we be?’ Pears pulled into the lay-by, braking hard. There was a churning of gravel. He switched off the engine and turned to face Fox.
‘A walk in the woods?’ he suggested.
‘I’m fine here, thanks,’ Fox replied.
But Pears had reached beneath him and brought out another handgun. A pistol this time. ‘Kept a few souvenirs of the old days,’ he explained, aiming the barrel at Fox’s chest.
‘You’re forgetting the witnesses,’ Fox stated. ‘The surveillance van, for one thing.’
‘As plans go, it’s by no means perfect,’ Pears allowed.
‘So am I shooting myself in the head, or what?’
‘You’re going to hang yourself.’
‘Am I?’
‘At the scene of your obsession. I saw proof enough of it at your house – all those papers, a computer filled with guesswork. Francis Vernal got beneath your skin. Add that to your recent problems at work, and an ailing parent…’
‘I decide to end it all?’ Fox watched Pears nod. ‘And what are you doing all this time?’
‘We drove here together. You proposed some crazy theories. You directed me to this place, thinking it would mean something to me. Then madness got the better of you and you ran into the woods. I left you to it and drove home.’
‘It’ll all still come out – you and Alice, Vernal and Alan Carter …’
‘There’ll be hearsay,’ Pears agreed. ‘But I doubt the media will make much of it.’ He paused. ‘I have a battery of lawyers at my disposal, and I believe injunctions are all the rage. Trust me, precious little will be allowed to emerge. Why not toss your mobile phone on to the back seat? You won’t be needing it.’
Fox hesitated, and Pears dug the tip of the gun into his ribs. He winced and removed his phone, threw it into the gap between the two seats.
‘Out,’ Pears ordered. He had opened his own door, keeping the pistol pointed at Fox. Fox undid his seat belt and got out of the car. The air was cold and clear: country air. They were next to the small cairn commemorating Francis Vernal’s life.
A patriot.
It was a silent rural road. There would maybe be another car passing in half an hour or so. Plenty of time for Pears to carry out the execution – and no witnesses. There was a barking in the distance – a farm dog, or maybe a fox. Fox wished he was more like his animal namesake: swift and lean and nimble.
Cunning, though: there was always cunning…
Pears had closed the driver’s-side door and come around to Fox’s side of the Maserati. He slammed shut the passenger door.
‘Not often you see an expensive sports car parked here,’ Fox speculated. ‘Sure you don’t want to leave it somewhere less visible?’
‘I’ll just have to risk it,’ Pears responded. ‘Let’s get going.’
‘No rope,’ Fox told him.
‘It’s waiting for us.’ Pears waved the gun in the general direction.
‘Bit more planning than I gave you credit for.’
‘I read about it a while back. A man walked into a forest somewhere. He was too old to get the noose over a high branch, so he just tied it to a lower one, placed his neck in it, and leaned all the way forward…’
‘That’s what I’m going to do, is it? Sounds like I’d be better off refusing and taking a bullet. At least that way you’ll be in the frame.’
Pears shrugged. ‘My word against yours, except you won’t have any words. A body could lie out here for years without anyone finding it.’ He gestured towards the forest again. ‘Let’s not think about all that yet, though. Let’s just walk…’
Fox took a few steps forward, until he was within touching distance of the first line of trees. ‘Something nobody seemed to know
…’ He tried to sound beaten, resigned to his fate.
‘What?’
‘But you will, I suppose.’
Intrigued, Pears repeated his question.
‘The actual tree Vernal’s car collided with.’
Pears considered for a moment. ‘Probably that one,’ he answered, gesturing with the pistol. The moment it was pointed away from him, Fox made his move, grabbing Pears’s wrist and twisting it. Pears gasped, his fingers splaying involuntarily. As the gun dropped to the ground, Fox scuffed it away with his foot. But Pears was the stronger of the two – he got in a few heavy blows as Fox wrestled with him. It took Fox only a few seconds to realise he was not going to win this fight, not at close quarters. He couldn’t see the gun, so he gave Pears a shove backwards and ran for it.
Pears didn’t follow, not straight away, which gave Fox a bit of time to dart between the trees. He was a good twenty or thirty feet away, the gloom working to his advantage, when a bullet shattered some bark inches from his left shoulder. A splinter penetrated his cheek, stinging like hell. He left it where it was and kept weaving as best he could.
He didn’t know how deep the woods were. How soon would it be till he reached open ground, where he’d be an easy target? There was a half-moon in the sky above, obscured by a thin layer of shifting cloud. Enough light to see by. More than enough for Stephen Pears.
A bullet lodged in a tree: evidence waiting to be found. But would anyone find it? Though times had changed, the police could still be sloppy. He patted his pockets. If he started to discard credit cards and the like, he would be leaving a trail for Pears as much as for any investigators. Another bullet zinged past him and thumped into bark. Pears was heavyset; probably didn’t get much use of the gym at the house – did Fox have half a chance of outpacing him?
Didn’t matter: it was the bullets he had to outpace, and that wasn’t going to happen.