years?’
‘Not really. Maybe at the football or a reunion …’
‘He liked to keep busy, though, eh?’
‘Built that company of his from scratch.’ Robinson sounded impressed, so Fox nodded his agreement.
‘The day I saw him, he was still busy,’ he informed the sergeant.
‘Oh?’
‘All that work he was doing on Francis Vernal.’
Robinson’s face stiffened.
‘Care to shed some light?’
‘I’m not the one to talk to,’ Robinson eventually confided.
‘Then who is?’
‘These days?’ Robinson pondered his answer. ‘Probably no one …’
Back in the interview room, Fox pointed at Joe Naysmith.
‘I need you to do something for me. Got a laptop with you?’
‘No.’
‘Well there must be a spare computer somewhere around here.’
‘What is it you need?’
‘An internet search.’
‘My phone can do that.’
‘Can it print, though?’ When Naysmith shook his head, Fox told him that only a computer would do.
‘What am I searching for?’
‘Francis Vernal.’
‘You mean the lawyer?’ Tony Kaye said. Fox turned towards him. ‘Died in a car smash back in the eighties.’
‘Go on.’
Kaye gave a shrug. ‘I was only a kid …’ He paused. ‘Come to think of it, didn’t he shoot himself?’
‘Before or after he crashed the car?’
Kaye shrugged again, and Fox turned his attention back to Naysmith, who took the hint and started to leave.
‘What’s this about?’ Kaye asked as the door closed behind Naysmith.
‘Something Alan Carter was working on.’
‘And what’s that got to do with us?’
‘Maybe nothing …’
‘ Maybe nothing? I thought you were bringing us back Ray Scholes – Joe got the camera ready and everything.’
Fox noticed the tripod for the first time. The audio recorder was on the table, flanked by microphones.
‘He says he’s busy.’
‘Whoopee for him. Let’s all take a holiday until he deigns to grace us with his presence.’
‘The two women,’ Fox said. ‘Why don’t you go talk to them?’
‘You trying to get rid of me?’
‘I thought you were keen?’
‘I suppose it beats sitting here watching the cogs whir inside that head of yours.’
‘Well then …’
‘But first you need to tell me what’s going on.’
‘Nothing’s going on. A guy died, I liked him, his front room was like a shrine to someone called Francis Vernal.’
‘And you want to know why?’
‘And I want to know why.’ Fox paused, eyes boring into those of his colleague and friend. ‘Good enough for you?’
‘Anything for a quiet life.’ Kaye was rising from his chair, easing his arms back into the sleeves of his suit jacket. ‘Do I take Junior with me?’
‘If you need him.’
‘Isn’t he busy on a little job for you?’
‘It can wait.’
‘And while we’re out there on the mean streets, you’ll be doing what exactly?’
‘Checking on the surveillance … telling McEwan about the suicide … trying to pin Ray Scholes down – I won’t be slacking.’
‘Okay.’ Kaye nodded slowly. ‘But we’ll miss you, you know that. Hell, we might even send you a postcard.’
12
It wasn’t Fox’s fault that Evelyn Mills wasn’t answering her phone. The same was true of Bob McEwan – while Ray Scholes had gone AWOL. Fox found himself back in the police station’s reception area, staring at one of the notices on the wall. It was an advert for a local cab company. Five minutes later, he was in the passenger seat of a dented white Hyundai. The driver was keen to learn more about the suicide, but Fox offered him nothing. The cordon had been removed and there was no activity outside the cottage itself. The driver asked if he wanted him to wait.
‘Good idea.’
The man turned off the engine. He looked to be readying to get out of the car, but Fox stopped him.
‘Nothing to see,’ he stated.
So the driver switched the radio on, modern dance music sound-tracking Fox as he made for the front door.
It was locked.
He made a circuit around
‘Not really. Maybe at the football or a reunion …’
‘He liked to keep busy, though, eh?’
‘Built that company of his from scratch.’ Robinson sounded impressed, so Fox nodded his agreement.
‘The day I saw him, he was still busy,’ he informed the sergeant.
‘Oh?’
‘All that work he was doing on Francis Vernal.’
Robinson’s face stiffened.
‘Care to shed some light?’
‘I’m not the one to talk to,’ Robinson eventually confided.
‘Then who is?’
‘These days?’ Robinson pondered his answer. ‘Probably no one …’
Back in the interview room, Fox pointed at Joe Naysmith.
‘I need you to do something for me. Got a laptop with you?’
‘No.’
‘Well there must be a spare computer somewhere around here.’
‘What is it you need?’
‘An internet search.’
‘My phone can do that.’
‘Can it print, though?’ When Naysmith shook his head, Fox told him that only a computer would do.
‘What am I searching for?’
‘Francis Vernal.’
‘You mean the lawyer?’ Tony Kaye said. Fox turned towards him. ‘Died in a car smash back in the eighties.’
‘Go on.’
Kaye gave a shrug. ‘I was only a kid …’ He paused. ‘Come to think of it, didn’t he shoot himself?’
‘Before or after he crashed the car?’
Kaye shrugged again, and Fox turned his attention back to Naysmith, who took the hint and started to leave.
‘What’s this about?’ Kaye asked as the door closed behind Naysmith.
‘Something Alan Carter was working on.’
‘And what’s that got to do with us?’
‘Maybe nothing …’
‘ Maybe nothing? I thought you were bringing us back Ray Scholes – Joe got the camera ready and everything.’
Fox noticed the tripod for the first time. The audio recorder was on the table, flanked by microphones.
‘He says he’s busy.’
‘Whoopee for him. Let’s all take a holiday until he deigns to grace us with his presence.’
‘The two women,’ Fox said. ‘Why don’t you go talk to them?’
‘You trying to get rid of me?’
‘I thought you were keen?’
‘I suppose it beats sitting here watching the cogs whir inside that head of yours.’
‘Well then …’
‘But first you need to tell me what’s going on.’
‘Nothing’s going on. A guy died, I liked him, his front room was like a shrine to someone called Francis Vernal.’
‘And you want to know why?’
‘And I want to know why.’ Fox paused, eyes boring into those of his colleague and friend. ‘Good enough for you?’
‘Anything for a quiet life.’ Kaye was rising from his chair, easing his arms back into the sleeves of his suit jacket. ‘Do I take Junior with me?’
‘If you need him.’
‘Isn’t he busy on a little job for you?’
‘It can wait.’
‘And while we’re out there on the mean streets, you’ll be doing what exactly?’
‘Checking on the surveillance … telling McEwan about the suicide … trying to pin Ray Scholes down – I won’t be slacking.’
‘Okay.’ Kaye nodded slowly. ‘But we’ll miss you, you know that. Hell, we might even send you a postcard.’
12
It wasn’t Fox’s fault that Evelyn Mills wasn’t answering her phone. The same was true of Bob McEwan – while Ray Scholes had gone AWOL. Fox found himself back in the police station’s reception area, staring at one of the notices on the wall. It was an advert for a local cab company. Five minutes later, he was in the passenger seat of a dented white Hyundai. The driver was keen to learn more about the suicide, but Fox offered him nothing. The cordon had been removed and there was no activity outside the cottage itself. The driver asked if he wanted him to wait.
‘Good idea.’
The man turned off the engine. He looked to be readying to get out of the car, but Fox stopped him.
‘Nothing to see,’ he stated.
So the driver switched the radio on, modern dance music sound-tracking Fox as he made for the front door.
It was locked.
He made a circuit around
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