Once home, Fox microwaved another ready-meal and ate it at the table. The TV stayed off. He was lost in thought. After he’d cleaned up, he called his sister and apologised for not getting back to her sooner.
‘Don’t tell me: you’ve been busy?’
‘It happens to be true.’ Fox squeezed the skin at the bridge of his nose.
‘But you did go see Dad?’
‘Last night, as promised. He was back to himself by the time I got there.’
‘Oh?’
‘We took a look through some of those photographs.’
‘They didn’t upset him?’
‘Not so much, no.’
‘Maybe it’s me, then – is that what you’re getting at? You think I’m overreacting?’
‘No, Jude, I’m sure you’re not. And I saw the pack of pads in the bathroom.’
‘If he starts wetting himself, they’re going to kick him out.’
‘I doubt that.’
‘They’ll want him home with one of us.’
‘Listen, Jude-’
‘It can’t be me, Malcolm! How am I supposed to cope?’
‘They’re not going to get rid of him.’
‘Why? Because you keep coughing up for his bed and board? That’s fine as long as he’s not a bother to them.’
‘Would it put your mind at rest if we went to see them?’
‘You do it – they hate me.’
‘No they don’t.’
‘They treat me like dirt. You don’t see it because you’re the one waving the chequebook. That’s all right, though, isn’t it? You’ll be the one getting the lion’s share of his will. It’s you he likes, the one he’s always talking about when I’m there. Never me – I just fetch and carry, like one of the fucking staff!’
‘Listen to yourself, Jude.’
But instead it was Fox who listened – listened to his sister as her complaints lengthened and intensified. He pictured the photograph of her as a small girl, atop Chris’s shoulders, bursting with carefree energy. Now distilled to this.
Sometimes you have to draw a line…
Fox watched himself lower the telephone receiver back on to its charger. As the connection was made, the line went dead. He drew in his bottom lip, staring at the machine, wondering if it would ring, Jude enraged on the other end.
But it didn’t, so he made himself some tea, considering whether there was anything he could have said to her to make things better – offered to visit his father more often; arranged for the three of them to go to lunch some weekend. It’s you he likes… I just fetch and carry.
With a sigh, he went over to his computer and switched it on, wondering what his search engine could tell him about 1985, while the stinging memory of the phone call began to melt away.
Three
8
‘You’re not a ghost, then?’
‘Flesh and blood, last time I looked.’
Fox was starting to reach out a hand, but saw she was holding both of hers towards him. He made to grasp them, then realised it was the prelude to a hug. Awkwardly, he hugged her back.
‘Has it been three years or four?’ she asked. Three years or four since their one-night stand at, of all things, a Standards of Conduct conference at Tulliallan Police College.
‘Not quite four. You look just the same.’ He took a step back, the better to judge the truth of this. Her name was Evelyn Mills, much the same age as Fox but wearing the years lightly. She’d been married at the time of their fling, and, by the ring on her left hand, she still was. They were standing on the seafront in Kirkcaldy. There had been a heavy shower earlier, but it had blown over. Thick gobbets of cloud glided overhead. There were a couple of cargo ships on the horizon. Fox took it in, while waiting to see if she had any comment to make about his own appearance.
‘Still in the Complaints, then?’ she asked instead. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and gave a shrug.
‘And you, too.’
‘Mmm…’ She seemed to be studying him intently. Then she linked arms with him and they started walking in silence.
‘Good result for you,’ Fox offered eventually. ‘Paul Carter, I mean.’
‘Wasn’t really us, though, was it? It was down to the witnesses. Even then… different day, different courtroom – it could have swung the other way.’
‘All the same,’ he persisted.
‘All the same… we’re so good at what we do, you have to be hauled here from the bustling metropolis.’
‘Arm’s-length, Evelyn. This way no one can accuse you of looking out for your own.’
‘You think we’d do that?’
‘It wouldn’t be me pointing the finger.’ He paused. ‘If it’s any consolation…’
‘I’m not looking for consolation, Malcolm.’ With her free hand she gave his forearm a squeeze, and he knew she was offering herself as ally rather than foe.
‘Carter is walking the streets,’ Fox said. ‘Did you know that?’
She nodded. They were making towards the dock at the Esplanade’s northern end. There was a solitary fishing boat moored there, but no sign of life apart from some fierce-looking gulls.
‘We’re thinking it might be nice to hear what he says to Scholes and the others.’
‘Oh?’
‘Home and mobile phones.’
‘Of four detectives?’
‘Three: Carter’s appeal – if he starts one – would have a field day if we eavesdropped on him.’
‘I’m not sure we can stretch to it, Malcolm.’
‘Manpower or resources?’
She exhaled noisily. ‘Both, if I’m being honest. Basically, you’re looking at Fife’s Complaints department. I’m it. I mean, I can always requisition a few bodies in an emergency…’
‘Is that what you did when Alan Carter made the original complaint?’
She nodded, pushing some hair back from her face. ‘Scholes is the one Carter’s close to. If I was going to look at anybody, it would be him.’
‘We saw him leaving Carter’s house yesterday.’
‘You mean the surveillance is up and running?’
Fox shook his head again. ‘We were just passing.’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘Passing through the Dunnikier Estate?’
‘In a manner of speaking.’
She scrutinised his face, then gave a short laugh. ‘God, the things we do,’ she said. He wasn’t sure if she meant their job or was thinking back to that night in Tulliallan; best, he felt, not to risk asking.
‘You know I’d need to go to my boss?’ she said after a moment’s thought. ‘And he’d have to go to his boss?’
Fox nodded.
