‘Good question.’ Kaye scratched his head. ‘Foxy?’
‘There are two more victims we could talk to.’ Fox wasn’t managing to sound enthusiastic.
‘The drunken lassies?’ Kaye sounded keener. ‘That’s a point.’
‘What about the surveillance?’ Naysmith added.
‘Might be up and running,’ Fox conceded.
‘Or we just sit in here all day scratching our arses,’ Kaye offered. ‘I’ve a pack of cards in the Mondeo somewhere…’
‘There are heaps of questions still to ask DI Scholes,’ Naysmith reminded them. ‘We’d hardly started when he got called away.’
‘That’s true.’ Fox finished his coffee, trying to locate any flavour at all in the final mouthful.
‘And DCI Laird needs another going at,’ Kaye added. ‘Even if he gives us hee-haw.’
‘I hate to mention it,’ Naysmith added, ‘but we’re not really finished with Teresa Collins, either…’
‘Leave her for now,’ Fox cautioned.
‘Scholes, then?’ Kaye was making to rise to his feet. ‘Want me to fetch him?’
‘I’ll do it, Tony. You finish your drink.’
But as he headed for the stairs, Fox saw the unmistakable shape of Ray Scholes walking in the other direction. He was with a stooped elderly man, his hand resting lightly across the man’s shoulders. They were headed for reception. Scholes didn’t see the visitor out, though, just pointed him in the right direction before turning to head back to his office. He saw Fox and slowed his pace, jutting his chin out.
‘I keep thinking you’re going to bring me bad luck,’ he said.
‘Maybe I am. We need you in the interview room.’
Scholes shook his head. ‘Not now. Might be a bit of movement on Alan Carter.’
‘What sort of movement?’ Fox couldn’t help asking.
‘Never you mind.’ Having said which, Scholes headed for the staircase. Fox watched him, then turned and made for reception. The visitor had yet to leave. He was talking with the desk sergeant. They were shaking hands. When he did push open the front door, Fox followed.
‘Where you going?’ the desk sergeant barked, but Fox ignored him. The elderly man was standing at the bottom of the steps, looking bewildered.
‘Needing a lift back to Kinghorn?’ Fox asked him. ‘I can do it, if you like.’
The man peered at him. Short-sighted, but lacking glasses. What hair he had left was jet black. Fox reckoned it was dyed. His eyes were small and deep-set, his mouth drawn in on itself, as though he’d forgotten to put his teeth in.
‘I’m fine walking,’ he said, having studied Fox. ‘Do I know you?’
‘My name’s Fox. Sorry, I don’t know yours.’
‘Teddy Fraser.’
‘You’re the one who found Mr Carter?’
Fraser nodded solemnly. Fox noticed that he wore a thin black tie with his threadbare shirt. Mourning again. ‘A bad, bad thing,’ he muttered to himself.
‘You’ve just been seeing DI Scholes?’
‘Aye.’
‘I only met Mr Carter the one time, but I liked him.’
‘He was hard to dislike.’
‘Did you walk here this morning, Mr Fraser?’
‘I like walking. It’s not that far.’
‘Busy road, though.’
‘There are a few short cuts.’
‘Must have been a shock, finding Mr Carter…’
‘A shock?’ Fraser gave a short, cold laugh. ‘You might say that.’
‘What I mean is… I didn’t really know him, but he seemed fine in himself.’
Fraser nodded again. ‘There was nothing wrong with him. The DI’s saying they’re checking his health, in case the doctor had given him bad news. But he’d have told me, wouldn’t he? No secrets between us.’
‘You’d known one another a long time?’
‘We were at school together – two years between us, but we were in the team.’
Fox didn’t like to say that Fraser looked a lot older. If he were the elder by two years, then he’d be no more than sixty-four. ‘Football?’ he asked instead.
‘Fife champions two years in a row.’ Fraser sounded so proud, Fox wondered if anything since had given the man the same satisfaction.
‘Where did Mr Carter play?’
‘Right up front – a real poacher. Twenty-nine goals one season. That was a school record. If the minister doesn’t mention it at the funeral, I’ll be on my feet reminding everyone.’
Fox smiled at this. ‘What did DI Scholes want?’
‘Ach, he was just asking about the gun and stuff. How was Alan positioned when I found him? Had I moved anything?’
‘And had you?’
‘I picked up the phone and dialled 999.’
‘But Mr Carter wasn’t dead, was he?’
‘As good as.’
‘You tried rousing him?’
‘He was breathing. Not conscious, though. But a gun? Alan never owned a gun. And the door unlocked?’ He shook his head vigorously. ‘Kept it locked, even if he knew I was expected. If he heard me, he’d be at the door waiting, but otherwise I had to knock and Jimmy Nicholl would start barking.’
‘The door wasn’t locked?’
‘No barking when I knocked. Thought they must be out on a walk, even though the dog could only manage a few yards at a time without its back legs giving way. So I was expecting the door to be locked.’ He seemed to remember something. ‘In fact, it wasn’t even closed properly. That’s right… when I knocked, it opened a wee bit.’
‘I suppose,’ Fox said, playing devil’s advocate, ‘if he’d planned to do what he did, he might leave the door open so he could be found.’
Fraser considered this notion, but then dismissed it with a snort. ‘You know I’m looking after Jimmy Nicholl? It’s the least I could do. Alan doted on that hound – and you’re telling me he wouldn’t have taken Jimmy to a vet’s before doing away with himself?’ He screwed up his face.
‘Can I ask you something else, Mr Fraser?’
‘I’m Teddy, son. Everybody calls me Teddy.’
‘I was just wondering what he was working on – all those papers on his table.’
‘Ancient history.’
‘Nineteen eighty-five’s not that ancient.’
‘To some people it is. I’ll prove it to you right here.’ Fraser paused, readying himself to gauge Fox’s reaction. He clasped his hands together, then mentioned a name.
‘You’ve got me,’ Fox conceded after a moment. ‘Who’s Francis Vernal?’
‘You’d do better finding out for yourself.’
‘Why was Mr Carter so interested in him?’
‘I’m not sure he was – not at first.’
‘I don’t follow.’
‘Alan was a copper back then – that’s why he got the job.’
‘Someone was paying him to look back at 1985? Was this some case he’d worked on?’
Fraser dug a bony finger into Fox’s chest, stabbing out a beat to his next words. ‘Better – finding – out – for – yourself.’
Having said which, he gave a little bow, turned, and started walking away at a brisker pace than Fox had foreseen. It actually hurt where the little man had poked him. He rubbed the spot with the heel of his hand. Back
