‘Good God.’ Mangold stared at one of the wood-panelled walls.
‘How did you know him?’
‘He was doing some work for me.’
‘On Francis Vernal?’
‘Yes.’
‘Had you known Mr Carter long?’
‘I barely knew him at all.’ Mangold seemed to be considering what to say next. Fox bided his time, sipping from the glass. ‘There was a profile of him in the Scotsman a while back – focusing on his various business interests. It mentioned that he was an ex-policeman and that he’d played a small role in the original investigation.’
‘The Francis Vernal investigation, you mean?’
Mangold nodded. ‘Not that there was much of one. Suicide was the story everyone stuck to. There wasn’t even an FAI.’
Meaning a Fatal Accident Inquiry. ‘Bit odd,’ Fox commented.
‘Yes,’ Mangold agreed.
‘You reckon there was a cover-up of some kind?’
‘The truth’s what I’ve been after, Inspector.’
‘Twenty-five years on? Why the wait?’
Mangold bowed his head a little, as if to acknowledge the acuity of the question. ‘Imogen isn’t well,’ he said.
‘Vernal’s widow?’
‘Six months or a year from now, I doubt she’ll be with us – and I know the papers will dredge it up again.’
‘The stories that she drove him to it?’
‘Yes.’
‘You don’t think she did?’
‘Of course not.’
‘Did you work alongside Mr Vernal?’
‘For a long time.’
‘Friend of his, or friend of his wife?’
Mangold stared hard at Fox. ‘I’m not sure I can let that insinuation pass.’
‘Then don’t.’
‘Look, I’m sorry Alan Carter’s dead, but what precisely does it have to do with me?’
‘You’ll be wanting to take charge of all his research material. Might have to get used to a few blood spatters, mind…’ Fox looked to be readying himself to rise from his chair and leave.
‘Francis Vernal was murdered,’ Mangold blurted out. ‘And no one’s done anything about it. If I didn’t know better, I’d say officers at the time went beyond wilful negligence.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning they were involved. By the time they found out he’d been shot, his car had been removed from the scene, the scene itself trampled over, obliterating any evidence. Took them a full day to find the gun – did you know that? It was lying on the ground, twenty yards from where the car had stopped.’ Mangold was talking rapidly, as if needing to put the words out there. ‘Francis didn’t own a gun, by the way. Papers from his briefcase strewn around nearby. Car’s back window smashed, but not the windscreen. Things missing…’
‘What things?’
‘Cigarettes, for one – he smoked forty a day. And a fifty-pound note he always carried – the fee from his first case.’ Mangold ran a hand across his head. Then he looked up at Fox. ‘You’re not what I expected… not at all.’
‘In what way?’
‘I thought I was going to be warned off. But you’re… too young to have been part of it. And your warrant card says Professional Standards. That means police corruption, yes?’
‘It means complaints against the force.’
Mangold nodded slowly. ‘Francis Vernal should be a story, Inspector. So many holes in the original investigation…’
‘Was Carter making any progress?’
‘A little.’ Mangold thought for a moment. ‘Not much,’ he conceded. ‘A lot of the players are no longer with us. I doubt he would have taken the job if Gavin Willis were still alive.’
‘Gavin Willis being…?’
‘Alan’s mentor. He was a DI at the time Francis died. And he led the inquiry. Only ten years or so older than Alan, but Alan definitely looked up to him.’ Mangold leaned forward a little, as if readying himself to share a confidence. ‘Did Alan tell you about the cottage?’
‘No.’
‘It belonged to Gavin Willis. When he died, Alan bought it – that’s how close the two men were.’
‘In which case,’ Fox said, ‘Carter was hardly going to blacken Willis’s name.’
‘I’m not so sure. People like to get to the bottom of things, Inspector, don’t you find?’
‘So what will you do, now that you’ve lost your researcher?’
‘Find another one,’ Mangold stated, staring intently at Fox. There was a tap on the door, and the porter, Eddie, announced that the first of Mangold’s guests had arrived downstairs. Mangold got to his feet and walked around the table, shaking Fox’s hand and thanking him for coming: ‘Just a pity the circumstances couldn’t have been different…’
Fox gave the slightest of nods and allowed Eddie to show him back down the staircase.
Just inside the front door, a new arrival was handing his overcoat to a porter while discussing the weather. He glanced towards Fox as if to check whether he warranted some greeting. In the end, the curtest of nods was all Fox got.
‘Will you be in your usual spot, Sheriff Cardonald?’ the porter was asking. ‘I’ll bring you your drink.’
‘Usual spot,’ Cardonald agreed.
Fox paused to watch him head for the stairs. Sheriff Colin Cardonald, the man whose decision had put Paul Carter back on the streets…
He hadn’t felt like another takeaway or microwave meal, so had treated himself to a restaurant in Morningside – an Italian place with plenty of fresh fish on the menu. The evening paper kept him occupied for about ten minutes, after which he tried not to look as if he was interested in the other diners. Really, he was thinking. Trying not to, but thinking all the same.
About Ray Scholes and Paul Carter.
About Paul Carter and his uncle.
About Alan Carter and Charles Mangold.
Charles Mangold and Francis Vernal.
Vernal and Chris Fox.
Chris and Mitch.
Mitch and Fox himself.
Bringing him right back to Scholes and Carter again. No wonder his head was spinning; there was a dance going on in there, an eightsome reel with too many couples and not enough floor space. When his waiter came over, looking concerned and asking if everything was okay, Fox realised he’d hardly touched his main course.
‘It’s fine,’ he said, scooping up another forkful of monkfish.
You were never happy there…
You’ll be a bit rusty then…
Should he have offered a stronger argument? Defended himself against the charge? Two old men with a couple of drinks under their belts – what was the point? He thought back to his time on the force prior to the Complaints. He had been diligent and scrupulous, never a shirker. He had put in the hours, been commended for his error-free paperwork and ability to lead a team: no egos and no heroes. He hadn’t been unhappy. He had learned much and kept out of trouble. If a problem arose, he either dealt with it or ensured it was moved
