They waited until she’d gone, closing the door behind her. Mangold was gulping at the coffee, eyes closed.
‘Can’t drink like I used to,’ he explained. ‘And I do have a very full afternoon.’
‘Then I’ll get to the point – two points actually.’
‘Fire away.’
‘I want to talk to Imogen Vernal.’
‘Impossible,’ Mangold said with a flutter of one hand. ‘Next point, please.’
‘If I don’t see her, I’ll drop off those two box files at the front desk and that’s the last you’ll hear from me.’
Mangold stared hard at Fox, pushing out his bottom lip. ‘What is it you need from her?’ he asked.
‘What is it you think you’re protecting her from?’
‘I’ve already told you – she’s very sick. I don’t want her to be made to feel even less comfortable.’ Mangold paused. ‘Second point,’ he commanded, reaching into his pocket for a voluminous handkerchief.
‘Not until we’ve dealt with the first.’
‘It has been dealt with,’ Mangold stated, wiping around the sides of his mouth.
‘I want her take on things,’ Fox decided to explain. ‘I want to hear her talk about her husband.’
‘I can tell you about Francis!’
‘You weren’t married to him, though.’
‘I knew him as well as Imogen did.’
Fox didn’t bother responding to this. Instead, he moved to item two.
‘All these groups of the time… the SRSL, SNLA, Dark Harvest Commando… I forget the Gaelic one…’
‘Siol Nan Gaidtheal.’
‘That’s it.’
‘Seed of the Gael.’
‘How close was Vernal to them? I only know what I’ve read.’
‘Imogen can’t help you there. None of those rumours ever reached her.’
‘But you heard them?’
‘Of course.’
‘And believed them?’
‘I asked Francis a few times. He would just dismiss the suggestion with one of his looks.’
‘What’s your feeling, though?’
Mangold took a sip of coffee while he considered the question. ‘Was he an active paramilitary? No, I doubt that. But there are ways in which he could have helped.’
‘Legal advice?’
‘Possibly.’
‘What else?’
‘Money had to be raised, and then kept safe. Frank would have known what to do with it.’
Fox nodded. ‘He was their banker?’
‘I have absolutely no proof.’
‘Would he have kept the money on him?’
Mangold offered a shrug.
‘How much are we talking about?’
‘Thousands,’ Mangold speculated. ‘There were a few bank robberies early in the decade; a couple of security-van hold-ups.’
‘Claimed by the SNLA?’
‘Those were the stories at the time.’
‘All the years you worked with him – dodgy visitors… locked-door meetings… odd phone calls…?’
‘No more than any other lawyer,’ Mangold replied with a lopsided smile. He stared into the bottom of his cup. ‘I really do need to stop drinking at lunchtime. I’ll feel bloody awful later on.’ He glanced up at Fox. ‘Are we finished here, Inspector?’
‘Not quite. Did you ever hear names?’
‘Names?’
‘Members of these various groups.’
‘MI5 would know more about that than me.’
‘But they’re not here right now…’
Mangold conceded the point and furrowed his brow in thought. ‘No, no names,’ he said at last.
‘Any of Vernal’s friends seem a bit out of place?’
‘We met all sorts, Inspector. You’d visit a couple of pubs and end up in the company of vagabonds and cut- throats. Never knew if you were going to wake up with a tattoo or an infection – or not wake up at all.’
Fox managed the smile he felt was expected of him. ‘How about your own politics, Mr Mangold?’
‘Unionist now…’
‘But back then?’
‘Broadly the same.’
‘Funny you were such good friends with a dyed-in-the-tweed nationalist.’ Fox paused. ‘Or is that where Mrs Vernal comes in?’
‘I’d rather she didn’t come into it at all,’ Mangold said quietly.
‘But she must,’ Fox insisted, dropping his own voice a little. Mangold looked suddenly tired and defeated. He held up his hands in surrender, then slapped them down against the table.
‘I’ll see what I can do.’ He paused, staring down at his cup again. ‘More coffee, I think.’
‘Thank you for your time.’ Fox started to get up. ‘But just remember – you came to me.’
‘Yes,’ Mangold said, with almost a trace of regret.
‘Oh, one other thing…’
Mangold had risen and was facing Fox.
‘Did Alan Carter ever mention the car to you?’
Mangold seemed confused. ‘What car?’
‘Francis Vernal’s Volvo.’
‘No, I don’t think so – why do you ask?’
‘No reason really,’ Fox said with a shrug. But inside he was thinking: What else did he keep from you… and why?
Mangold stayed in the room, Fox insisting that he could see himself out. He stopped at the receptionist’s desk. She looked up from her work and smiled.
‘Marianne, isn’t it?’ Fox enquired. She added a nod to her smile. ‘Something I’ve always meant to ask Charles and somehow keep forgetting…’
‘Yes?’
‘The firm’s name – Mangold Bain: is there still a Bain?’
‘It was Vernal Mangold,’ she explained.
‘Ah yes, until poor Francis died…’ He tried his best to sound like one of Mangold’s oldest clients. ‘You’re too young to have known him, of course?’
‘Of course,’ she agreed, looking slightly put out that he could mistake her for someone of that vintage.
‘So Mr Bain…?’ he prompted.
‘There’s never been a Mr Bain. It’s a maiden name.’
‘Mr Vernal’s widow Imogen?’ Fox guessed. ‘She’s a partner of some sort?’
‘Not that, no. Mr Mangold meant it as a… well, a kind of memorial, I suppose.’
‘Wouldn’t it have been more of a memorial if he’d just kept the name Vernal on the stationery?’ Fox asked. Marianne seemed never to have considered this. ‘Thanks for your help,’ Fox told her, bowing his head slightly and taking his leave.
