case.’
‘Is that why you emigrated?’
‘Wife wanted a bit of sun on her face,’ Hendryson explained. ‘But you have to admit, policing’s got a lot harder.’
‘We’re more accountable,’ Fox countered.
‘Being the Complaints, you’d think that a good thing, of course.’
Fox didn’t want to get into an argument, so instead he asked how close Willis had been to Alan Carter.
‘Like teacher and star pupil. From the minute Alan joined CID, Gavin was there to see him right.’
‘Did they work together on the Francis Vernal case?’
Hendryson took a moment to place the name. ‘The lawyer? Smashed his car and topped himself?’
‘That’s the one.’
‘What case are we talking about?’
‘I just meant the crash site… collecting evidence and what have you.’
‘I’ve no idea.’
‘Did you know anything about the deceased’s car?’
‘What is there to know?’
‘Willis seems to have salvaged it from the scrapyard. It’s been sitting in his garage all these years.’
‘News to me, Inspector.’
‘Now that I’ve told you, what do you think?’
‘I’m retired – I don’t think anything.’
‘Bit of luck, wasn’t it, sir? You leaving the force just as all this was about to break.’
‘All what? Paul Carter, you mean?’
‘For starters. Alan Carter came to you, and you decided to take it to your own Complaints people…’
‘Yes?’
‘No thought of brushing it under the carpet?’
‘Alan wouldn’t hear of it. He wanted an inquiry.’
‘Or?’
‘Or he’d talk to the newspapers.’
‘Even so, the local Complaints didn’t get very far, did they?’
‘Not until that woman changed her mind.’
‘Teresa Collins?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why do you think she decided to speak up?’
‘I’ve no idea.’
‘Alan Carter can’t have been too happy when the original investigation drew a blank.’
There was silence on the line, interrupted only by a crackle of static.
‘Is there anything else?’ Hendryson’s voice eventually responded.
‘When did Gavin Willis die?’
‘Nineteen eighty-six. Towards the end of January. Keeled over in the street one day. Heart attack.’
‘And Alan Carter snapped up the cottage?’
‘What if he did?’ Hendryson waited, but Fox had no answer worth giving. ‘Are we done here?’
‘Just you go and enjoy the sunshine while you still can,’ Fox told the man, ending the conversation.
27
He had parked his Volvo on the street outside the police station. Sergeant Alec Robinson looked to left and right as he crossed the car park, and craned his neck to make sure there were no witnesses at the windows. He got into the passenger seat without ceremony.
‘Drive,’ he ordered.
Fox did as he was told. When they’d left the police station behind, Robinson relaxed a little. He was wearing a force-issue outerwear jacket over his uniform – not quite mufti, but as close as he could get.
‘Thanks for this,’ Fox acknowledged. Robinson shrugged off the show of gratitude.
‘I’m not going to shit on my own kind,’ he warned.
‘I’m not asking you to. I’m just trying to find out a bit more about Gavin Willis. In police terms, Sergeant, you’re as close to Methuselah as I’m going to get.’
Robinson looked at him. ‘Not exactly buttering me up, are you?’
‘Would you appreciate it if I did?’ Fox watched as Robinson shook his head. ‘What rank did you have, back in the mid-eighties?’
Robinson thought for a second. ‘Constable,’ he answered.
‘So you wouldn’t have had many dealings with CID?’
‘Not many.’
‘Probably didn’t know Willis and Alan Carter too well?’
‘There were times we worked together – door-to-door enquiries; scouring the area for a missing person…’
‘And nights in the pub, eh?’
‘Not just nights – not back then.’
Fox nodded his agreement. ‘Lunchtime sessions? They were being phased out by the time I signed on the line.’
Robinson was looking at him. ‘How long have you been in the Complaints?’
‘A few years.’
‘You like it?’
‘Maybe I want to make sure the force is on the side of the angels.’
‘That’s the answer you always give?’
Fox smiled. ‘I change the wording a bit.’
‘But is it the whole truth?’
‘I’m not sure.’ Fox paused, checking to left and right as they stopped at a junction. ‘I’m also not convinced Paul Carter killed his uncle.’
‘Then who did?’
‘That’s what I’d like to know. Got any ideas yourself?’
‘How does Gavin Willis fit into it?’
‘Willis and Alan were pals as well as colleagues. Alan obviously doted on the man – to the extent of buying his house when he died.’ Fox glanced at Robinson. ‘We found Francis Vernal’s car tucked away in a garage next to the cottage.’
‘Oh, aye?’
‘Have you any notion why Willis would have hung on to it, let everyone think it had been scrapped?’
Robinson shook his head.
‘Or why Alan Carter would have left it there?’
Another shake of the head.
‘It’s a mystery, then,’ Fox seemed to concede. ‘But here’s something else – the gun used to kill Alan Carter was part of a police haul that should have been destroyed back in the eighties, when Gavin Willis was on the detail.’
‘Oh, aye?’ Robinson repeated.
‘You knew both men – and you know Alan’s nephew. There’s something I’m not seeing here, and I was hoping you could help.’
‘Gavin Willis was a tough customer,’ Robinson admitted.
‘That much I sense.’
‘A rule-breaker too, from time to time.’
