‘My whole life is public property, Inspector.’
A waiter came over to ask if they needed anything. Elliot ordered mint tea, then changed his mind to sparkling water. Fox was nursing half a cup of lukewarm coffee.
‘Are you still interested in politics?’ he asked when the waiter had retreated.
‘The question is: was I ever?’
‘You nearly went to prison…’
Elliot nodded slowly. ‘But even so. How much of it was posture? I mean, students back then… we didn’t always think too clearly about the reasoning.’
‘What was it, then – a way to pick up the opposite sex?’
Elliot gave a lopsided smile. ‘Maybe.’ He wriggled in his seat, making himself more comfortable. ‘That court case… it was ridiculous really. We were made to look like the mujahideen, but we were just kids playing games.’ His eyes widened slightly, perhaps hoping Fox would share his incredulity. ‘Hijack a government car? Hold the minister to ransom?’ He shook his head. ‘The ransom, incidentally, consisting of a referendum on Scottish self- government – how hare-brained is that?’
‘You doubt it would have worked?’
‘Of course it wouldn’t have worked! People were laughing at us during the trial – they’d sit in the public gallery and their shoulders would be heaving as we explained the tactics. The prosecution went on about “planning”, but as we pointed out, this amounted to a couple of nights in the pub and a few doodles on the back of a napkin.’
‘Might explain why none of you went to jail.’
‘Our university didn’t even bother kicking us out – that’s how seriously everyone took it.’
‘Might be different today,’ Fox commented.
‘Almost certainly.’
‘Stirling was your university?’ Elliot nodded, then thanked the waiter as his water arrived. There was a bill with it, but the presenter pointed the waiter in the direction of one of the crew.
‘Ever see any of your old gang?’ Fox asked.
‘Hardly ever.’
‘None of them still active?’
‘Active? You mean plotting the overthrow of the state? No, none of them are still “active”.’ He sipped the water, stifling a belch. ‘We were young and foolish, Inspector.’
‘Is that what you really think?’
‘You’ve got me pegged as some sort of sleeper agent?’
Fox returned Elliot’s smile. ‘Not at all. But you’re a public figure – it’s good PR to play down a militant past, maybe make light of it, turn it into an after-dinner routine…’
‘That’s probably true.’
‘And they were very different times.’
‘They were.’
‘Plus, as far as I can tell, the Dark Harvest Commando had a seriousness of purpose. If you’d just been along for a laugh, I doubt they’d have tolerated you.’
Elliot’s face darkened a little. ‘The DHC was too much for me,’ he confided.
‘You went to a few of their meetings, though?’
‘A few.’
‘So you knew Donald MacIver?’
‘Poor Donald. They got him eventually, even managed to have him certified after he attacked another prisoner. He’s in Carstairs now.’
‘Ever thought of visiting him?’
‘No.’ Elliot seemed surprised by the question.
‘He must have been close to Francis Vernal, though…’
‘I can’t believe anyone’s finally paying attention to that,’ Elliot said.
‘In what way?’
‘We all knew Francis had been assassinated – MI5 had him on their hit list. When he died, nobody seemed bothered – no police investigation, almost nothing in the papers…’ He took another sip of water. ‘But it did the job all right.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘A lot of the groups got the message and disbanded. They didn’t want to end up like Francis.’
‘How well did you know him?’
‘I didn’t.’
‘You never met him at meetings?’
‘I was in the same room as him a few times, but I was a foot soldier. He was at the top table.’
‘He was the money man, wasn’t he?’
‘Another reason the groups fell apart – when Francis went, the cash went with him. It wasn’t as though anyone used bank accounts. We didn’t have a chequebook with Dark Harvest Commando on it.’
‘I suppose not.’
Elliot remembered something. ‘There was one meeting where things got a bit heated. Hawkeye needed money for something. Francis went outside and came back in with a wedge of fivers and tenners.’
‘Where was this?’
‘A pub in Glasgow – we used the back room sometimes. Spit and sawdust and patriot songs…’
‘The money must have been in Vernal’s car, then?’
‘I suppose so.’
The car saved from the scrapyard by Gavin Willis. Had he taken it back to his garage to strip it? If so, how had he known about the money? And if there was money to be found, what did he do with it?
And why hang on to the car…?
‘Who’s Hawkeye?’ Fox thought to ask.
Elliot offered a shrug. ‘Never knew his real name. He wasn’t normally the type to attend meetings – everyone was a bit scared of Hawkeye.’
‘Oh?’
‘He definitely wasn’t just playing at radicalism. Two or three armed robberies, I’m pretty sure he was responsible. The members liked to talk about Hawkeye when he wasn’t there – he was our Robin Hood. Liked his explosives, too.’
‘The bombs sent to Downing Street and Parliament?’
‘More than likely.’
‘Why the name Hawkeye?’
‘No idea.’ Elliot had finished his water. The equipment had been packed away, the crew heading for their vans. ‘I need to go,’ he apologised. ‘You really think you can get to the truth after all this time?’
‘I’m not sure.’
‘Reckon anyone out there really wants to hear it, Inspector?’
Fox didn’t bother answering this. He reached into his pocket instead and produced Professor Martin’s book. ‘Ever seen this?’ he asked.
‘I’ve heard of it,’ Elliot stated, taking it from Fox and flipping through its pages.
‘You’ve never wanted to read it?’
‘Archaeology doesn’t interest me.’
Fox took the book back from him, found the photo of Vernal and Alice Watts outside the police station and held it open for Elliot to see.
‘Do you remember her?’ he asked.
‘No.’
‘You don’t recognise her from the meetings?’
Elliot shook his head. ‘Is it important?’
‘She seems to have had some sort of relationship with Mr Vernal – I’d like to talk to her about it.’
‘I wish I could help.’
