Fox had only worked alongside him a few months, was having trouble summoning a name. Last time he’d seen him had been the funeral of a fellow officer. There had just been time for a brief handshake and a hello.
He watched now as the back door of the black cab closed, the same doorman doing the honours. A brief wave and the taxi moved off with its cargo. Fox followed, having jotted down the exact time of Scoular’s departure from the Jenever. Result or not, if necessary they could show Cafferty that there had been no lack of effort. Always supposing the ACC’s plan didn’t work out. Never did any harm to have a backup.
He knew within a few minutes that they were headed to Scoular’s home. He remembered the man’s boast at their first meeting, about how he didn’t always live there alone. As far as Fox could see, nothing was happening on the back seat – no faces converging. He followed the cab to Stockbridge, staying well back at the drop-off. As Scoular and the woman went into the house, he started moving again, catching up with the taxi a few hundred metres further on. He flashed his lights until the driver signalled and stopped. Fox pulled up behind him, walked to the driver’s window and showed his warrant card.
‘Thought I had a flat,’ the driver said.
‘Nothing like that. Wanted to ask you about the couple you just dropped off.’
‘What about them?’
‘Any interesting chat?’
‘I wasn’t listening.’ The driver saw from Fox’s look that he wasn’t falling for it. ‘Really didn’t say much of anything,’ he conceded. ‘Busy with their phones. He made one call, overseas I think.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘He asked what time it was there. They were confirming a conference call of some kind, at a time to suit everyone.’ The driver shrugged. ‘That was about it. Can’t say he looked too happy, though.’
‘No?’
‘Seated next to a dolly bird like that, no way I’d be scowling.’
‘Did her name get a mention? Had they just met, do you think?’
‘Not a scooby.’
‘Anything else?’
The man shrugged again. Fox thanked him.
‘Will you put in a word next time I get a ticket?’
Fox managed a thin smile. ‘Drive safely,’ he said, retreating to his car.
Scoular was worried, it seemed, and unable to switch off, even on a date. Overseas: the Far East maybe, or the USA. With bin Mahmoud gone, there was a gaping financial hole that needed to be filled, meaning more hard work for Stewart Scoular. No way was he behind the killing – it was the last thing he’d needed. Didn’t mean there wasn’t a connection, though. Didn’t mean there weren’t secrets he was keeping.
Fox added the details to his little notebook. Time to go home, he reckoned, with a brief pit stop at a curry house.
He had an early start in the morning, after all.
Day Seven
38
As Fox walked towards the Avis desk, he saw a figure he recognised holding something out towards him.
Siobhan Clarke. A cardboard beaker of coffee.
‘Good morning,’ she said.
‘You’re here early,’ Fox replied.
‘You too.’ She made show of checking her watch. ‘Had the feeling you would be.’
Fox looked towards the rental desk. A businessman was being served, his wheelie case parked next to him. ‘Have you … ?’
‘That wouldn’t be very comradely, would it? Buying a coffee and waiting – that’s what colleagues do.’
‘All right, you’ve had your fun.’ He took a sip from the cup, then prised off the lid. It was a cappuccino, as far as he could tell. Clarke opened her shoulder bag and lifted out a dozen sheets of paper, held together with a paper clip.
‘This is what Robbie sent me. Close-up of the cleaned-up number plate; DVLA details; a few shots of the car as it travelled through the city that night.’
‘He must really like you,’ Fox commented as he sifted the sheets. The businessman was wheeling his suitcase towards the exit.
‘Shall we?’ Clarke asked, heading to the desk, Fox at her heels.
A supervisor had to be called, the clerk handing the phone to Clarke so she could explain. Then the supervisor spoke to the clerk and the clerk got busy on her keyboard. Fox had asked to speak to someone from the security staff, and a man had arrived, Fox telling him that he needed CCTV from the date the car was rented.
‘Main concourse, Avis desk and parking bays will do for starters.’
‘That’s a big ask.’
‘Big asks are all a murder inquiry ever has. Your cooperation at this time would be appreciated.’
The man puffed out his cheeks but headed off anyway to make a start, taking with him one of Fox’s business cards.
‘System’s a bit slow today,’ the clerk was telling Clarke.
‘That’s fine,’ Clarke responded. Not that it was. She was holding onto her coffee cup like she might at any moment wring the life from it.
‘Sure you should be having caffeine?’ Fox asked.
She stopped drumming the fingers of her free hand against the counter. A couple of customers had arrived and were queuing behind the two detectives.
‘Maybe I could serve them first?’ the clerk requested.
‘They can wait,’ came the terse response from Clarke.
‘Okay, here we go,’ the young woman said half a minute later. A printer whirred somewhere below the counter. She slid from her stool and crouched to retrieve the sheets of paper. ‘The physical paperwork will be in one of the filing cabinets, along with the credit card receipt. But meantime … ’ She handed over the printout. Clarke sought the renter’s details. Fox beat her to it, jabbing the name with his finger.
‘Giovanni Morelli,’ he stated, repeating it silently as if trying to make sense of what he was seeing, while Clarke continued to scour the form.
VW Passat with 1,200 miles on the clock, rented the morning Gio’s good friend
