‘How come you hate cops so much?’
Fox stared at the man across the desk. Scholes was in his mid-thirties but looked younger. A freckled face and milky-blue eyes. An odd image flashed up in Fox’s memory: a big bag of marbles he’d owned as a boy. His favourite had been a pale-blue one, its flaws only visible when you peered at it, turning it slowly between your fingers
…
‘That’s an original question,’ Tony Kaye was answering Scholes. ‘I doubt we’re asked that more than a few dozen times a month.’
‘I just don’t know why you’d want to punish everyone who’s ever worked with Paul.’
‘Not everyone,’ Fox corrected him. ‘Just the names mentioned by the sheriff.’
Scholes snorted. ‘Call that a sheriff? Ask anyone on the force – Colin Cardonald’s just the man to stick the knife in. Number of cases where he’s tried everything possible to swing it the defendant’s way
…’
‘There’s always one,’ Kaye conceded.
‘Was there any history between Sheriff Cardonald and DC Carter?’ Fox asked.
‘A bit.’
‘And between the judge and yourself?’ Fox waited, but no answer came. ‘Are you saying that Sheriff Cardonald singled out certain names because of a grudge?’
‘No comment.’
‘A complaint was made about Paul Carter almost a year back, wasn’t it? His own uncle said Carter had admitted taking advantage of a woman. The claim was investigated…’ Fox made show of looking for the relevant page in his notes.
‘Nothing ever came of it,’ Scholes stated.
‘Not straight away, not until Teresa Collins decided she’d had enough…’ Fox paused. ‘Did you know Carter’s uncle?’
‘He was a cop.’
‘That’s a yes, then. Why do you think he said what he said?’
Scholes shrugged.
‘Yet another grudge? And the three women – the original complainant plus the two who came forward later – more grudges? Lot of grudges piling up against your friend, the “good cop” Paul Carter.’ Fox leaned back in his chair, feigning interest in some of the pages of text. The newspaper cuttings were in full view on the desk. Kaye and Naysmith knew that silence was useful sometimes, and that when Fox leaned back like that it wasn’t because he’d run out of questions. Naysmith checked the equipment; Kaye studied his wristwatch.
‘Is that the starters finished, then?’ Scholes asked eventually. ‘Are we moving on to the meat and veg?’
‘Meat and veg?’
‘Where you try taking me down with Paul. Where you make out I lied in court, tried putting the fear on the witnesses…’
‘Teresa Collins states that you were in the car with Carter when he pulled up beside her and told her he’d be coming to her house later that day for sex.’
‘I wasn’t.’
‘When she made her complaint, you phoned her and tried to get her to withdraw it.’
‘No.’
‘Her mobile phone had your number in it. Date, time and duration of call.’
‘As I said in court, it was a mistake. How long did the call last?’
‘Eighteen seconds.’
‘Right – soon as I realised, I hung up.’
‘Why did you have her number?’
‘It was on a bit of paper on one of the desks in the office.’
‘You got curious, so you called the mystery number?’
‘That’s it.’
Tony Kaye was shaking his head slowly, making evident his disbelief.
‘So you deny telling her to…’ Fox glanced at his notes again, ‘“back the fuck off”?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did you spend time with Carter when the two of you were off duty?’
‘Few beers now and then.’
‘And clubs… away days to Edinburgh and Glasgow.’
‘It’s no secret.’
‘That’s right. It all came out in court.’
Scholes snorted. ‘Cops stick together and like a drink now and then – hold the front page.’
‘Carter was a DC, you’re a DI.’
‘So?’
‘So he’d never been promoted. Lowest rank in CID, and he’d been a cop as long as you.’
‘Not everybody wants promotion.’
‘Not everybody merits it,’ Fox stated. ‘Which was it with Paul Carter?’
Scholes was opening his mouth to answer when the interview room door opened. There was a uniformed woman there.
‘Sorry to interrupt,’ she said, not looking sorry at all. ‘Thought I’d better say hello.’ She saw that Naysmith was switching off the recorders. Reaching the desk, she introduced herself as Superintendent Isabel Pitkethly. Fox stood up with a certain reluctance and offered his hand for her to shake.
‘Inspector Malcolm Fox,’ he stated.
‘Everything all right?’ Pitkethly looked around the room. ‘Got everything you need?’
‘We’re fine.’
She was almost a foot shorter than Fox but much the same age – early forties. Collar-length brown hair, blue eyes glinting behind her spectacles. She wore a regulation white blouse with epaulettes at the shoulders. Dark skirt falling to just above her knees.
‘Ray behaving himself?’ She gave a nervous laugh, and Fox could see that the past few weeks had left their mark on her. She probably saw herself as captain of a tight ship, and now the structure had been damaged from within.
‘We were only just getting started,’ Tony Kaye said, not bothering to disguise the complaint.
‘Funny, I thought we were on to cheese and biscuits,’ Scholes countered.
‘DI Scholes does actually have to be at another meeting in five minutes,’ Pitkethly said. ‘Procurator Fiscal has a case to prepare…’
Scholes wasted no time getting to his feet. ‘Gentlemen, it’s been a pleasure.’
‘How soon can we have him back?’ Fox asked Pitkethly.
‘Mid-afternoon, probably.’
‘Unless the Fiscal has other ideas.’ Scholes had switched his phone back on and was checking for messages.
‘Couple of missed calls?’
Scholes looked at Fox and smiled. ‘How did you guess?’
Pitkethly seemed to be wondering the same thing. ‘Can I have a word in my office, Inspector Fox?’
‘I was about to suggest it,’ Fox answered.
A minute later, Kaye and Naysmith were alone together in the interview room.
‘Do I pack it all up?’ Naysmith asked, his hand resting on the tripod.
‘Better had. Can’t trust Scholes and his crew not to come in here and wipe their cocks over everything…’
‘Sit down,’ Pitkethly instructed from behind her desk. Fox stayed standing. The desk was empty. There was another at a right angle to it, and this second desk boasted a computer and busy-looking in-tray. The window had a view on to the car park outside. There were no knick-knacks on the sill; no photos of loved ones. The walls were bare except for a No Smoking sign and a year-planner.
‘Been here long?’ Fox asked.
‘Few months.’
‘And before that?’
He could see she was annoyed: somehow he was the one getting to ask the questions. But politeness demanded an answer.
‘Glenrothes.’
‘HQ?’
‘Wouldn’t it be quicker just to look at my file?’
Fox raised both hands by way of apology, and when she nodded towards the chair he decided not to refuse a second time.
‘I’m sorry I wasn’t here this morning,’ she began. ‘I was hoping the two of us might have had this discussion before your work began.’ It sounded like a prepared speech, because that was what it was. Pitkethly probably had friends at HQ in Glenrothes, and had gone there for a bit of advice on dealing with the Complaints. Fox could have written the script for her. Most cases, someone up the chain of command would invite him to their office and tell him the same thing.
This is a good crew here.
We’ve got work to do.
It’s in nobody’s interest that officers are kept back from their duties.
Naturally, no one wants a whitewash.
But all the same…
‘So if any concerns could be brought to me in the first instance
…’ Colour had risen to Pitkethly’s cheeks. Fox wondered how elated she’d been when promotion had come, when she’d been offered her own station to run. And now this.