Ian Rankin: The Impossible Dead

As Fox spoke, he couldn’t help thinking of Charles Mangold and Imogen Vernal – another case of never-quite-requited love.

‘But before any of that could happen,’ he went on, ‘she had disappeared. You had the money to tide you over and a murder everyone was calling suicide. The group was in tatters, so you walked away from it all and fell in love with the system you used to hate.’

Pears still had nothing to say, so Fox kept talking.

‘I saw something on the internet during a trawl: the qualities you need to succeed in business are the same ones cold-blooded killers have. No empathy, no emotion… whatever it takes to get the result you want.’

Pears responded to this with nothing more than a half-smile.

‘Did you realise Alice was working undercover?’ Fox went on.

Pears’s smile faded. ‘No,’ he conceded.

‘So how did you meet up again?’

‘A charity dinner. She was being fast-tracked through CID.’

‘You recognised her?’

‘Almost immediately.’

‘But she didn’t remember you?’

‘I’d changed more than she had.’

‘You managed to keep it from her?’ Fox waited for an answer, but none came. ‘You must have worked out that she was spying on you and your friends back then.’

Pears nodded slowly. ‘It didn’t matter so much. Later, it didn’t matter at all.’ Pears glanced at Fox again. ‘I’d fallen in love.’

‘Again,’ Fox commented.

‘Properly,’ Pears corrected him. ‘For the first time.’

‘You must have known someone would eventually place you.’

Pears gave a shrug. ‘Did MacIver really recognise me on that stage?’

‘Yes.’

‘I don’t think I believe you.’

‘He wasn’t sure where he knew you from,’ Fox lied glibly. ‘That’s what got him upset. But on the way back to Carstairs…’

‘With some prodding from you?’

‘Maybe a bit.’

‘He’s not going to make the most reliable witness in court.’

‘Not that you think this is going to court…’

‘You’re right.’ Pears paused. ‘I’m not even sure that’s what you want.’

‘Then what do I want?’

‘You want the truth known more widely, destroying my life and Alison’s reputation in the process. You think I’m a cold-blooded assassin who has been trying to protect his own back.’

‘When in fact you’ve been your wife’s shining knight?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Alan Carter had nothing on you?’

‘It was Alison’s name he had. His colleague had been put in charge of the Vernal “suicide”.’

‘That was Gavin Willis – the man who’d had a nice little sideline selling guns to you and your kind.’

‘MI5 got to him pretty damned sharp and said he had to keep the name of Alice Watts out of it. They told him she was actually a police officer, not long out of college and working undercover. If they’d bothered to give her an alias that wasn’t so bloody similar to her real name…’ Pears shook his head, the mistake annoying him even now. ‘Carter found some stuff hidden in Willis’s cottage – a little insurance policy of a confession, including the name Alice Watts and the information that she’d been an undercover cop as well as Vernal’s lover.’

‘He put two and two together and tried blackmailing you?’ Fox guessed.

‘I’m the one with the money. He knew what the tabloids would do with the story. Nasty little man – not the sort that can be reasoned with.’

‘I thought he was all right when I met him.’

‘You saw what he wanted you to see.’

‘He invited you to Gallowhill Cottage, so you could pay him for his silence?’

‘Yes.’

‘The door was unlocked, so you just walked in. He was seated at the table. A sitting duck, as it were. You didn’t kill the dog, though – it’s humans you have trouble with.’ Fox paused. ‘Francis Vernal might have been a spur-of-the-moment thing, but Alan Carter took a bit of preparation. First you asked a favour of your friend Sheriff Cardonald. You’d checked up on the blackmailer and you knew his history with the nephew. With Paul Carter out, you just had to set the scene – phoning his mobile a couple of times, luring him to the cottage. Then you went back home and snuggled up next to your wife.’ Fox paused. ‘How am I doing?’

‘Does it matter? I’m not hearing anything a court would consider damning.’

‘That’s because you’re good.’ Fox paused again. ‘Cardonald must have been livid when the prisoner he’d just released from custody was suddenly in the frame for murder. Won’t do his reputation any favours.’

‘Cardonald knows his place. I’ve made him a bit of money down the years.’

‘Plus I’d guess you can be persuasive when the occasion demands it. What about the arms dealer in Barbados? Was he proving troublesome too?’

‘You’re not seriously suggesting…?’

‘His name was Benchley.’

‘I know – he drowned in his pool.’

‘And that’s just coincidence?’

‘Of course it is.’

Fox thought for a second. ‘Cigarettes and a fifty-pound note went AWOL from Vernal’s car.’

‘Then someone must have taken them – maybe one of your own kind, Inspector.’ Pears allowed himself another little half-smile and signalled on to a new road.

‘Seems to me you’ve a destination in mind,’ Fox commented.

‘Maybe I do.’ Pears was checking in his mirror again – no sign of any headlights behind him. His mobile rang, and he checked the display without answering.

‘Chief Constable wondering where you’ve got to?’ Fox guessed.

‘I’m beginning to wonder if you’re jealous.’

‘Jealous?’

‘It’s a normal enough emotion,’ Pears said, ‘when you see someone with something you’ve not got and probably can’t get. It’s what drove Alan Carter – doesn’t matter if it’s money, status or love, it can make you a bit crazy.’ Pears paused. ‘How’s your father doing?’

Fox glared at him.

‘I know your own marriage didn’t last long,’ Pears continued. ‘You’ve got a sister who’s seen some trouble in the past. And now your father’s been in hospital. He’s home, though, right? Not at that care home – but home with you?’

Fox was still staring. Without looking, Pears knew it.

‘Private care costs money,’ he went on. ‘A sister with no job can be a bit of a drain. Then you look at what Alison and I have got – not that we didn’t work hard for it, but sometimes there’s luck involved too.’ He paused again. ‘I know you’re not after money, but that doesn’t mean you can’t feel bitterness at others’ good fortune.’ Pears gave Fox a good long look. ‘How am I doing, Inspector?’ he asked, throwing Fox’s question back at him. ‘The world’s missing one alcoholic womaniser and one blackmailer. Three cheers for the world…’

‘I think I know where we are,’ Fox said quietly, gazing out of the passenger-side window.

‘Where else would we be?’ Pears pulled into the lay-by, braking hard. There was a churning of gravel. He switched off the engine and turned to face Fox.

‘A walk in the woods?’ he suggested.

‘I’m fine here, thanks,’ Fox replied.

But Pears had reached beneath him and brought out another handgun. A pistol this time. ‘Kept a few souvenirs of the old days,’ he explained, aiming the barrel at Fox’s chest.

‘You’re forgetting the witnesses,’ Fox stated. ‘The surveillance van, for one thing.’

‘As plans go, it’s by no means perfect,’ Pears allowed.

‘So am I shooting myself in the head, or what?’

‘You’re going to hang yourself.’

‘Am I?’

‘At the scene of your obsession. I saw proof enough of it at your house – all those papers, a computer filled with guesswork. Francis Vernal got beneath your skin. Add that to your recent problems at work, and an ailing parent…’