Free The Impossible Dead by Ian Rankin Page B

he felt it was as much as he deserved. Kaye was right, of course: a cry for help rather than a serious effort. But all the same. They’d dropped a bomb on her with the news of Paul Carter, then simply walked away. No call to social services or whoever else might willingly check on her. A neighbour? A relative in the area? No, they’d cared more for their own skins and that bloody Mondeo.
    Fox hadn’t encountered too much violence or tragedy during his years on the force. A few drunken fights to break up when he’d been in uniform; a couple of bad murder cases in CID. Part of the appeal of the Complaints had been its focus on rules broken rather than bones, on cops who crossed the line but were not violent men. Did that make him a coward? He didn’t think so. Less of a copper? Again, no. But it was in his nature to avoid confrontation, or ensure it didn’t well up in the first place – which was why he felt he had failed with Teresa Collins. Every moment of his time with her could have been played differently, and with a better outcome.
    Fox rubbed his hands down either side of his face as he walked. His pace was quickening, the wind growing more biting still as he reached the halfway point. He was in the middle of the Firth of Forth now, steel cables holding him aloft. He was depending on them to do their job and not suddenly snap. Without knowing why he was doing it, he broke into a run – jogging at first, but then speeding up. When had he last run anywhere? He couldn’t remember. The sprint lasted only a few tens of metres, and he was breathing hard by the end of it. Two proper joggers gave him a lengthy examination as they passed.
    ‘I’m all right,’ he told them with a wave of his hand.
    Maybe he believed it, too. He took out his phone and snapped the view, just so he wouldn’t forget. South Queensferry was below him now, with its blustery yachts and boat trips out to Inchcolm Abbey. He started looking for the Mondeo ahead of him, but couldn’t see it. Had they had enough and left him to it? He double-checked the few parked vehicles, then heard a horn behind him and turned to see Kaye pulling in, having just crossed the bridge.
    Fox opened the passenger-side door. ‘How did you manage that?’ he asked.
    ‘Joe here got worried you might be going to jump,’ Kaye explained. ‘So we went round the roundabout, crossed back over into Fife, did the same at the other end … and here we are.’
    ‘Nice to know you care.’
    ‘It was Joe, remember – I’d have left you to it.’
    Fox smiled, got in and fastened his seat belt. ‘Thanks anyway,’ he said.
    ‘Nice walk?’ Naysmith asked from the back seat.
    ‘Cleared my head a bit.’
    ‘And?’ Kaye asked.
    ‘And I’m fine.’
    ‘We could have sworn we saw you jogging.’
    Fox gave Tony Kaye a hard stare. ‘Do I look the type?’
    Kaye smiled with half his mouth. ‘Wouldn’t have said so.’
    ‘Then I wasn’t jogging, was I?’
    ‘That’s your version of events, Inspector.’ Kaye glanced at Joe Naysmith in the rear-view mirror. ‘We’ll always have ours. But in the meantime, can I assume we’re headed back to base?’
    ‘Unless you want to visit a car-wash first.’ Fox watched Kaye shake his head. ‘Okay then. Let’s see if the news gets to Bob McEwan before we do …’

10

    ‘Well now,’ McEwan said, as they walked into the office. He was leaning with the small of his back against Fox’s desk, hands in his pockets.
    ‘You’ve heard, then.’
    ‘Deputy Chief Constable of Fife Constabulary – the very man who asked for our help in the first place.’
    ‘But he’s pleased with the rest of our progress?’ Kaye commented.
    ‘ Not the place for wisecracks, Sergeant Kaye,’ McEwan snapped back. ‘Suppose one of you tells me what in God’s name happened.’
    ‘We went to interview her at her home,’ Fox began. ‘She learned Carter was no longer in custody and threw a wobbly.’
    ‘We decided our presence wasn’t